Since yours is the province of fpeaking, How can you expect it from me? Our wishes fhou'd be in our keeping, Till you tell us what they shou'd be. Then quickly why don't you difcover? Did your heart fee! fuch tortures as mine, I need not tell over and over What I in my bofom confine. SONG 964. COLIN'S REPLY. GOOD Madam, when ladies are willing, At least you shou'd wait for our offers, Not fnatch like old maids in defpair: You fhou'd leave us to guefs by your blushing, But you're in a terrible taking, By all the fond ogling; I fee; The fruit that can fall without shaking, OF all the torment, all the care, By partners in another kind Actions eafier grow, in love alone we hate to find Companions in our woe. Silvia, for all the griefs you fee I beg not that you'd pity me, SONG 966. THE TOPERS. MY friend and I, We drank gallon-pots I drank to my friend, And he drank his pot, So we put about the whim: Three bottles and a quart We Swallow'd down our threat, (But hang fuch puny fips as thefe;) We laid us all along, With our mouths unto the bung, And tipp'd whole hogsheads off with ease. I heard of a fop That drank whole tankards, Stil'd himself the prince of fots: Bu fay now, hang Such filly drunkards, Melt their flaggons, break their pots. My friend and I did join For a cellar full of wine, And we drank the vintner out of door; We drank it all up In a morning, at a fup, And greedily rov'd about for more. My friend to me Did make this motion, Let us to the vintage skip: Then we embark'd Upon the ocean, Where we found a Spanish fhip Deed laden with wine, Which was fuperfine," The failors fwore five hundred tun; We drank it all at fea, E'er we came unto the key, And the merchant fwore he was quite undone, My friend, not having Quench'd his thirst, Said, Let's to the vineyards hafte; Straight then we fail'd To the Canaries, Which afforded just a tafte; From thence unto the Rhine, Where we drunk up all the wine, Till Bacchus cry'd, Hold, ye fots, or you die; And fwore he never found, In his univerfal round, Such thirsty fouls as my friend and I. Out fie! cries one, What a beast he makes him, He can neither stand nor go! Out you beat, you, You're much mistaken, When e'er knew you a beaft drink so? 'Tis when we drink the leaft, That we drink most like a beast; But when we caroute it fix in hand; 'Tis then, and only then, That we drink the moft like men, When we drink till we can neither go nor stand. Amidft a thousand kind defires, Such are your charms, 'Tis worth a life to die within your arms. SONG 968. OFT on the troubled ocean's face Loud ftormy winds arife; The murmuring furges fwell apace, And clouds obfcure the fkies: But when the tempeft's rage is o'er, Soft breezes fmooth the main; The billows ceafe to lafh the shore, And all is calm again. Not fo in fond and amorous fouls If tyrant love once reigns, There one eternal tempeft rolls And yields unceasing pains. SONG 969. THE graces and the wandering loves To chace the fawns, or in the groves To wound admiring fwains: With their bright miftrefs there they ftray, Who turns her careless eyes But fee! implor'd by moving prayers Think you she'll e'er refign? I repair'd to my reafon, intreated her aid, Who paus'd on my cafe, and each circumstance weigh'd, Then gravely pronounc'd, in return to my pray'r, That Hebe was fairest of all that were fair. That's a truth (reply'd 1) I've no need to be taught, I came for your counsel to find out a fault. What hopes then, alas! of relief from my pain, While like lightning fhe darts through each throbbing vein? My fenfes furpriz'd, in her favour took arms, And reafon confirms me a flave to her charms. SONG 973. EDWARD; AN ELEGIAC BALLAD. Written by Mr. HEYWOOD. NOW lilies and roles were seen, And fragrance perfumed the air; Did their charms and their graces difplay; They fing, and all nature looks gay: And utter the plaint of despair, Will nothing my anguish remove! Ah, never thefe eyes will be dry! Ah, never! ah, never! remurmur'd the grove; With a heart-rending figh or a tear. Delighting (alas, gentle (wain!) To drain his fad eyes on her ftone. And with anguish opprefs'd, his fad heart So blithe and fo joyous erewhile; No piping was heard on the plain, No face was bedeck'd with a smile. All pleasure was banish'd their looks, And their drefs was of mournfulleft hue;. While the shepherds entwined