HOW little do the landsmen know Of what we failors feel, When waves do mount, and winds do blow! But we have hearts of feel: No danger can affright us, No enemy fhall flout; We'll make the monfieurs right us, So tofs the cann about. Stick clofe to orders, meffmates, We'll bring them in by scores; While here at Deal we're lying, With our noble commodore, Here's a health to George our king, boys, Yet now I think on't, let it lies Why fhould two hearts in one breaft lie, But love is fuch a mystery, I cannot find it out: For when I think I'm beft refolv'd, I then am in moft doubt. Then farewel care, and farewel woe, For I'll believe I have her heart, SONG 120. THE WAY TO KEEP HIM. YE fair, poffefs'd of ev'ry charm An honeft verfe, that flows fincere Great is your pow'r; but, greater yet, If, as ye all can make a net, Ye all could make a cage: But to what end a prifoner make, Attend the counfel often told, (Too often told in vain) Learn that beft art, the art to hold, SONG 121. WHAT means that tender figh, my dear? Why filent drops that chrystal tear? Thefe flow'rs will fade by morning dawn, SONG 123. LET not love on me bestow Soft diftrefs and tender woe; I know none but fubftantial bliffes,. SONG 124. THE topfails fhiver in the wind, The hip the cafts to fea; But yet, my foul, my heart, my mind, Should landmen flatter when we're fail'd, If love breath'd conftant gales: Sirens in ev'ry port we meet, More fell than rocks and waves; But fuch as grace the British fleet, Are lovers, and not faves: No foes our courage shall fubdue, These are our cares; but if you're kind, SONG 125. Sung in the Man of Mode. AS Amoret and Phillis fat One ev'ning on the plain, Ah! Phillis, if you would not love Into a lift'ning virgin's heart, In vain, faid the, in vain I ftrive, SONG 126. Written by Mr. BOOTH. CAN, then, a look create a thought She fees the conqueft of her eyes, Nor heals the wound she gave; Then, fwain, be bold, and ftill adore her, SONG 127. Sung in Orpheus and Eurydice. WHEN Orpheus went down to the regions below, Which men are forbidden to fee, He tun'd up his lyre, as old hiftories fhew, All hell ftood amaz'd, that a perfon fo wife But pity fucceding foon vanquish'd his heart, SONG 128. WHY fhould we of humble ftatė, Vainly blame the pow'rs above; Or accufe the will of fate, Which allows us all to love? Love (impartial, gentle boy) Deals his gifts as free as air; Love is all the fhepherd's joy, Love is all the damfel's care. Hope, that charmer of the foul, Hope in love fhould ever live; Could our years for ever roll, Love would bleffings ever give: Youth, alas! too fwiftly flies, Nor can Cupid bid him stay ; Beauty like a fhadow dies, Love has wings and will away. SONG 129. Sung in the Masque of Alfred. The new-mown hay and breathing flow'r And take it with a chearful heart. If thofe who drain the fhepherd's bowl, No high and sparkling wine can boaft; With wholefome cups they chear the foul, And crown them with the village toaft. If those who join in thepherd's sport, Dancing on the daify'd ground, Have not the splendour of a court, Yet love adorns the merry round, O'er mountains and vallies they skim it away In hunting for that's their delight. SONG 131. Written by the Earl of CHESTERFIELD, For whilft he teaches us to die, To die's a leffon we fhall know Too foon, without a master ; How we may live the fafter. But if thus blefs'd I may not live, To me, at leaft, your Sherlock give, In the Nightingale" 1738. SONG 132. BELIEVE my fighs, my tears, my deara I ne'er lov'd one like you. Then take and try me, and you'll find Of all the girls I ever faw, I ne'er lov'd one like you. SONG 133. WHAT ftill does dear Lucy's difdain Cannot time give relief to your pain, The arrows of Cupid, I know, At first are all pointed with fteel: His wings they are fhatter'd by time, Such, fuch is life's flowery prime, And beauty's most infolent truft. Taste the joys a new passion can give, With the nymph that's complying and kind; Or learning more fa ely to live, Be bleft, and give love to the wind. SONG 134. Written by Mr. CONGREVE. PIOUS Selinda goes to pray'rs, If I but afk the favour: And yet the tender fool's in tears, When the believes I'll leave her. Wou'd I were free from this reftraint, Or elfe had hopes to win her; Wou'd the could make of me a faint, Or I of her a finner. SONG 135. A BACCHANALIAN SONG. WE'LL drink, and we'll never have done, boys, Put the glafs then around with the fun, boys; For he's drunk ev'ry night, And dream o'er their tea-pots and coffee; SONG 136. Sung at VAUXHALL. MORE bright the fun began to dawn, I blush'd the present to receive, And thank'd him o'er and o'er ; When foft he figh'd, Bright fair, forgive, I must have fomething more: One kind fweet kifs will pay me beft, So earnestly he fought it, I let him take it, I proteft, And who, aye who'd have thought it! A fwain that woo'd with fo much art, 'Twas love infpir'd the pleasing change, From his my bofom caught it; 'Twas frange indeed, 'twas paffing ftrangez And who, aye who'd have thought it! Hark! Hymen calls, the fhepherd cry'd a We inftant went, with love our guide, As mutual warmth has taught it, SONG 137. A HUNTING SONG. O'ER the lawns, up the hills, as with ardour we bound, Led on by the loud-founding horn; Kind breezes ftill greet us, with chearfulness crown'd, And joyful we meet the sweet morn. Rofy health blooms about us with natural grace, Whilft echo, re-echo'd, enlivens the chace. Should all thegay larks, as they foar to the sky, Their notes in a concert unite; The mufic of hounds, when fet off in full cry, Would give a more tuneful delight. Rofy health, &c. And made believe my heart was cold; What cou'd a virgin do? The artless mind is foon imprefs'd With thoughts before unknown; When Cupid wounds the female breast, He's fure to keep his throne. In vain our fortitude we try, When love's refolv'd to fue; Tis hard thro' pity to comply: What can a virgin do? SONG 140. Sung in the Chaplet. VAIN is ev'ry fond endeavour For examples move us never, We muft feel, to know the fmart, When the shepherd fwears he's dying, And our beauties fets to view; Vanity, her aid supplying, Bids us think 'tis all our due, Softer than the vernal breezes Is the mild, deceitful ftrain; Does our tend'reft hopes deceive: Man was form'd to be a rover, Foolish woman to believe, Foolish woman, &c. New beauties may my eyes employ, But you engage my heart. So restless exiles, doom'd to roam, Meet pity ev'ry where; Yet languish for their native home, Tho' death attends them there. SONG 143. SINCE Emma caught my roving eye, Since Emma fix'd my wav'ring heart, I long to fmile, I fcorn to figh, But nature wriumphs over art. And archly wonders why I pine: But fhould the lovely girl relent; Oh!-when I wish, and figh, and vow, Should the with blushes fmile confent, And heart for heart, well pleas'd, beftow; Should fuch the blissful moments prove, Who would not give his heart to love? SONG 144. Sung in Comus. THE wanton god, who pierces hearts, They have charms, whilft mine can pleafe; I love them much, but more my cafe: No jealous fears my love moleft, Why fhould they e'er give me pain, Is to love me while he can. SONG 145. A Dawn of hope my foul revives, Make him, ye gods, your care. Difpel thefe gloomy fhades of night, My tender grief remove; Oh! fend fome chearing ray of light And guide me to my love. Thus, in the fecret, fiien lly fhade, While courtly echo lent her aid, |