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Did Neptune's falt element run with fresh wine, Tho' all Europe's powers together combine, Our brave British failors need ne'er care a jot, Surrounded by plenty of fuch rare grape-shot. Obey the glad fummons, &c.

Was each dull, pedantical, text-spinning vicar, To leave off dry preaching, and stick to his liquor,

O how would he wish for that power divine, Tochange, when he would, fimple water to wine! Obey the glad fummons, &c.

If wine, then, can miracles work,fuch as these, And give to the troubl'd mind comfort and eafe, Defpair not, that bieffing in Bacchus you'll find, Who showes his gifts for the good of mankind. Obey the glad fummons, the bar bell invites ; Drink deep, and I warrant it fets you to rights.

SONG 326.

A GLASS OF GOOD WINE.

MY merry companions, so jovial and free,

You know I'm a poet, then liften to me, Inspire my mufe, jolly Bacchus divine, I'll chant in the praife of a glafs of good wine. The female whofe flattering looking-glass tells How much all the rest of her fex fhe excels, In vain from it's aid may attempt to outshine; More charms he'd receive from a glass of good wine.

The short-fighted fpark with perspective apply'd,

In putting the fair to the blufh takes a pride; Give o'er, bold intruder, your cruel defign, Greater beauties you'll find in a glafs of good wine.

Old bald-pated time, who good company spoils, When pleasure is reigning and good-humour fmiles,

With us round the bowl would moft chearfully join,

Was his hour-glass chang'd to a glass of good wine.

If, then,fuch perfections the grape does produce, Ye powers above, fend enough for our use; Your bounty to prove drain the fea of it's brine, And let it again ebb and flow with good wine.

SONG 327.

ACHILLES AND PATROCLUS.

A CANTATA.

RECITATIVE.

WHEN ftern Achilles left the Grecian band,
And orders gave to feek his native land;
Juft as the naval fleet prepar'd to go,
Patroclus ftrove Achilles' grief to know.
Whence comes that figh-why heaves thy
manly breast,

What fiend invidious robs my friend of reft?

Divine Achilles, let Patroclus know,

For friends thould always share in private woe! Enough, Achilles faid-moft noble youth, From thee, alas! who can conceal the truth! AIR.

Know then, my friend, ungrateful Greece This day demands my Brifeis fair;

And I, alas! no more hall cease

To be immers'd in endless care. But mark, ye gods, fhould Hector carnage spread, Unmov'd Achilles will fmile o'er the dead.

RECITATIVE.

Patroclus heard, while tears half drown his eyes?

And could you fee your country bleed? he cries;

Could you, relentless to the prayer of all,
See Hector triumph in the Grecian's fall?
Behold! they fly-to parly is disgrace;
Lend me your armour, I'll the danger face:
Hector himself will be alarm'd with fears,
When in the front thy blazing creft appears;
Achilles like, I'll fee my country freed,
Or bravely in the glorious combat bleed.
AIR.

Omnipotent Jove,

And ye powers above,
From danger great Achilles fhield,
While J, undismay'd,
In his armour array'd,
Seek peril and death in the field.
Adieu then, my friend,
I'll ftrive to defend
Thofe princes Achilles did fhield:
Oh! may 1, like you,
Great Hecto: fubdue,

Or breathlefs be ftretch'd in the field.

RECITATIVE.

Alternate griefs Achilles' bofom rend,
He fearce can fay, Farewel, adieu, my friend,
Patroclus clad in godlike armour bright,
Each Trojan trembles at the boding fight.
The fight began; but oh! the fates decreed,
Patroclus for ungrateful Greece should bleed.
He fellyet ere an herald could difclofe
What caufe Achilles had for inward woes,
The godlike warrior the fad tidings guefs'd,
And thus the anguish of his foul exprefs'd.

AIR.

My friend, I conceive, by the afpect you wear,
Your meffage my peace may deftroy!
But Achilles is proof againft forrow and care,
And never again will know joy.

If Patroclus is dead, oh! ye powers divine,
The hand that depriv'd him of breath,
Let it feel, in return, the vengeance of mine,
And death be aton'd for in death..

Once more, in the field, cruel Hector fhall find
Achilles his valour will try;

Achilles will prove him, no fkulking behind Shall enable the traitor to fly.

