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Or the lily's dewy bell,
In her gloffy white excel;
Or a garden vary'd o'er
With a thousand glories more?

By the beauties these difplay,
Morning, evening, night, or day;
By the pleasures these excite,
Endless fources of delight!
Judge by them the joys I find,
Since my Rofalind was kind;
Since the did herself refign
To my vows, for ever mine.

Other beauties I'll adore,

I fhall never love her more,

Cruelty will fo deform her.

1212.

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1209.

Sung in the Provok'd Husband.

OH, I'll have a husband! ay, marry;
For why should I longer tarry
Than other brisk girls have done?
For if I stay, till I grow grey,

They'll call me old maid, and fufty old jade;
So I'll no longer tarry;

But I'll have a husband, ay, marry,
If money can buy me one.

My mother fhe fays I'm too coming;
And ftill in my ears fhe is drumming,

That I fuch vain thoughts fhould shun. My fifters they cry, O fye! O fye!

But yet I can fee, they're as coming as me;
So let me have hufbands in plenty :
I'd rather have twenty times twenty,
Than die an old maid undone.

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eyes

Reveal with what ardour I glow!

Well, what if they do? there's no harm, fure, The cries;

I can but deny you, you know.

Suppose I should ask of thofe lips a sweet kifs, Say, would you the favour bestow?

Lord blefs me said she, what a question is this!
I can but deny you, you know.

Suppofe, not contented, I ftill ask for more ?
For pleafure from pleasure will grow.
Suppofe what you will, fhe reply'd as before,
I can but deny you, you know.

Come then, my dear love, to the woods let's repair?

Cry'd Damon; and offer'd to go.

No, no, (with a blufh) answer'd Phillis, for there

I could not deny you, you know.

SONG 1214.

LOVE AND CONSTANCY.

Sung at RANELAGH. LONG time my heart had rov'd, Inconftant as the wind; Each girl I faw, I fwore I lov'd, Till one my heart confin'd.

The maid was blithe, was young and fair,
From affectation free :
No imperfection did appear,
While the look'd kind on me.

When her my pain I told,

And all my grief confefs'd, The infolence of female pride Her cold difdain exprefs'd; The beauty I efteem'd before, Appear'd deformity;

Each charm I thought a charm no more, She was unkind to me.

Forbear, fond youth, no more

The fex's weakness fcan;

'Twas not inconftancy, or pride,

But trial of the man:

When time had prov'd my flame fincere,

She own'd the fame to me;

Not love alone can win the fair,
But love and conftancy.

SONG 1215.

Sung at VAUXHALL,

HARK! the birds begin their lay,

Flowrets deck the robe of May: See the little lambkins bound, Playful, o'er the clover-ground; While the heifers sportive low Where the yellow cowflips blow. Now the nymphs and fwains advance O'er the lawn in perfect dance; Garlands from the hawthorn bough Grace the happy fhepherd's brow; While the laffes, in array, Wait upon the queen of May. Innocence, content and love, Fill the meadows and the grove; Mirth that never wears a frown, Health with sweetness all her own; Labour puts on pleasure's smile, And pale care forgets his toil. Ah! what pleasures fhepherds know! Monarchs cannot fuch beftow; Love improves each happy hour, Grandeur has not fuch in store. Learn, ambition, learn from hence, Happiness is innocence.

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Once again confult your toilette,

In the glafs your face review; So much weeping foon will spoil it, And no fpring your charms renew. I like you was born a woman, Well I know what vapours mean; The difeafe, alas ! is common;

Single, we have all the spleen. All the morals that they tell us, Never cur'd the forrow yet: Chufe, among the pretty fellows, One of humour, youth and wit. Pr'ythee hear him ev'ry morning, At the leaft an hour or two; Once again at night returning:I believe the dofe will do.

SONG 1217.

Sung in the Confcious Lovers.

DOES the languid foul complain,
Virtuous love fhall chase the pain;
Or if love wou'd truth attend,
Honour fhou'd be virtue's friend.

