Now bind with green ofiers the fod, I afk not the creft-blazon'd ftone; Convinc'd, to be known to my God, Is honour that's equali'd by none.

SONG 274.

DRINK to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kifs but in the cup,

And I'll look not for wine:
The thirst that from my foul doth rife,
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar fip,
I wou'd not change for thine.

I fent thee late a rofy wreathe,
Not fo much hon'ring thee;
As giving it a hope that there
It would not wither'd be:

But thou thereon didit only breathe,
And fent it back to me;

Since when it grows and fmells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.

SONG 275.

ΤΗΣ BIRTH OF CONTENT.

Written by Mr. NICHOLLS.

ERE Time waxed old, to divert the young hours,

Jove fled from his fpouse, and empyreal bow'rs,

To an ifle by all heav'n admir'd: O'er the daify-deck'd plains as the deity trod, The rays of his brow fo announced the god, Ev'ry creature with wonder retir'd.

Undiftinguish'd from mortals he wish'd to abide; To that end laid his rays and his fulmin afide, Affuming the guife of a fwain:

To the cot of Paxella like lightning he flew, There begg'd of the maid a retreat from the dew, And pleaded the length of the plain.

She welcom'd him in, and foon cover'd the board With the best of ripe viands Industry had ftor'd, Then, with modesty, bade him partake: From the spring of Hygeia fresh water was brought,

As foft as her lips, and as pure as her thought, Which, delighted, he drank for her fake.

The treat (tho' 'twas homely) was feafon'd

with mirth,

Such as rarely obtrudes at the cupboards of worth;

Blue-ey'd Meekness was there, clad in fleece: 'Mongft the guests rofy Temperance fat with delight,

Whilst true Friendship, a flame which for ever burns bright,

Sweetly warbled the carrol of peace.

So much kindness with rapture the deity fillsSay what pow'r shall refift when a deity willsHe clafp'd the dear maid to his breast;

(The while he bid Envy her adders decline ;) He gave, for her comfort, an offspring divine, And the fairy Simplicity dreft.

Hence, (he cry'd) quickly hence let the sweetone be fent

'Mongft the children of earth, and be called Content;

Who caress her fhall forrow no more: Without her in vain shall be phyfical aid; The bloom on the face of the beauty fhall fade, And the wealthy be wretched and poor. The princes of earth, where fhe deigns to abide, Shall prefer beyond or ambition or pride; The wifeft fhall court her to stay:

At her smiles fwoln-ey'd Sorrow fhall certainly ceafe,

Whilft dimpled-cheek Pleasure with pleasures increafe,

And the needy be jolly and gay.

THE

SONG 276.

STRAWBERRY-VALE.

Written by Mr. NICHOLLS. T'OTHER day, in the ftrawberry-vale, When only my Phillis was there,

I begg'd fhe'd attend to my tale,
I long'd to unbofom my care.
With smiles, fweet as Flora's in May,
She bid me my pleasure impart.
I faid, (in a faultering way)

Your eyes have ta'en captive my heart. The dance and the tabor I fhun,

No reft on my pillow I find ; Believe me, wherever I run,

Your image ftill dwells in my mind. O! footh the keen anguish I bear,

Soft pity I read in thine eye; Ah! quickly, dear charmer, declare, If the shepherd who loves you must die? O! this was a moment of blifs;

I vow'd to be ever fincere: Her hand the prefented to kifs,

And brighten'd her blush with a tear. And now, if my fheep are fecure,

I meet her at eve in the dale, Where the wishes that flame may endure, She approv'd in the strawberry-vale.

'Tis a hint that I like not, a trumpery tale, So I drown all the thoughts on't in flaggons of ale.

They may call me fot, blockhead, or e'en what they will;

But if wealth, nor if titles, nor wifdom or fkill, Can their owners preferve from a church-yard or priest,

Why I'll live as I like it, all method's a jest.

On the leffon of Nature it is that I think, For the taught me to love, and the taught me to drink;

To my pleasures full power the taught me to give,

And I'll stick to her maxims as long as I live.

I've money good ftore on't, and fpent it I muft,
Be roaring and jolly, but honeft and juft,
That cold in my coffin, my landlord may fay,
He's gone, and he's welcome, there's nothing
to pay.

SONG 278.

VENUS, beauteous queen of love,

In whom the charms and graces blend;

Liften from th’Idalian grove;

O liften, and my fuit befriend!