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THE HAPPY SHEPHERD; A PASTORAL.
Written by Mr. HAWKINS.

HOW happy a fhepherd am I,

With Laura, the pride of my heart!
I'll never more languish nor figh,

For know, the has cur'd all my fmart:
She vows that she will be my wife,
By all that is honeft and fair;
Then I'll be her husband for life,
And never know forrow nor care.

Brother fhepherds, who toil on the plain,
By me take example, I pray;
Throw off all your trouble and pain,
And ever be chearful and gay.
Then, nymphs, who are modeft and fhy,
For once hear young Damon's advice,
The reafon I tell you for why,

As happy you'll be in a trice.

Give each of your hands to your swain,
Then drive away faction and ftrife;
Bid adieu to all anguish and pain,

And be happy the rest of your life.
Such is Damon's advice, my kind fair,
Then take it most freely, I pray;
So fly from all forrow and care,
Henceforward be merry and gay.

SONG 330.

WINE AND MUSIC: A CANTATA.
RECITATIVE.

AS I fat joyous in a pleasant room,

Where none but choiceft fpirits ever come,
A fong was call'd; filence aloud proclaim,
For mirth and joy was ev'ry hum'rift's aim:
Up ftarts a genius, and he thus begun,
Hoping to please each social son

To wine and mufic he addrefs'd his fong,
In words like these, or these, he fung:
AIR.

O bring me mufic, bring me wine,

Go fill the fprightly bowl:

'Tis only wine and mufic can Relieve the wounded foul,

Apollo, tune thy trembling lyre;
Great Bacchus, found thy tun;
And while thou doft the chorus fill,

Our joys can ne'er be done.
Then take the cup and fill it high,
Such joys to us belong;

Then let us all with chearful hearts
Invoke the god of fong.

Come, god of mirth and revelry,

Come bring thy merry round, And fhew the cynic fool, that he Such joys has never found.

Sacred to mirth, this spot, my friends,
Ye focial fons decree;

Let us, then, confecrate this night
To wit and jollity:

Come let the cup with wine o'erflow;
The bottle push about;

Come fill, my brother bloods around,
The ftarry liquor out.

SONG 33I.

SHEPHERD, would'st thou here obtain
Pleasure unallay'd with pain,
Joy that fuits the rural sphere,
Gentle shepherd, lend an ear:

Artlefs deed, and fimple dress,
Mark the chosen shepherdess.
Learn to relish calm delight,
Verdant vales, and fountains bright
Trees that nod on floping hills,
Caves that echo, tink'ling rills.
Artlefs deed, &c.

If thou canst no charm difclofe
In the fimpleft bud that blows,
Go, forfake thy plain and fold,
Join the crowd, and toil for gold.
Artlefs deed, &c.

Tranquil pleasures never cloy;
Banith each tumultuous joy;
All but love for love infpires
Fonder wishes, warmer fires.
Artlefs deed, &c.

Love, and all it's joys, be thine;
Yet, ere thou the reins refign,
Hear what reafon feems to fay,
Hear attentive, and obey.

Artlefs deed, &c.

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Have not thofe their proper fphere? Gentler paffions triumph here. Artlefs deed, &c.

See, to fweeten thy repofe,

The bloffom buds, the fountain flows,
Lo, to crown thy healthful board,
All that milk and fruits afford.

Artlefs deed. &c.

Seek no more--the reft's in vain;
Pleafure, ending foon in pain;
Anguish, lightly gilded o'er;
Clofe thy with, and feek no more.
Artlefs deed, &c.

SONG 332.

AS griev'd Britannia ey'd the main,

Deploring there her loft command, (Her trade deffroy'd, her children flain) And wet with briny tears the fand; The world's recorder, Time, appears, And thus the drooping matron chears. Why, Albion's genius, this difmay,

Thefe trickling tears, this vifage fodden? Where are your smiles to hail the day,

That William fav'd thee at Culloden? Difpel thy fears, and with thy smiles Enliven this pleft queen of ifles.

When William fought, and Charles gave way,
Is this the day? the rofe and faid,
Is this the happy, glorious day,

When freedom triumph'd, flav'ry filed?
Oh be this day for ever bleft,
Which gave to frighted Albion rest.