their crooks With garlands of rofem'ry and yew. And ftill as the day of his doom Comes round with the flow-rolling year, The ruftics repair to his tomb, And embalm his remains with a tear. Written by Mr. HAWKINS. MY Sandy is the sweetest (wain He tends the sheep upon the plain, As on a moffy bank we fat, Beneath a verdant shade, The youth fo charm'd me with his chat, He call'd me his dear life and care, For Sandy is a bonny swain, And I'll be Sandy's wife; SONG 975. MATRIMONIAL DEAFNESS. TWO ears at a time are two many for ufe, To poffefs the fair organs of life: They then lofe the pow'r of diftreffing. Hence I wifely am taught to be deaf of one ear, While the other for ufe I employ; One gate I fhut up against trouble and care, And the other keep open for joy: When my confort begins her loud windpipe to clear, With a peal would the world rend afunder, Serenely I fit, and I cock my deaf ear, Unmov'd 'midft the roar of the thunder. T'other day comes a dun, with, Good Sir! you well know What fay you? speak louder a little: You know, Sir, you borrow'd three twelvemonths ago Alas, friend! I can't hear a tittle: You owe me ten pounds! then louder he cries; I point to my ears, and lift up my eyes, Their beauty attracting I freely confels; Their fex, I muft own, has it's charms; I own for a moment they're able to blefs, And melt us away in their arms: Yet lafting the pain is, and tranfient the joy; The raptures are inftantly paft; But wine, happy juice! is fure never to cloy, It's pleafures till doomsday fhall laft-brave fouls; It's pleasures till doomsday fhall last. Then adieu to their charms, to their beauties adieu, All thoughts of the fex I refign; I fight in thy cause, to thy int'reft am true, And yield me eternally thine: And if ever, great maiter, thy colours I fly, If e'er like a rover I pine, 1, as grave as a don, cry, My hearing's quite May (greateft of curfes!) my hogshead run dry, loft! And my money, (fays he) too, I fear: Plague on him, 'tis folly to talk to a post! So he leaves me, as mad as a hare. Thus my life, night and day, in foft indolence flows; Scolding, dunning, nor brawling I fear. Ye marry'd men all, as ye with for repose, Be fure to be deaf of one car. SONG 976. TO Phillis and Chloe, and all the gay throng, Too long the foft lay has been rais'd; May I never enjoy one drop more-great god; Ye fops and ye fribbles, your title I own In theirs, that he fings his own praife. Tho' wit, fparkling wit, fome rare females poffefs, Tho' kindness may add to their store; Good-nature and smiles have a bumper no less, And fparkles an bundred times more: With virtue unfully'd adorn'd tho' fhe be, Tho' modelly blooms in each feature, A bottle is not more immodeft than she, It's virtue ten thousand times greater-dear boys; It's virtue ten thousand times greater. Nor more be replenish'd with wine-biet With treffes next of flaxen hue, Young Jenny did my foul fubdue, That lives in yonder valley; Then Cupid threw another fnare, And caught me in the curling hair Of little tempting Sally. Adorn'd with charms, tho' blithe and young, My roving heart from bondage (prung, This heart of yielding metal; And now it wanders here and there, By turns the prize of brown and fair, But never more will fettle. SONG 979. Written by Mr. J. R. HOW blithe, within my native wild, I trod each paffing day! When Sylviana fondly fmil'd, And lov'd her thepherd's lay. The furze, the brake, the rugged hill, I feek the folitary grove, And turn it's winding fhade. Where gay imagination toys, With pleafing hopes my bofom jɔys, Written by Mr. CUNNINGHAM. SOON as the fun began to peep, A guardian Sylph, the wanton fprite Some shock of fate is furely nigh! Exclaim'd the tim'rous maid: She call'd her Cupid by his name, Well-chatting on of that and this, With transport he demands the prize; A man must prove himself polite, So Richard ftrives with all his might But as he ftrove-Oh, dire to tell! O fatal purport of my dream! For in a kifs, or two, or three, No mischief could be found! Then had I been more frank and free, My china had been found. SONG 982. Written by Mr. MAVOR. THE bright, refplendent orb of day, The balmy zephyrs kifs the spray, Of cares fhake of the load; Now groves their verdant liv'ry wear, Now nymphs and fwains enamour'd meet, Of fweetly charming Broad. Fair as the beams of morn the fhines, |