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, The taylor proceeded with lying, intreating, And making fuch fpeeches as fcarce bear repeating: A woman unmarry'd was ufelefs, be faid, 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. SONG 892. A CANTATA. OFT I've implor'd the gods in vain, AIR. That lurks in woods unfeen, 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. RECITATIVE. The nymph indiff'rence bring. That blafts the promis'd joy. The eye fhall then difown; O fairy elf, but grant me this, Thy flow'ry paths attend. 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. 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; For I love him to talk a great while: Juft at the midnight hour The black-ey'd maid appears: To lofe a filly maid? None brought the hapless meffage, Then from my fleep I started, Ah! why has Sufan dy'd? 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: O Sylvia, while you drive your cart, Sylvia, advanc'd above the rabble rout, O should it pleafe the pitying pow'rs to call I'd claim a guardian angel's charge around my 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, How gay the glitt ring beam of morn, The gayeft flow's, fo fair of late, To form my charmer, nature has Wit, beauty, truth, and rofy youth, O what' fays the fwain, muft thy beauty so gay, Then all will my Chloe difdain; Young Damon protefted no other he'd prize, eves, And banish'd his torture and fear: The fair-one grew fofter, and fighing reply'd, 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 That man might learn to be content, The gen'rous heart with pity melts To hear each mournful tale, With kindness trives each care to foothe, Ye powers, O grant me fuch a friend, 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? Do they never carelessly tray, While happily the lies afleep? If Tweed's murmurs fhould lull her to reft, To relieve the foft pains of my breaft STREPHON, when you fee me fly, Out of love as out of hate; 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, Strephon, if you love me, leave me, HAIL, thou fource of thought divine! Let me, from the world fecluded, Let me wander o'er thy plains, Mark his works, and own his pow'r. When the blufhing morn has fpread Teach me then, in tuneful lays, |