For, lo! the maid upon whofe cheek

Thou deign'ft thy matchlefs charms to show'r, The vermeil bloom, and dimple fleek,

Now defies thy am'rous pow'r.

Then bid the god of foft defires

Aim at her cruel breast a dart; Bid him light there his tender fires, Such fires as play round Strephon's heart. Yes, let the nymph devoted burn,

Let her confefs thy boundless reign, That dares thy dove-like pow'r to ipurn, Thy pleafing yoke and flow'ry chain.

SONG 279.

A MODERN COUSIN'S SONG.

Written by the EDITOR.

LET others boaft an ancient name,

From which they would derive their fame;
Regardless of intrinfic worth,
So they can claim a noble birth;

But Modern Coufins feek renown
From nought but merit of their own.

In lowly posture each receives
The precepts which our order gives;
That fuch humility may fhew,
We mean to practise-when we know.
For Modern Coufins, &c.

With facred Truth our heads are crown'd,
While we the mystic Ring furround;
And, by our feeming magic art,
We banish falfhood from the heart.

For Modern Coufins, &c.

By Friendship's emblem at the heart,
We do in lively terms impart,
How ftrict the union ought to be
Of our renown'd Society;

Since Modern Cousins, &c.
Within the unpolluted breaft
Our focial myfteries we reft;
That Modern Coufins may be known
From other Coufins they d'fown.

For Modern Coufins, &c.

Not that the Modern Coufins need,
Or Word, or Sign; for ev'ry deed
Shews-Honour, Virtue, are their guide,
And that they do o'er all prefide.

For Modern Coufins feek renown
From nought but merit of their own.

SONG 280.

A RONDEAU.

Written by Mr. HAWKINS. Sung at VAUXHALL. WAFT, O Cupid! to Leander

Sighs that rend my tender breast; Whilft 1 ftray in groves meander, Bid him fly to make me bleft. Purling rills be gently flowing,

Op'ning glades your sweets diftill; Sooth a heart's inceffant glowing, With content my fancy fill.

Hafte, ah hafte! my lover to me;

Fear not, now, my cold difdain: While, fweet fhepherd, you pursue me, To keep my heart I ftrive in vain.

SONG 281.

THE SHEPHERD'S INVITATION. Written by CHRISTOPHER MARLOW. COME live with me, and be my love,

And we will all the pleafures prove
That vallies, groves, or hill, or field,
Or wood, or steepy mountain yield.
There will we fit upon the rocks,
And fee the fhepherds feed their flocks,
By fhallow rivers, to whofe falls
Melodious birds fing madrigals.

There will I make thee beds of rofes,
With a thousand fragrant pofies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown, made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold;
With buckles of the pureft gold.
A belt of straw, and ivy buds,
With coral clafps, and amber ftuds;
And if thefe pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

Thy filver dishes for thy meat,
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall, on an ivory table, be
Prepar'd each day for thee and me.

The fhepherd-fwains shall dance and fing
For thy delight eách May-morning:
If thefe delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

SONG 282.

THE NYMPH'S ANSWER. Written by Sir WALTER RALEIGH. IF all the world and love were young,

And truth in every fhepherd's tongue, Thefe pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee, and be thy love.

But time drives flocks from field to fold;
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb,
The rest complain of cares to come.
The flowers that bloom in wanton field,
To wayward Winter reckoning yield;
A honey-tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's fpring, but forrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy fhoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy pofies,
Soon break, foon wither, foon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reafon rotten.

Thy belt of ftraw, and ivy buds,
Thy coral clafps, and amber ftuds;
All these in me no mind can move,
To come to thee, and be thy love.
What should we talk of dainties then,
Of better meat than's fit for men?
These are but vain; that's only good
Which God hath bleft, and fent for food.

But could youth laft, and love ftill breed;
Had joy no date, and age no need;
Then thefe delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

SONG 283.

IN IMITATION OF MARLOW.

COME live with me, and be my dear,
And we will revel all the year,

In plains and groves, on hills and dales,
Where fragrant air breathes sweetest gales,
There fhall you have the beauteous pine,
The cedar, and the spreading vine;
And all the woods to be a screen,
Left Phœbus kifs my fummer's green.

The feat of your disport shall be
Over fome river in a tree,
Where filver fands and pebbles fing
Eternal ditties to the spring.

