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,
A man must needs look like a fool;
For me, I would not give a fhilling
For one that does love without rule.

At least you shou'd wait for our offers,

Not fnatch like old maids in defpair:
Had you liv'd to thefe years without proffers,
Your fighs were all spent in the air.

You fhou'd leave us to guefs by your blushing,
And not tell the matter fo plain;
'Tis ours to be writing and pushing,
And yours to affect a difdain.

But you're in a terrible taking,

By all the fond ogling; I fee;

The fruit that can fall without shaking,
Indeed, is too mellow for me.

OF all the torment, all the care,
By which our lives are curft,
Of all the forrows that we bear,
A rival is the worst.

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
Arifing in my breast,

I beg not that you'd pity me,
Would you but flight the reft.
Howe'er fevere your rigours are,
Alone with them l'a cope,
I can endure my own defpair,
But not another's hope.

SONG 966.

THE TOPERS.

MY friend and I,

We drank gallon-pots
Full of fack up to the brim;

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,
Which beauty moves, and love infpires,
Such pangs I feel of tender fear,
No heart fo foft as mine can bear.
Yet I'll defy the worft of harms,

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
Are fled to diftant plains,

To chace the fawns, or in the groves

To wound admiring fwains:

With their bright miftrefs there they ftray,

Who turns her careless eyes
From daily victories; yet each day
Beholds new triumphs in her way,
And conquers as the flies.

But fee! implor'd by moving prayers
To change the lover's pain;
Venus her harness'd doves prepares,
And brings the fair again.
Proud mortals who this maid pursue,

Think you she'll e'er refign?
Ceafe, fools, your wishes to renew,
Till the grows flesh and blood like you,
Or you like her divine.

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.
If that's all (quoth reafon) return as you came,
To find fault with Hebe would forfeit my name.

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;
Now the birds carrol'd fweet on the green,
And their mufic delighted the ear:1
Now the meadows with verdure bedight

Did their charms and their graces difplay;
Now the thepherds in concerts unite,

They fing, and all nature looks gay:
All fave Edward, unhappy young (wain,
So brifk and fo blithfome before;
With him nature's fmiles are in vain,
For Eliza, his love, is no more.
Full oft, where yon flow-gliding brook
Runs fweetly tinkling by,
The shepherd, reclin'd on his crook,
All fad and defpairing wou'd lic.
And oft to yon fad, folemn grove,
Unweeting the fwain wou'd repair,
To weep the fad fate of his love,

And utter the plaint of despair,
There, beneath the green canopy'd glade,
Wou'd he walk, and his forrows bewail;
And fill as he mourn'd the fair maid,
Fond echo wou'd mimic the tale.

Will nothing my anguish remove!

Ah, never thefe eyes will be dry!

Ah, never! ah, never! remurmur'd the grove;
Ah, never! the brook wou'd reply.
When night had refum'd her fad fway,
And Phebe illumin'd the gloom;
To Eliza's green grave wou'd he stray,
And fit and lament on her tomb;
There, hopeless, his fate wou'd bewail,
And breathe out his plaint to the air;
Still filling each paufe in his tale

With a heart-rending figh or a tear.
Then all the night long has he lain,
Unpity'd, unheard, and alone;

Delighting (alas, gentle (wain!)

To drain his fad eyes on her ftone.
But Heav'n had mark'd the fad (wain,
(Had mark'd him, and pity'd his woes)
And foon fent relief to his pain;
For death brought his bofom repofe.
All on her green grave as he lay,

And with anguish opprefs'd, his fad heart
To his fighs could no longer give way ;'
He felt the keen ease-giving dart.
His death fadden'd all the gay train,

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
That ever pip'd on Tay;

He tends the sheep upon the plain,
And chears me all the day.

As on a moffy bank we fat,

Beneath a verdant shade,

The youth fo charm'd me with his chat,
While on his bagpipes play'd.

He call'd me his dear life and care,
And his own Moggy, too;
He vow'd by all that's good and fair,
To me he will prove true.

