Each brook and purling rill, Shall on it's bubbling ftream Convey the virgin's name; And, as it rolls, in murmurs tell The charms of beauteous Florimel. The fvlvan gods, that dwell Amidst this facred grove, Shall wonder at my love; While ev'ry found confpires to tell The charms of beauteous Florimel. SONG 813. Written by Mr. D. BEST. Lambkins fportive all around, Round the oak-it's tendrils clue; Thus Melifia! were you mine, My fond arms fhould circle you.The maiden fmil'd, no more delay'd, Gave her hand with joy and glee; Through the dell we fondly ftray'd, Conftant, happy, blithe, and free. SONG 815. WHEN shrubs did bloffom, fields were green, GREAT Jove, in merry mood, once faid, And ev'ry thing was gay, All nature reap'd the fruits of spring, The bleating sheep were heard around, With fparkling eyes, and tender looks, He faid, that he could take no reft SONG 814. HASTE! fweet nymph, the eve invites, Are thy fhepherd's fimple ways; Mufic from it's little throat. It's wild lays are unconfin'd, Ev'ry ftranger drinks the ftream; Be thy Corin's only theme. Enthron'd on high Olympus fitting, While Venus, lovely ceature, laugh'd; But Jove his promife fairly kept, YOUNG Polly was the blitheft maid But now to cruel grief's betray'd, Till Damon, with his fieecy care, Nor can fhe boaft of being free The nymph is left to rove; SONG 817. Written by W. C LET coxcombs boast of painted belles, Yet, ere that rofy feafon's gone, Or we time's patience try; Ye powers divine, a lover hear, He fues for Betfey Guy. To win this fair, this fav'rite maid, As oft with her I cross the mead, The fhepherds ali admire the maid, Matilda's Polydore was bleft; When walking round yon flow'ry mead Let kings enjoy that pomp and ftate For which vain mortals figh; Content I'd in a defert live With charming Betfey Guy. No other blifs on earth I ask, With her I'd live and die; Ye gods! take all your favours back, Or give me Betley Guy. SONG 818. THE PLAINTIVE SWAIN. To the Memory of Mr. JOHN CUNNINGHAM. Written by Mr. HAWKINS. HE faid-on the banks, by the ftream, He had pip'd for the thepherds too long;. But oh! how delightful his theme, For innocence brighten'd his fong: Then how could he wish to rehearse Such leffons fo lofty and wide? When Phillis was fond of his verfe, And nature fat down by his fide? Ah! Colin, how cou'd you mistake Till Pan bid you ftick to your ftrain? Could you leave the white fwans on the lake, Or quit the delights of the plain? Oh! no, honest Colin, you found No flame like your Phillis's praife; And poets came creeping around, To liften, and envy your lays. But vain were their efforts to try To copy thy foft-foothing ftrains; And fhepherds ftood by in a throng. 'The nymphs, too, came flocking the while, From their cots where they dwelt in the dale! And each of them feemed to smile At the joys they receiv'd from the tale ; But now you have bid them adieu! Death has feiz'd you a victim away; While in forrow they languish for you, And weep where foever they ftray. SONG 819. Written by Mr. NICHOLLS. LOVELY Maria, fkilful maid, Whene'er you touch the tuneful chords, To fpeak the rapture that's convey'd, Is not within the force of words. Whene'er you turn Admetus o'er, And tune your Handel's Spera fi; We think on worldly things no more, Our thoughts are fixt above the sky. Nor do you charm our race alone, You tempt (at hand) the gentle dove; Then flies, and fills his cote with love. Thus, like Cecilia, facred fair, And melt the bofom of the brute. Go on, dear maid, tune Handel's ftrains; Since fuch foft charms around thee wait; To turn our thoughts from these low plains, And fit us for a better ftate. SONG 820. A WELCH LOVE-SONG. SOME fing Molly Mogg of the Rofe, On peautiful Molly Lepelle. Put of all the young firgins so fair, Which Pritain's crete monarchy owns; In peauty there's none to compare With hur charming tear Gwinifrid Shones. Unenviet the fplentit contition Of princes that fit upon thrones: The higheft of all hur ampition Ifs the lofe of fair Gwinifrid Shones. Pold