There shall you fee the nymphs at play,
And how the fatyrs spend the day;

The fishes gliding on the fands,
Off'ring their bellies to your hands.

The birds, with heav'nly-tuned throats,
Poffefs wood's echo with fweet notes,
Which to your fenfes will impart
A mufic to enflame the heart.

Upon the bare and leaflefs oak,
The ring-dove's wooings will provoke
A colder blood than you poffels
To play with me, and do no lefs.

In bowers of laurel, trimly dight,
We will outwear the filent night,
While Flora bufy to spread

Her richest treature on our bed.

Ten thoufand glow-worms fhall attend, And all their sparkling lights shall spend; All to adorn and beautify

Your lodging with more majefty.

Then in my arms will I enclofe
Lilies fair mixture with the rofe;
Whofe nice perfections in love's play
Shall tune me to the higheft key.
Thus as we pass the welcome night,
In fportful pleasure and delight,
The nimble fairies on the ground
Shall dance, and fing melodious founds.
If these may ferve for to entice
Your prefence to Love's Paradise,
Then come with me, and be my dear,
And we will straight begin the year.

SONG 284.

Written by Sir WALTER RALEIGH.
SHALL I, like an hermit, dwell
On a rock, or in a cell,
Calling home the smallest part
That is miffing of my heart,
To beftow it where I may
Meet a rival every day?
If the undervalues me,
What care I how fair fhe be?

Were her treffes angel gold;
If a ftranger may be bold,
Unrebuked, unafraid,
To convert them to a braid,
And, with a little more ado,
Work them into bracelets too;
If the mine be grown fo free,
What care I how rich it be?

Were her hands as rich a prize
As her hairs, or precious eyes;
If the lay them out to take
Kiffes for good-manners fake;
And let every lover skip
From her hand unto her lip;
If the feem not chafte to me,
What care I how chafte fhe be?

No; the must be perfect snow,
In effect as well as show,

Warming but as fnow-balls do,
Not like fire, by burning too:
But when the by change hath got
To her heart a fecond lot;
Then, if others fhare with me,
Farewel her, whate'er she be.

SONG 285.

THE charms which blooming beauty shows From faces heavenly fair,

We to the lily and the rose

With femblance apt compare:
With femblance apt; for, ah! how foon,
How foon they all decay!
The lily droops, the rofe is gone,

And beauty fades away.

But when bright virtue fhines confefs'd,

With fweet difcretion join'd;
When mildnefs calms the peaceful breast,

And wifdom guides the mind;

When charms like thefe, dear maid, confpire Thy perfon to approve,

They kindle generous, chafte defire,

And everlasting love.

Beyond the reach of time or fate,

Thefe graces fhall endure; Still, like the paffion they create, Eternal, conftant, pure.

SONG 286.

INVITATION TO THE FEATHER'D RACE,

Written by the Rev. Mr. GRAVES,

AGAIN the balmy zephyr blows,

Fresh verdure decks the grove,
Each bird with vernal rapture glows,
And tunes his notes to love,
Ye gentle warblers, hither fly,

And thun the noon-tide heat;
My fhrubs a cooling fhade fuppy,
My groves a fafe retreat.

Here freely hop from fpray to fpray,
Or weave the moffy neft;

Here rove and fing the live-long day,
At night here sweetly reft.

Amidt this cool translucent rill,

That trickles down the glade,

Sad Philomel! ah quit thy haunt,
Yon diftant woods among,

And round my friendly grotto chaunt
Thy fweetly-plaintive fong.
Let not the harmless red-breaft fear,
Domestic bird, to come
And feek a fure asylum here,

With one that loves his home.

My trees for you, ye artlefs tribe,

Shall ftore of fruit preferve; Oh, let me thus your friendship bribe! Come, feed without referve.

For you these cherries I protect,

To you thefe plums belong;
Sweet is the fruit that you have pick'd,
But fweeter far your fong.

Let, then, this league betwixt us made,
Our mutual interefts guard;
Mine be the gift of fruit and shade,
Your fongs be my reward.

SONG 287.

Written by Dr. O——,

NOW ev'ning had ting'd the gay landscape with gold,

The fwains were retir'd, and their flocks in the fold,

When Delia complain'd in the woodland alone; Loud echoes retain'd, and reply'd to her moan, The warblers fat lift'ning around on the fpray, And the gale ftole in murmurs as foft as her lay.

