thou ail?

Cut off these reflections, and give us thy tale. Derry down, &c,

'Twas there, then, in civil respect to harsh laws, And for want of falfe witnefs to back a bad, caufe,

A Norman of late was oblig'd to appear,
And who to affift, but a grave cordelier.
Derry down, &c.

The fquire, whofe good grace was to open the scene,

Seem'd not in great hafte that the fhew should begin:

Now fitted the halter, now travers'd the cart, And often took leave, but was loth to depart. Derry down, &c.

What frightens you thus, my good fon, fays the priest,

You murder'd, are forry, and have been confeft?

O, father! my forrow will scarce fave my bacon, For 'twas not that I murder'd, but that I was taken.

Derry down, &c.

treat,

Parbleu! I fhall have little ftomach to eat :
I should therefore esteem it a favour and grace,

Would you be fo kind as to go in my place.
Derry down, &c.

That I wou'd, quoth the father, and thank you to boot,

But our actions, you know, with our duty muft fuit:

The feaft I propofe to you I cannot tafte,
For this night by our order is mark'd for a faft.
Derry down, &c.

Then turning about, to the hangman he said,
Difpatch me, I pr'ythee, this troublesome blade;
For thy cord, and my cord both equally tie,
And we live by the gold for which other men
die.

Derry down, &c.

SONG 364.
Sung in the Rofc.

THE nobleft heart, like pureft gold,
Refifts impreffions whilft 'tis cold;
But melted down in love's bright flame,
Soft and complying to the teft,
It takes the image firft imprest,
And bears it in the faithful breaft,
Through circling years the fame.

SONG 365.

SYLVIA TO ALEXIS.

ALEXIS, how artless a lover!

How bashful and filly you grow! In my eyes can you never difcover,

I mean yes when I often fay No?
When you pine and you whine out your paffion,
And only intreat for a kifs;

To be coy and deny is the fashion,
Alexis fhould ravifh the blifs.

But, dubious of my ain defert,
My fentiments I fmother;
With fecret fighs I vex my heart,
For fear the love another.

Thus fang blate Edie by a burn,

His Chrifty did o'er-hear him;
She doughina let her lover mourn,
But e'er he wift drew near him.
She fpake her favour with a look
Which left nae room to doubt her;
He wifely this white minute took,
And flang his arms about her.

My Chrifty-witnefs, bonny ftream,
Sic joys frae tears arifing,

I with this may na be a dream;
O love the maist surprising!
al-Time was too precious now for tauk;
This point of a' his wishes

He wadna with fet fpeeches bauk, But war'd it a' on kiffes.

SONG 368,
Sung in Alfred.

A Youth adorn'd with ev'ry art,
To warm and win the coldest heart,
In fecret mine poffeft,

The morning bud that faireft blows,

can take,

drake;

SONG 367.

BONNY CHRISTY.

HOW fweetly fmells the fimmer green! Sweet taste the peach and cherry; Painting and order please our een,

And claret makes us merry:
But finest colours, fruits and flowers,
And wine, tho' I be thirsty,
Lofs a' their charms and weaker powers,
Compar'd with thofe of Chrifty.
When wand'ring o'er the flow'ry park,
No nat'ral beauty wanting,
How lightfome is't to hear the lark,

And birds in confort chanting;
But if my Chrifty tunes her voice,
I'm rapt in admiration;
My thoughts with extafies rejoice,
And drap the hale creation.

Whene'er the fmiles a kindly glance,
I take the happy omen,
And aften mint to make advance,
Hoping the'll prove a woman:

His face and fhape exprest.

In moving founds he told his tale,
Soft as the fighings of the gale

That wakes the flow'ry year;
What wonder he could charm with ease,
Whom happy nature form'd to please,

Whom love had made fincere?

At morn he left me-fought and fell:
The fatal ev'ning heard his knell,
And faw the tears I fhed;
Tears that must ever, ever fall;
For ah! no fighs the paft recal,
No cries awake the dead.

SONG 369.

THE MAN TO HER MIND.

LEAVE party difputes, your attention I pray,
All you who to mirth are inclin'd,
And of thofe I diflike when you hear what I fay,
You may guefs at the man to my mind.
Ye felf-loving coxcombs, whofe fondness is seen
From the form your falfe mirrours difplay,
When you talk of a paffion, as nothing you mean,
So all goes for nothing you say.

