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And when this globe fhall melt away,

The temples fink, the columns fall, Then fhall, diftinguish'd as the day,

The beams of glory crown them all: And imperial, in the kies,

The Antigallicans fhali rife.

SONG 891.

A Taylor there was, and he liv'd in a garret, Who ne'er in his days tafted champaign or

claret;

With high foups, or ragouts, he never was fed, But cabbage, believe me, was his daily bread. Derry down, &c.

His work he purfa'd without any repining, When bleft with a pint of three- threads for his lining;

Till Cupid, whofe arrows moft cruelly treat us, With a fempftrefs's bodkin deftroy'd his quietus. Derry down, &c.

No longer a birth-night affords any pleasure, His patterns lie fcatter'd, in tatters his meafure: His bill he contrives not with items to fwell; Silk, twift, tape, and buckram, he wishes in hell. Derry down, &c.

Cupid pitying his cafe, at length flew to his aid, And help'd him to fine-draw the hole he had made;

He bade him be bold, and not ftand like a mute, And never give out, till he'd finifh'd his fuit. Derry down, &c.

He vifits the fempftrefs, with aukward addrefs, Protefts on her kindnefs hung his happiness: But the fcornfully ineer'd at his fpeeches and wheedle;

For fhe, lack-a-day! was as fharp as a needle. Derry down, &c.

He told her on hon'rable terms he was come, And begg'd he might foon be inform'd of his

doon;

Un'efs he'd confent to be fhortly his wife, The fates hears wou'd foon fnip off his remnant of life.

Derry down, &c.

D'ye think, cry'd the fempftrefs, I'll take for a spouse,

One whom no one efteems at three kips of a loufe;

Advance in your favour whatever you can,
A taylor is but the ninth part of a man.
Derry down, &c.

The taylor proceeded with lying, intreating, And making fuch fpeeches as fcarce bear repeating:

A woman unmarry'd was ufelefs, be faid,
Was juft like a needle without any thread.
Derry down, &c.

When the priest fhou'd have tack'd them toge

ther, he cry'd,

For her palate, when dainty, he'd nicely provide; Tho' to turkies and capons he cou'd not afpire, She might always be fure of a goufe at the fire. Derry down, &c.

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SONG 892.

A CANTATA.
Sung at RANELAGH.
RECITATIVE.

OFT I've implor'd the gods in vain,
And pray'd till I've been weary,
For once I'll try my wish to gain
Of Oberon the fairy.

AIR.
Sweet airy being, wanton fprite,

That lurks in woods unfeen,
Or oft, by Cynthia's filver light,

Trips gaily o'er the green; If e'er thy pity ng heart was mov'd As ancient ftories tell, And for th' Athenian maid that lov'd Thou fought' wond'rous fpell, O deign once more t exert thy pow'r, Haply fome herb or tree, Sov'reign as juice of Western flow'r, Conceals a balm for me.

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RECITATIVE.
Ah! hafte, and fhed the facred balm,
My fhatter'd nerves new ftring;
And for my guet ferenely calm

The nymph indiff'rence bring.
At her approach fee fear, pale fear,
And expectation fly!
And difappointment in the rear,

That blafts the promis'd joy.
The tear that pity taught to flow,

The eye fhall then difown;
The heart that griev'd for other's woe,
Shall then fcarce feel it's own;
And wounds that now each moment bleed,
Each moment then shall clofe;
And tranquil days fhal then fucceed
To nights of calm repofe.
AIR.

O fairy elf, but grant me this,
This one kind comfort fend;
And fo may never-fading blifs,

Thy flow'ry paths attend.
So may the glow-worm's glittering light
Thy tiny footsteps lead
To fome new region of delight
Unknown to mortal tread.

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WITHIN a cool and pleasant fhade, By myrtles and by poplars made, I fit where rofes round me teine, And laughing Cupid brings me wine; His loofely-flowing garments ty'd With reeds pluck'd from the river-fide. The moments fwiftly fly, I feel, Quick-whirling like a chariot-wheel; And when a few fleet years are pat, Life gone, we turn to duft at last. Say, why should we anoint the dead, Or why sweet flow'rs around them fpread; Why pour libations on their tomb! 'Tis liquor wafted; rather come, And pour on me the ointment; bring The rofe, and all the flow'rs that spring Around us wild; and bring to me A lafs that's pretty, kind, and free; For I'm refolv'd, before I go To Plutus, and the realms below, To caft my ev'ry care away, Laugh and be happy while I may.