Ah, my Strephon! ('twas thus the fair mourner begun)

How cruel to leave me thus loft and undone! Your vows like the wind you forget or defpife, You flight my complaints, and are deaf to my

That my fong is more fweet than the nightingale's lay,

Yet while Strephon is abfent, dejected, dismay'd,

And revel in the fhade,

No fchool-boy rude, to mischief prone,

E'er fhews his ruddy face,

Or tangs his bow, or hurls a stone,
In this fequefter'd place.

Hither the vocal thrush repairs,

Secure the linnet fings,

The goldfinch dreads no flimy fnares To clog her painted wings.

O return, gentle fhepherd, return to my pray'r! Ah think how I figh in unpity'd defpair!But in vain all my hopes! all my wishes are vain!

While the streams and the breezes thus hear

THE INVITATION.

Written by Mr. B—y.

AWAKE, my fair, the morning fprings,
The dew-drops glance around,
The heifer lows, the blackbird fings,

The echoing vales refound.

The fimple fweets would Stella taste,

That breathing morning yields,
The fragrance of the flow'ry wafte,
And freshness of the fields !

By uplands, and the greenwood-fide,
We'll take our early way,
And view the valley fpreading wide,
And op'ning with the day.

Nor uninftructive fhall the fcene

Unfold it's charms in vain,
The fallow brown, the meadow green,
The mountain and the plain.

Each dew-drop glift'ning on the thorn,
And trembling to it's fall,

Each blush that paints the cheek of morn,
In fancy's ear fhall call :

O ye in youth and beauty's pride,
Who lightly dance along;
While laughter frolicks at your fide,

And rapture tunes your fong;

What though each grace around you play, Each beauty bloom for you,

Warm as the blush of rifing day,

And fparkling as the dew;

The blush that glows fo gaily now,
But glows to disappear,

And quiv'ring from the bending bough,

Soon breaks the pearly tear!

So país the beauties of your prime,
That e'en in blooming die;
So, fhrinking at the blaft of time,
The treach'rous graces fly.

Let thofe, my Stella, flight the ftrain,
Who fear to find it true!

Each fair of tranfient beauty vain,

And youth as tranfient too!

With charms that win beyond the fight,

And hold the willing heart,

My Stella fhall await their flight,
Nor figh when they depart,

Still graces fhall remain behind,

And beauties still controul;

The graces of the polish'd mind, And beauties of the foul.

SONG 289.

BELINDA, with affected mien,
Tries ev'ry power of art;

Yet finds her efforts all in vain,
To gain a single heart:
Whilft Chloe, in a different way,
Aims but herself to please,
And makes new conquefts every day,
Without one borrow'd grace.

Belinda's haughty air destroys
What native charms infpire;
While Chloe's artlefs, fhining eyes,
Set all the world on fire.
Belinda may our pity move,
But Chloe gives us pain;

And while fhe fmiles us into love,
Her fifter frowns in vain.

SONG 290.

BLACK-EY'D SUSAN.

Written by Mr. GAY.

ALL in the downs the fleet was moor'd,
The ftreamers waving in the wind,
When black-ey'd Sufan came on board,
Oh! where fhall I my true love find?
Tell me, ye jovial failors, tell me true,
Does my fweet William fail among the crew?
William, who high upon the yard,

Rock'd with the billows to and fro;
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He figh'd, and caft his eyes below. The cord flides fwiftly thro' his glowing hands, And (quick as lightning) on the deck he ftands. So the fweet lark, high pois'd in air,

Shuts clofe his pinions to his breaft, (If, chance, his mate's fhrill note he hear) And drops at once into her neft. The nobleft captain in the British fleet, Might envy William's lips thofe kiffes sweet,

O, Sufan, Sufan, lovely dear!

My vows fhall ever true remain; Let me kifs of that falling tear:

We only part to meet again.

Change, as ye lift, ye winds; my heart shall be The faithful compafs, that ftill points to thee. Believe not what the landmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy conftant mind; They'll tell thee, failors, when away,

In ev'ry port a mistress find

Yes, yes, believe them, when they tell thee fo, For thou art prefent, wherefoe'er I go.

If to far India's coaft we fail,

Thy eyes are feen in diamonds bright;
Thy breath is Afric's fpicy gale;
Thy skin is ivory fo white: