Or the lily's dewy bell, By the beauties these difplay, Other beauties I'll adore, I fhall never love her more, Cruelty will fo deform her. 1212. SONG 1209. Sung in the Provok'd Husband. OH, I'll have a husband! ay, marry; They'll call me old maid, and fufty old jade; But I'll have a husband, ay, marry, My mother fhe fays I'm too coming; 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; SONG 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! Suppofe, not contented, I ftill ask for more ? 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, 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, 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. 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, Glory is not half so fair As bright virtue's rifing ftar; SONG 1218. CELIA'S COMPLAINT. WHAT fadnefs reigns over the plain! This change from his abfence is feen 'Twas he that our mufic fupply'd, When gaily we danc'd on the green: Or take up those terrible arms: 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, And failing down the filver tide, But not fo fweet, blithe Cupid knows, A parent bird, in plaintive mood, The genial brood must be; The rofes that my brow furround, Scarce pluck'd, and in a garland bound, My vital blood would thus be froze, For what the root is to the rose, My Delia is to me. Tho' Spain fhou'd Gallia's pride affift, Our thunder fhall their force refift; Tho' fome our wrongs wou'd fmother, SONG 1221. STELLA and Flavia ev'ry hour In Stella's foul lies all her pow'r, Like Britain's monarch, Stella reigns Like eaftern tyrants, Flavia deigns All can difcern a face that's fair, But few a beauteous mind! Then boaft, vain Flavia! boaft thy face, Thy charms will every day decrease, SONG 1222. JENNY GREY. BRING, Phoebus, from Parnaffian bow'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, Thus, foremost of the blushing fair, The merry, chirping, plumy throng, 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, I know you all, you're errant cheats, Pomona, and that goddess bright, SOLICITUDE; 1225. A PASTORAL. Written by Mr. SHENSTONE. WHY will you my paffion reprove, With her mien fhe enamours the brave, Some favour with Phillis to find, In ringlets he dreffes his hair, And his crook is beftudded around; Let his crook be with hyacinths bound, The language that flows from the heart SONG 1226. YOU may ceafe to complain, Τε She bids you give o'er She can grant you no more. Her heart has been long fince And firm as the fun; 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; You may tell her, I'll be 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 To woo the western gale; Winds murm'ring thro' the glade; Say, fhall we taste the breezy air, The prey of lawless love? Ah, no! the cries; o'er Sylvia's fall True virtue fcorns to fling the dart, When juftice ftings the guilty heart, She drops the gen'rous tear : Then own, ye nymphs, this god-like truth On brighteft patterns form your youth, For Ralph of the mill marries Sue of the green. Let lords and fine folks, who for wealth take a Be married to-day, and to-morrow be cloy'd ; I love Sue, &c. |