Glory is not half so fair

As bright virtue's rifing ftar;
Female truth, with fenfe combin'd,
Wins and claims the gen'rous mind.

SONG 1218.

CELIA'S COMPLAINT.

WHAT fadnefs reigns over the plain!
How droop the fweet flowrets around!
How penfive each nymph and each (wain!
How filent each mufical found!
No more the foft lute in the bow'rs,
Beguiles the cool ev'nings away;
Sad fighs measure out the long hours,
Since Damon has wander'd away.
Oh! he was our village's pride,

This change from his abfence is feen 'Twas he that our mufic fupply'd,

When gaily we danc'd on the green:
At fhearing, at wake, and at fair,
How jovial and frolic were we!
But now ev'ry feaft in the year
Is joyless as joyless can be.
Ah! why did he venture from home,
To mix among hoftile alarms?
No juftice oblig'd him to roam,

Or take up those terrible arms:
Let thofe who are cruel and rough,
Be heedlefs of life and of limb;
The country had foldiers enough,
Nor needed one gentle like him.
Where'er the adventurer goes,

On land or the dangerous main, Kind heaven protect him from woes, And give him to Celia again.

Oh! give him to Celia again,

My true love in fafety restore; I'll ceafe on his breaft to complain,

From my arms he fhall wander no more.

SONG 1219.

DELIA; A

PASTORAL.

Sung at VAUXHALL,

THE gentle fwan, with graceful pride,
Her glofly plumage laves;

And failing down the filver tide,
Divides the whifp'ring waves:
The filver tide that wand'ring flows,
Sweet to the bird muft be;

But not fo fweet, blithe Cupid knows,
As Delia is to me.

A parent bird, in plaintive mood,
On yonder fruit-tree fung;
And still the pendant neft the view'd,
That held her feather'd young:
Tho' dear to her maternal heart

The genial brood must be;
They're not fo dear, the thoufandth part,
As Delia is to me.

The rofes that my brow furround,
Were natives of the dale;

Scarce pluck'd, and in a garland bound,
Before their hue grew pale:

My vital blood would thus be froze,
If luckless torn from thee;

For what the root is to the rose,

My Delia is to me.

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Tho' Spain fhou'd Gallia's pride affift,
No honeft heart will fail;

Our thunder fhall their force refift;
The British cross prevail.

Tho' fome our wrongs wou'd fmother,
Yet we'll those wrongs réfent.
Here's a health to every brother,
And to our prefident.

SONG 1221.

STELLA and Flavia ev'ry hour
Do various hearts furprife!

In Stella's foul lies all her pow'r,
And Flavia's in her eyes!

Like Britain's monarch, Stella reigns
O'er cultivated lands!

Like eaftern tyrants, Flavia deigns
To rule o'er barren lands.
More boundless Flavia's conquefts are,
And Stella's more confin'd;

All can difcern a face that's fair,

But few a beauteous mind!

Then boaft, vain Flavia! boaft thy face,
Thy beauty's flender ftore!

Thy charms will every day decrease,
Each day give Stella more.

SONG 1222.

JENNY GREY.
Sung at RANELAGN.

BRING, Phoebus, from Parnaffian bow'rs,
A chaplet of poetic flow'rs

That far out-bloom the May;

Bring veric lo fmooth, and thoughts fo free, And all the mufes heraldry,

To blazon Jenny Grey.

Obferve yon almond's rich perfume,
Preventing spring with early bloom,
In ruddy tints how gay!

Thus, foremost of the blushing fair,
With fuch a blithfome, buxom air,
Blooms lovely Jenny Grey.