mortals the clobe will fearch ofer From the piggest crete mountain in Pritain Not the nightingale's pitiful note Can express how poor Shenkin bemoans His fate, when in places remote Hur is abfent from Gwinifrid Shones. E e 2 Hur lofe ifs than honey far sweeter, And hur is no Shenkin ap drones; Put hur would lapour in profe and in metre, To praise hur tear Gwinifrid Shones. As the harp of Saint Tavit furpaffes The pagpipes poor tweetles and crones; So Lepelle, Molly Mogg, and all laffes, Are excell'd by hur Gwinifrid Shones. SONG 821. DESPAIR. Written by Mr. MAYOR. WHY fhines the moon with filver ray, Amid her starry fplendors gay! Why trills the nightingale her note, Now fnowy bloffoms clothe the year, That burns my heart, and mars my frame; But ah in vain I beg your aid, SONG 822. COME, my faireft, learn of me, Learn to give and take the blifs; Come, my love, here's none but we; I'll inftru&t thee how to kifs. Why turn from me that dear face? Why that blush, and downcat eye? Come, come, meet my fond embrace, And the mutual rapture try. Throw thy lovely twining arms Round my neck, or round my waist; And whilft I devour thy charms, Let me ciufely be embrac'd: Written by the EARL of DORSET. Each flender finger play'd it's part As would inflame a youthful heart, Her fav'rite fwain by chance came by, She let her ivory needle fall, No nymph was e'er betray'd. Which he, poor fool! obey'd. She faw him yawn, and heard him fnore; WHY, cruel creature, why fo bent To vex a tender heart? To gold and title you relent, Love throws in vain his dart. Let glitt'ring fools in courts be great, If on thofe endless charms you lay But if a paffion without vice, Without disguise or art, Ah, Celia! if true love's your price, Behold it in my heart. SONG 826. DAMON AND DELIA; A PASTORAL. HOW bright in the morn are Aurora's gay beams, When just peeping behind yonder hil!! How tranfient the luftre, how bright to behold! But my Delia furpaffes them ftill. DELIA. What's beauty, how vain, the mere tints of a skin ! And the maid yet more vain, to her cost, That's proud of the favour ordain'd her by fate, When virtue, dear virtue, is loft! How artful each fwain the weak maid to betray, Who with patience will hear the foft tale! To diffemble and flatter by nature they're taught, And the paffion will ever prevail. DAMON. And does my dear Delia fufpect my fond heart, But foon as I found, by the pride of her heart, That her bloom and her beauty were govern'd by art, I then took my leave of this prodigal dame, And ftrove all I could to extinguish the flame; But still on my thoughts her fweet converse remains: So love is a burden, and heavy the chains. Then hear, O ye youths, and this maxim purfue; Let beauty ne'er fway you, nor pride e'er fubdue: But place your affections where virtue remains; Then love will be pleasing, and eafy the chains. SONG 828. Written by Mr. LEMOINE. THE fprightly eye, the rofy cheek, See what unnumber'd beauties rove And fire my rapt'rous foul! Ten thousand fweets her looks difclofe, And yields to love's control. Juft heav'ns! why gave ye charms like these, To one whom rigid fate, Curfe on the fordid thirst of gold! To win the world's applaufe; SONG 829. WHILE harmony's echo refounds In the vallies where innocence reigns, Where health and contentment abounds, And the birds charm the hills and the plains; How delightful the fweets that are known! When retirement it's pleasures difplays, Ev'ry bleffing below, we must own, Is center'd in that happy way. Tho' mufic the favage may charm, And difperfe dreary thoughts from the mind; 'Tis retirement alone can disarm, And reftrain the grand foe of mankind; For contentment thofe joys will refine Which peace and retirement doth bring, SONG 831. A GRATEFUL EFFUSION. Written by Mr. NICHOLLS. WHEN I behold, at vernal tide, The halefome herbage fpring, Note how the tree's with leaves fupply'd, My fancy takes the wing; Grateful I meet the April fhower; I trace the lawns, and kifs the flowers Sweet lark, (I cry) fhall you, un taught, |