No pretenfion I boaft to the aukward young heir,
Tho' born to a wealthy eftate,
Who paying no court to the charms of the fair,
Buys a wife, like a calf, by her weight.

The old batter'd rake sure no woman can love,
Who has long reckon'd marriage a curfe;
Tho' his great condefcenfion he's ready to prove,
By his taking a wife for a nurfe.

N 2

A fool for a husband fome females have chofe, And repentance oft rues what is past,

Tho' he turns for a feafon which way the wind blows,

The weathercock's rufty at laft.

But the man that has fenfe, with a heart that's finceré,

Where paffion and reafon agree, Whofe fortune's fufficient to combat with care, -Can't you guefs at the lover for me?

SONG 370.

Sung at RANELAGH.

2

AWAKE, thou blithfome god of day,
Invite each fongster round,

Let ev'ry heart be blithe and gay,
The world with mirth abound;
Betfy's sweet feraphic charms
In raptures now I fing,
Soon let her prifon be my arms,
And I'll thy tribute bring.

Ye regents, who the realms above
With godlike fweetnefs guard,
Fair Betfy's heart invade with love,
Her faithful fwain reward;
If not, avaunt! ye gods divine,
Contented let me die.

My Betfy's eyes much brighter fhine
Than all your fpangled sky.

No longer boaft your lilies fair,

Now ruffet feems your fnow, With Betfy's in their white compare, Where new-born roles grow; Your fun that gilds the realms above, A diftant heat may give, But Betfy's eyes will always prove How fweet it is to live.

SONG 371.

THE NIGHT MAGISTRATE; A CANTATA. RECITATIVE.

TWAS at the dreary hour when sprites abound,

And nimble fairies trip enchanted ground; When none but rogues and vagrants walk the freets,

And watchmen fnore, regardless of their beats;
When weary'd hackney horfes flowly move,
And on their boxes coachmen fleep above:
In elbow-chair, and awful state compos'd,
The midnight magiftrate his will difcios'd;
The hobbling, drowsy, walking-dials, heard
His words with wonder, and his anger fear'd;
In admiration of his wisdom food,

Then cry'd his honour was as wife as good; Well pleas'd he nods, and hums his joy to show,

Then thus his own importance lets them know.

AIR.

Attend, my friends, while I difplay,
And make you understand,
The reafon why vou must obey,

And why I will command.

Know, then, I reprefent the king,
Tho' you may think it odd;
And I can affidavits bring,

That kings defcend from God.
RECITATIVE.

Thus having spoke with countenance quite big, He blow'd his nofe, took fnuff, and plac'd his wig;

Then funk fupinely in the elbow-chair,

To fnore away the tedious hours, and care;
But envious of his eafe, and drowsy joys,
Two buckish fparks molefted him with noife;
The rattles turn- -girls fcream-and oaths re-
found,

And lamps demolish'd jingle on the ground;
The veterans fally out, and leave their beer,
And to the affistance of their brothers fteer;
O'er-power'd by numbers, though they bravely
fought,

The bucks were to the round-house safely brought,

Th' awaken'd chief, with anger in his face,
Thus with the sparks expoftulates the cafe:

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

AH! whither, alas! fhall I fly?

What clime fhall I feek for relief?
Since Phillis no longer is nigh,
O! how fhall I fmother my grief?
The fweetest, the fairest was she,

So fweetly the tript o'er the plain;
But now the ne'er fmiles upon me,
She's faithlefs-and falfe to her fwain.
With Stephon fhe's gone far away,
With him is contented and bleft;
While I am distracted all day,

And ruin'd for want of my reft.

those men

Who always are ready, steady, boys, fteady, To fight for their freedom again and again.

Tho' we feaft and grow fat on American foil, Yet we own our elves fubjects of Britain's fair ifle,

And who's fo abfurd to deny us the fame,
Since true British blood flows in every vein.
Hearts of oak, &c.

Then chear up my lads, to your country be firm,
Like kings of the ocean we'll weather each ftorm,
Integrity calls out, Fair Liberty fee,

Waves her flag o'er our heads, and her words are, Be free.