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He brought me a nofegay to-day,

And vow'd 'twas more pleafure than toil; I took it I fofely can fay,

And I let him not afk a great while: He begg'd me to grant him a kifs

So earnest, he made me to file; Have done! I cry'd; fie, 'tis amifs! But I wish'd it to laft a great while. He tells me I ought to be kind,

That time all my beauties will spoil;
I crofs him, tho' quite of his mind,

For I love him to talk a great while:
I think fuch fweet things he has faid,
My coynels at laft he will spoil;
And when he once asks me to wed,
Oh! I'll not live a maid a great while.

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Juft at the midnight hour
A gentle voice he hears,
And at his cabin-door

The black-ey'd maid appears:
All pale the look'd, tho' (miling,
And dress'd in fpotlefs white,
Like fome bright cloud a failing
When Cynthia fmiles at night.
Why mourns my faithful lover?
The damfel vifion faid;
Who hath the fea crofs'd over
To tell thee I was dead?
What tongue the fatal fory
Unto thine ear convey'd?
And why art thou fo forry

To lofe a filly maid?

None brought the hapless meffage,
The weeping lover faid;
None came the tedious paffage
To tell me thou wert dead:
Bet fancy, ever teeming,
The fatal story told;
At midnight I was dreaming
I faw thee dead and cold.

Then from my fleep I started,
And thus in anguish cry'd,
Why were we ever parted?

Ah! why has Sufan dy'd?
Since then my wretched bofom
No peace or comfort knew;
And now, like a full bloffom,
I'll drop and die with you.

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An old maid I once was determin'd to die, But that was before I'd this fwain in my eye; And as foon as he afks me his pain to relieve, With joy I fhall wed him, I really believe.

SONG 899.

THE DUST-CART; A CANTATA.

RECITATIVE.

AS tink'ring Tom the treets his trade did

cry,

He faw his lovely Sylvia paffing by;

In duft-cart high advanc'd, the nymph was plac'd,

With the rich cinders round her lovely waist:
Tom with uplifted hands th' occafion bleft;
And thus, in foothing ftrains, the maid addreft.
AIR.

O Sylvia, while you drive your cart,
To pick up duft, you fteal our hearts,
You take our duft, and fteal our hearts
That mine is gone, alas! is true,
And dwells among the du with you,
And dwells among the duft with you:
Ah! lovely Sylvia, ease my pain;
Give me my heart you ftole again.
Give me my heart, out of your cart;
Give me my heart you ftole again.
RECITATIVE.

Sylvia, advanc'd above the rabble rout,
Exulting roll'd her fparkling eyes about;
She heav'd her fwelling breaft, as black as floe,
And look'd difdain on little folks below:
To Tom the nodded, as the cart drew on,
And then, refolv'd to fpeak, fhe cry'd, Stop,
John.

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O should it pleafe the pitying pow'rs to call
me to the sky,

I'd claim a guardian angel's charge around my
love to fly;

To guard him from all dangers how happy should I be!

For I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

I'll make a ftrawy garland, I'll make it wond'rous fine,

With rofes, lilies, daifies, I'll mix the eglantine; And I'il prefent it to my love when he returns from fea,

For I love my love, becaufe I know my love loves me.

Oh, if I were a little bird to build upon his breaft,

Or if I were a nightingale to fing my love to ref!

To gaze upon his lovely eyes

fould be;

all my reward

For I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

Oh, if I were an eagle, to foar into the sky! I'd gaze around with piercing eyes where I my love might ipy;

But ah! unhappy maiden, that love you ne'er fhall fee,

Yet I love my love, because I know my love

loves me.

SONG 901.

ASSIST me ev'ry tuneful bard,
Ob, lend me all your skill,
In choiceft lays that I may praife,
Dear Nanny of the hill:
Sweet Nanny, dear Nanny,
Sweet Nanny of the hill.

How gay the glitt ring beam of morn,
That gilds the crystal rill!
But far more bright than morning light
Shines Nanny of the hill:
Dear Nanny, fhines Nanny,
Dear Nanny of the hill.

