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, 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, Omnipotent Jove, And ye powers above, Or breathlefs be ftretch'd in the field. RECITATIVE. Alternate griefs Achilles' bofom rend, AIR. My friend, I conceive, by the afpect you wear, If Patroclus is dead, oh! ye powers divine, Once more, in the field, cruel Hector fhall find Achilles will prove him, no fkulking behind Shall enable the traitor to fly. THE HAPPY SHEPHERD; A PASTORAL. HOW happy a fhepherd am I, With Laura, the pride of my heart! For know, the has cur'd all my fmart: Brother fhepherds, who toil on the plain, As happy you'll be in a trice. Give each of your hands to your swain, And be happy the rest of your life. SONG 330. WINE AND MUSIC: A CANTATA. AS I fat joyous in a pleasant room, Where none but choiceft fpirits ever come, To wine and mufic he addrefs'd his fong, 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; Our joys can ne'er be done. Then let us all with chearful hearts 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, Let us, then, confecrate this night Come let the cup with wine o'erflow; Come fill, my brother bloods around, SONG 33I. SHEPHERD, would'st thou here obtain Artlefs deed, and fimple dress, If thou canst no charm difclofe Tranquil pleasures never cloy; Love, and all it's joys, be thine; Artlefs deed, &c. Have not thofe their proper fphere? Gentler paffions triumph here. Artlefs deed, &c. See, to fweeten thy repofe, The bloffom buds, the fountain flows, Artlefs deed. &c. Seek no more--the reft's in vain; 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, When freedom triumph'd, flav'ry filed? As when fome ravisher alone 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. Would all, like him, my caufe maintain, 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, Britannia, alarm'd at Contentment's requeft, 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, With me his dear image fhall stay, With patience I'll wait the long year, To lock thee for ay in my arms. To a height that's becoming a wife. 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. my reft, And wearied with roving, both cloy'd and unbleft; I'll try to be happy the reft of my life, 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, Hafte, and speed the tedious hour, Don't you feel a pleafing fmart, Peace, my breaft, nor danger fear, FRIENDSHIP AND WINE, Sung at VAUXHALL. My pleasures their pleafures furpass; 'Tis the fame with me ftill, The lover may figh, 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 oft wins the lover his lafs, 92. 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,' Let us live while we may, 'Tis friendship and wine, We care not whate'er comes to pafs With courtiers, or great men, 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; So I afk'd for a kifs, but she, blushing, reply'd, Lovely Phebe, I cry'd, don't affect to be shy, Lord blefs me! I cry'd, I'm furpriz'd you re- A few harmless kiffes but ferve to amufe: Well, come then, I cry'd, to the church let But after dear Phebe muft never fay no. I'll ever be conftant, good-humour'd and kind. And I kifs her fo much, that I wonder the don't. SONG 341. THE MODEST QUESTION. CAN love be controul'd by advice, Let fages pretend to despise The joys they want fpirits to tafte; And the bleffings of life while they laft. Dull wifdom but adds to our cares; Brifk love will improve ev'ry joy ; Till our beft blood begins to run cold? Sung in the Maid of the Mill. And be fond as fond can be. But if one you meet that's froward, 'Tis to mend her ne'er the whit. |