For Sandy is a bonny swain,

And I'll be Sandy's wife;
Then bid adieu to care and pain,
And fo be bleft for life.

SONG 975.

MATRIMONIAL DEAFNESS.

TWO ears at a time are two many for ufe,
When they're only the inlet of strife;
But few they are found who, tho' wife, would
refufe

To poffefs the fair organs of life:
Yet deafness sometimes of advantage is found;
Misfortunes may turn to a bleffing;
For when nonfenfe diftracts, or when tumults
furround,

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;
And repeats it as loud as he can:

I point to my ears, and lift up my eyes,
Till he hardly can think me the man.

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,

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.
BACCHUS TRIUMPHANT.
Sung at VAUXHALL.

TO Phillis and Chloe, and all the gay throng,

Too long the foft lay has been rais'd;
Too long to their beauty has flow'd the vain fong,
Too long has their beauty been prais'd:
Great Bacchus, repentant, thy pardon I ask,
Forgiveness I humbly implore;
If e'er for a female I quit a full cafk,

May I never enjoy one drop more-great god;
May I never enjoy one drop more.

Ye fops and ye fribbles, your title I own
To fing all the charms of the fair;
Their beauties to praife is your province alone;
Alone make their beauties your care:
-For who in his fenfes that mortal can blame
Who ftrives his own merit to raise?
For women and fops are fo nearly the fame,
In theirs, that he figs his own praise-sweet
Mifs;

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,
The wild heath's yellow broom,
With her wou'd all my wishes fill;
My heart ne'er felt a gloom.
But now, remote from her I love,
The fairest paftures fade;

I feek the folitary grove,

And turn it's winding fhade.

Where gay imagination toys,
To chear my penfive mind;

With pleafing hopes my bofom jɔys,
And paints the maiden kind.

Written by Mr. CUNNINGHAM.

SOON as the fun began to peep,
And gild the morning skies,
Young Chloe from diforder'd fleep
Unveil'd her radiant eyes.

A guardian Sylph, the wanton fprite
That waited on her ftill,
Had teiz'd her all the tedious night
With vifionary ill.

Some shock of fate is furely nigh!

Exclaim'd the tim'rous maid:
What do these horrid dreams imply!
My Cupid can't be dead!

She call'd her Cupid by his name,
In dread of fome mishap;
Wagging his tail, her Cupid came,
And jump'd into her lap.
And now the best of brittle ware
Her fumptuous table grac'è:
The polish'd emblems of the fair,
In beauteous order plac'd!
The kettle boil'd, and all prepar'd
To give the morning treat;
When Dick, the country beau, appear'd;
And bowing, took his feat.

Well-chatting on of that and this,
The maid revers'd her cup;
And, tempted by the forfeit kifs,
The bumkin turn'd it up.

With transport he demands the prize;
Right fairly it was won!
With many a frown the fair denies :
Fond baits to draw him on!

A man must prove himself polite,
In fuch a cafe as this;

So Richard ftrives with all his might
To force the forfeit kifs.

But as he ftrove-Oh, dire to tell!
(And yet with grief I must)
The table turn'd—the china fell,
A heap of painted duft!

O fatal purport of my dream!
The fair afflicted cry'd,
Occafion'd (I confefs my fhame)
By childishness and pride!

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,
On mortals pours his blaze;

The balmy zephyrs kifs the spray,
And dance in endless maze.
Awake to strains of mirth and joy,

Of cares fhake of the load;
'Tis beauty calls, your notes employ
To fing of charming Broad.

Now groves their verdant liv'ry wear,
And flow'rs perfume the air;
Sweet May, the honour of the year,
Appears fupremely fair:

Now nymphs and fwains enamour'd meet,
And bend at Cupid's nod;
But all muft feel the piercing eye

Of fweetly charming Broad.

Fair as the beams of morn the fhines,
And wins the foul to love;
Happy the heart that fate entwines
With her's, it's fweets to prove;