The gayeft flow's, fo fair of late,
The ev'ning damps will kill;
But ev'ry day, more fresh and gay,
Blooms Nanny of the hill:
Sweet Nanny, blooms Nanny,
Sweet Nanny of the hill.
Old time arrefts his rapid flight,
And keeps his motion fill,
Refolv'd to fpare a face fo fair
As Nanny's of the hill:
Dear Nanny's, fweet Nanny's,
Dear Nanny's of the hill.

To form my charmer, nature has
Exerted all her skill,

Wit, beauty, truth, and rofy youth,
Deck Nanny of the hill:
Deck Nanny, fweet Nanny,
Dear Nanny of the hill.

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O what' fays the fwain, muft thy beauty so gay,
Perplex us at once and invite!
Embrace ev'ry rapture, left time make a prey
Of that which was meant for delight:
When age has crept round, and thy charms
wrinkled o'er,

Then all will my Chloe difdain;
But ftil all her anfwer was, Teize me no more,
I will die a maid, my dear fwain.

Young Damon protefted no other he'd prize,
His flame was fo ftrong and fincere;
Then watch'd the emotions that play'd in her

eves,

And banish'd his torture and fear:
My joys fhall be fecret, enraptur'd he cry'd,
Ah! Chloe, be gentle and good:

The fair-one grew fofter, and fighing reply'd,
I'd fain die a maid-if I cou'd.

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HAIL, friendship! hail, thou heav'nly pow'r! To thee I tune my lay;

To thee, who giv'ft each tranquil hour,

When hope is flown away.

Sure from the gods thou firft was sent
To mortals here below,

That man might learn to be content,
Nor dread the shaft of woe.

The gen'rous heart with pity melts

To hear each mournful tale,

With kindness trives each care to foothe,
And friendship's balm prevail.

Ye powers, O grant me fuch a friend,
To fmooth the paths of life;
Soft to the grave will I defcend,
Without or care or ftrife.

SONG 906.

WHAT beauty does Flora difclofe!

How fweet are her files upon Tweed! But Mary's, ftill fweeter than thofe, Both nature and fancy exceed. No daify, nor fweet blushing rofe,

Nor all the gay flowers of the field, Nor Tweed gliding gently thro' thefe, Such beauty and pleafare can yield.

The warblers are heard in each grove,

The linnet, the lark, and the thrush; The blackbird and fweet cocing dove

With mufic enchant ev'ry bush. Come let us go forth to the mead,

Let us fee how the primrefes fpring; We'll lodge in fome village on Tweed, And love while the feather'd folks fing.

How does my love pafs the long day?
Does Mary not tend a few fheep?

Do they never carelessly tray,

While happily the lies afleep?

If Tweed's murmurs fhould lull her to reft,
Kind nature indulging my blifs,

To relieve the foft pains of my breaft
I'd Real an ambrofial kifs.

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STREPHON, when you fee me fly,
Let not this your fear create,
Maids may be as often fay

Out of love as out of hate;
When from you I fly away,
It is because I dare not stay.
Did I out of hatred run,

Lefs you'd be my pain and care; But the youth I love, to fhun,

Who can fuch a trial bear? Who that fuch a fwain did fee, Who could love and fly like me? Cruel duty bids me go,

Gentle love commands my stay; Duty's ftill to love a foe,

Shall I this or that obey? Duty frowns, and Cupid fmiles; That defends, and this beguiles.

Ever by thefe chrystal streams

I could fit and hear thee figh,
Ravish'd with thefe pleading dreams,
O'tis worfe than death to fly:
But the danger is fo great,
Fear gives wings inftead of hate.

Strephon, if you love me, leave me,
If you stay I am undone;
Oh! with eafe you may deceive me,
Pr'ythee charraing fwain be gone.
Heav'n decrees that we fhould part;
That has my vows, but you my heart.

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HAIL, thou fource of thought divine!
Aweful folitude be mine:

Let me, from the world fecluded,
By no glitt'ring joys deluded,
Earthly pleafures all defpife,
Hoping for eternal joys.

Let me wander o'er thy plains,
Where perpetual filence reigns;
Whilft I, at the clofe of even,
View the blue befpangl'd heaven;
Let me then my God adore,

Mark his works, and own his pow'r.

When the blufhing morn has fpread
Dewy fragrance o'er the mead;
When the newly-rifen fun
Has his daily task begun;

Teach me then, in tuneful lays,
To chant my great Creator's praise,

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