The merry, chirping, plumy throng,
The bushes and the twigs among,

That pipe the fylvan lay,

All hush'd at her delightful voice, la filent extafy rejoice,

And ftudy Jenny Grey,

Ye balmy odour-breathing gales,
That lightly fweep the green-rob'd vales,
And in each rofe-buth play;

I know you all, you're errant cheats,
And steal your more than nat'ral fweets
From lovely Jenny Ġrey,

Pomona, and that goddess bright,
The florifts and the maids delight,
In vain their charms difplay;
The luscious nectarine, juicy peach,
In richness nor in fweetnefs reach
The lips of Jenny Grey.

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SOLICITUDE;

1225.

A PASTORAL.

Written by Mr. SHENSTONE.

WHY will you my paffion reprove,
Why term it a folly to grieve,
Ere I tell you the charms of my love!
She's fairer than you can believe.

With her mien fhe enamours the brave,
With her wit the engages the free,
With her modefty pleases the grave;
She's every way pleafing to me.
When Paridel tries in the dance

Some favour with Phillis to find,
Oh! how with one trivial glance
Might the ruin the peace of my mind!

In ringlets he dreffes his hair,

And his crook is beftudded around;
And his pipe-oh! may Phillis beware
Of a magick there is in it's found.

Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So Phillis the trophy defpife!
Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,
So they fhine not in Phillis's eyes.

The language that flows from the heart
Is a franger to Paridel's tongue;
Yet may he beware of his art,
Or fure I must envy the fong.

SONG 1226.

YOU may ceafe to complain,
For your fuit is in vain,
All attempts you can make
But augment her difuain

Τε

She bids you give o'er
While 'tis in your power;
For, except her esteem,

She can grant you no more.

Her heart has been long fince
Affaulted and won,
Her truth is as lafting

And firm as the fun;
You'll find it more eafy

Your paffion to cure, Than for ever those fruitless Endeavours endure

You may give this advice

To the wretched and wife, But a lover like me

Will thofe precepts defpife; I fcorn to give o'er,

Were it ftill in my power; Tho' efteem were deny'd me, Yet her I'll adore.

A heart that's been touch'd Will fome fympathy bear, 'Twill leffen my forrows,

If he takes a fhare;
I'll count it more honour
In dying her flave,
Than did her affections
My fteadiness crave.

You may tell her, I'll be
Her true lover, tho' the
Should mankind defpife

Out of hatred to me; 'Tis mean to give o'er

'Cause we get no reward, She loft not her worth When I lost her regard.

My love on an altar

More noble fhall burn; I ftill will love on

Without hopes of return! I'll tell her fome other

Has kindled the flame, And I'll figh for herself In a counterfeit name.

SONG 1227.

HARK, Daphne, from the hawthorn-bush
The ípotted finches fing;
In artless notes the merry thrush
Salutes the blooming spring:
On verdant bed the vi'let lies,

To woo the western gale;
While tow'ring lilies meet our eyes,
Like love fick virgins pale.
The rill that gushes o'er the fhore,

Winds murm'ring thro' the glade;
So heart-ftruck Thyrfis tells his moan,
To win his clay-cold maid:
The golden fun, in fresh array,
Flames forward on the sphere;
Around the may-pole fhepherds play,
To hail the flow'ry year.

Say, fhall we taste the breezy air,
Or wander thro' the grove;
There talk of Sylvia's wild defpair,

The prey of lawless love?

Ah, no! the cries; o'er Sylvia's fall
Exult not, tho' 'twas juft;
Dash not the finner's name with gall,
Nor triumph o'er her duft.

True virtue fcorns to fling the dart,
Herfelf above all fear;

When juftice ftings the guilty heart,

She drops the gen'rous tear :

Then own, ye nymphs, this god-like truth
Is on your hearts impreft;

On brighteft patterns form your youth,
And be for ever bleft.

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For Ralph of the mill marries Sue of the green.
I love Sue, and Sue loves me,
And while the wind blows,
And while the mill goes,
Who'll be fo happy, fo happy as we ?

Let lords and fine folks, who for wealth take a
bride,

Be married to-day, and to-morrow be cloy'd ;
My body is tout, and my heart is as found,
And my love, like my courage, will never give
ground.

I love Sue, &c.

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