As when fome ravisher alone

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Has caught a fair incautious maid, Intent his beaftly will to crown;

She cries for, but defpairs of aid: When ftrait the much-lov'd youth appears, The favage kills, and ends her fears. Like her, by Charles and flav'ry caught,

cry'd for aid and liberty! William, like him, arofe and fought,

And fet his beft lov'd mistress free.
For this, may ftill the hero's name
Be foremost in the lifts of fame.

Would all, like him, my caufe maintain,
Making my weal their chiefeft care,
Soon fhould they humble France and Spain,
And Europe learn again to fear:
Britain her Empire then should fee
Enduring, mighty Time, with thee.

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Yon clear chryftal ftream fhall the mountains o'erflow,

And on the hard rock the pale primrose shall blowj

In queft of the lion the lambkin shall range, Ere Jenny's fix'd paflion shall leffen or change.

Upon the fmooth green, when the shepherds advance,

To hail May's return, with the tabor and dance,

If Damon is abfent, I quit the glad throng, And join my complaints to the nightingale's fong.

The pain which I fuffer my flock feems to know, And frolick and play as to leffen my woe;

I cry, Ceafe, dear lambkins, your sporting and play,

You cannot delight while my Damon's away.

No toil fhall difcomfort while Damon's in fight, The fun's piercing rays can in fummer delight; And winter's rude tempefts fhall still find me gay,

For, bleft with my shepherd, each month will be May.

SONG 334.

A CANTATA.

Sung at RANELAGH.

RECITATIVE.

ALL in her fair fequefter'd cell,

Where happinefs was wont to dwell,
Contentment fate, with down-caft look;
And thefe, or words like thefe, the spoke:
Genius of Albion! wake thy queen,
Lo, Gallia clouds the peaceful scene!
Bid her arife, her wrongs to fee,
Protect herself, and cherish me.

Britannia, alarm'd at Contentment's requeft,
In a voice that confefs'd her, her people addreft.
AIR.

Caft the olive wreathe off! arm, ye Britons, advance!

Sound the trump! beat the drum!-point your thunder at France'

By defiance convince 'em their efforts are vain, For that George, King of England, is king of the main;

And that great, like your fathers, those heroes

of old,

As you're born to be free, you've the fenfe to

be bold.

SONG 335.

WHEN hope was quite funk in despair,

My heart it was going to break, My life appear'd worthless my care,

But now I will fav't for thy fake: Where'er my love travels by day, Wherever he lodges by night,

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With me his dear image fhall stay,
And my foul keep him ever in fight.

With patience I'll wait the long year,
And ftudy the gentleft charms,
Hope time away till thou appear,

To lock thee for ay in my arms.
Whilst thou was a shepherd I priz'd
No higher degree in this life,
But now I'll endeavour to rife

To a height that's becoming a wife.
For beauty, that's only fkin deep,
Muft fade like the gowans in May,
But inwardly rooted will keep

For ever without a decay.

Nor age nor the changes of life

Can quench the fair fire of love,

If virtue's ingrain'd in the wife,

And the husband have sense to approve.

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my reft,

And wearied with roving, both cloy'd and unbleft;

I'll try to be happy the reft of my life,
And venture, tho' late, yet at last, on a wife.

Then farewel the jilt, and the fool, and the bold,

I quit you with pleasure before I grow old; One girl of my heart I will take to for life, And enough, of all confcience, I hold, is one wife.

I'll fearch the town over this fair-one to find, Nor fickle, nor jealous, nor vain, nor unkind; Whose wit and good-humour may hold out for life;

And then, if he'll have me, I'll make her my

wife.

'Tis time that the follies of life had an end, And foon, nay, this inftant, I'm ready to mend ; What wonder there'll be at fo alter'd a life! If you're wife, you, like me, will refolve on a wife.

SONG 337. Sung at VAUXHALL. NIGHT, to lovers joys a friend, Swiftly thy affiftance lend

Lock up envious, fecing day,
Bring the willing youth away;

Hafte, and speed the tedious hour,
To the fecret happy bow`r;
Then, my heart, for blifs prepare,
Thyrfis furely will be there.
See the hateful day is gone,
Welcome evening now comes on;
Soon to meet my dear I fly,
None but love shall then be by;
None fhall dare to venture near,
To tell the plighted vows they hear;
Parting thence will be the pain,
But we'll part to meet again.

Don't you feel a pleafing fmart,
Gently stealing to your heart?
Fondly hope, and fondly figh?
For, my fhepherd, oft do I;
With in Hymen's bands to join,
I'll be your's, and you be mine?
Tell me, Thyrfis, tell me this,
Tell me, then, and tell me yes.
Farewel, loit'ring idle day!
To my dear I hie away;
On the wings of love I go,
He the ready way will show:

Peace, my breaft, nor danger fear,
Love and Thyrfis both are near;
'Tis the youth! I'm fure 'tis he!
Night, how much I owe to thee!

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FRIENDSHIP AND WINE,

Sung at VAUXHALL.
LET the grave, and the gay,
Enjoy life how they may,

My pleasures their pleafures furpass;
Go the world well or ill,

'Tis the fame with me ftill,
If I have but my friend and my glass.

The lover may figh,
The courtier may lye,

And Crafus his treasure amafs;

All the joys are but vain,

That are blended with pain;

So I'll ftand by my friend and my glass,

New life wine infpires,
And creates new defires,

And oft wins the lover his lafs,

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Or his courage prepares

To difdain the nymph's airs;

So I'll stand by my friend and my glass.

The earth fucks the rain,

The fun draws the main,'
With the earth we are all in a class;
Then enliven the clay,

Let us live while we may,
And I'll ftand by my friend and my glass.

'Tis friendship and wine,
Only, life can refine:

We care not whate'er comes to pafs

With courtiers, or great men,
There's none of us statesmen:
Come, here's to our friend and our glass.

SONG 340.

Sung at VAUXHALL.

AS I went to the wake that is held on the

green,

I met with young Phebe, as blithe as a queen;
A form fo divine might an anchoret move,
And I found (tho' a clown) I was fmitten with
love:

So I afk'd for a kifs, but she, blushing, reply'd,
Indeed, gentle shepherd, you must be deny'd.

Lovely Phebe, I cry'd, don't affect to be shy,
I vow I will kifs you-here's nobody by;
No matter for that, the reply'd, 'tis the fame;
For know, filly fhepherd, I value my fame:
So pray let me go, I fhall furely be mifs'd;
Befides, I'm refolv'd that I will not be kifs'd.

Lord blefs me! I cry'd, I'm furpriz'd you re-
fufe;

A few harmless kiffes but ferve to amufe:
The month it is May, and the feafon for love,
So come my dear girl, to the wake let us rove.
No, Damon, the cry'd, I must first be your wife,
You then shall be welcome to kifs me for life.

Well, come then, I cry'd, to the church let
us go,

But after dear Phebe muft never fay no.
Do you prove but true, (fhe reply'd) you shall
find

I'll ever be conftant, good-humour'd and kind.
So I kifs when I please, for the ne'er fays the
won't,

And I kifs her fo much, that I wonder the don't.

SONG 341.

THE MODEST QUESTION.

CAN love be controul'd by advice,
Can madnefs and reafon agree?
O Molly! who'd ever be wife,
If madness is loving of thee?

Let fages pretend to despise

The joys they want fpirits to tafte;
Let me feize old time as he flies,

And the bleffings of life while they laft.

Dull wifdom but adds to our cares;

Brifk love will improve ev'ry joy ;
Too foon we may meet with grey hairs,
Too late may repent being coy:
Then, Molly, for what should we stay

Till our beft blood begins to run cold?
Our youth we can have but to-day;
We may always find time to grow old.

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Sung in the Maid of the Mill.
WHEN you meet a tender creature,
Neat in limb, and fair in feature,
Full of kindness and good-nature;
Prove as kind again to fhe.
Happy mortal! to poffefs her,
In your bofom warm and prefs her,
Morning, noon, and night, caress her,

And be fond as fond can be.

But if one you meet that's froward,
Saucy, jilting, and untoward,
Should you act the whining coward,

'Tis to mend her ne'er the whit.
Nothing's tough enough to bind her;
Then agog when once you find her,
Let her go, and never mind her;
Heart alive, you're fairly quit.

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