Hearts of oak, &c.

SONG 376.

A PASTORAL BALLAD.

BY the banks of a murmuring brook,
Neglecting his flock and his crook,
Where fpring fhed it's fragrance around,

Alexis lay ftretch'd on the ground;
Quite dumb with his forrows oppreft,
Till woe from his tears had relief,
Then wildly he beat on his breaft,
And thus difemourden'd his grief.
Ah, fate too unkind and fevere !

Untimely to inatch to the grave, In Daphne, my all that was dear,

And all my fond wishes could crave:
Ye bow'rs that have witness'd each scene,
Where woodbine and jefs'mine entwine,
To a flame have you confcious e'er been
So spotless as Daphne's and mine?
What tho' o'er this daify-deck'd mead

A thousand fair lambkins do rove,
Tho' well thou canst breathe on the reed,
What mufic's a med'cine for love?
Alexis, doom'd ever to wail,

Oh, think of thy treasures no more!
For what would ten thoufand avail,
They cannot thy Daphne restore.
Ye hills, and ye vallies, adieu,

Adieu to each youth on the plain;
Since nought will my pleasure renew,
Ah, why fhould I linger in pain?
My lambkins, forfaken by me,
Let fome happier thepherd enjoyi

For all with fresh anguish I fee

That Daphne's joint cares did employ. This faid, from the margin he sprung, Grown frantic with love and despair; Yet Daphne, tho' dying, he fung,

Till faulter'd the name of his fair;
The ftreams, as they murmur along,
The forrowful ditty relate,
And zephyr, the willows among,

Still fighs the fad tale of his fate.

SONG 377.

THE JOVIAL PHILOSOPHER

BE content in your station, my friend,
The maxim is probatum eft;
Life's fhort from beginning to end,
Then let us pafs thro' it with zeft.
The monarch furrounded by fame,

Can tafte no more pleafure than you; His paffions and feelings the fame, Defires and wishes as few.

The cobler who hugs his brown lafs, Feels emotions of love full as strong As thofe of a much higher class,

And glories he won her by fong. For the lofs of a nail tinker's rage,

As much as for realms a great king; With clamours our ears both engage,

And much the fame peal they both ring. On my word, my good friend, we're a crowd,

Variegated among great and small;

We take it by turns to be proud,

And likewife by turns rife and fall.

Like actors, who ftrut for an hour

In all the grand flav'ry of state;

Next day abdicated from power,

With pages o'er porter they'll prate.

Then from an enlivening bowl,

The next was a phyfician to ladies and lords,
Who eafes all fickness and pain,
And conjures diftempers away with hard words,
Which he knows is the head of his gain:

He ftep'd from his coach, fill'd his cup to the brim,

And quaffing did freely agree,

That Bacchus, who gave us fuch cordials to drink,

Was a better physician than he.

The next was a juftice who never read law,
With twenty informers behind,
On free-coft he tippl'd, and still bid 'em draw,
Till his worthip had drunk himself blind;
Then reeling away they all rambled in quest
Of drunkards and jilts of the town,
That they might be punish'd to frighten the reft,
Except they wou'd drop him a crown.

The fifth was a tricking attorney at law,
By tally-men chiefly employ'd,
Who lengthen'd his bill with co-hy and maw-
draw,

And a hundred fuch items befide;

The healths that he drank were, to WestminsterHall,

And to all the grave dons of the gown;
Rependum & Petro, dorendum & Paul,
Such Latin as never was known.

The last that appear'd was a foldier in red,
With his hair doubled under his hat.
Who was by his trade a fine gentleman made,
Tho' as hungry and poor as a rat :

He swore by his God, tho' he liv'd by his king,
Or the help of fome impudent punk,
That he wou'd not depart till he made the butt
fing,

And himself most confoundedly drunk.

SONG 379.

THE HAPPY LOVER.

For life's but a fpan, my brave foul, Then faith we'll enjoy ev'ry inch.

SONG 378.

BACCHUS, when merry, beftriding his tun,
Proclaim'd a new neighbourly feast:
The first that appear'd was a man of the gown,
A jolly parochial priest;

He fill'd up his bowl, drank healths to the church,

Preferring it to the king,

Altho' he long fince left both in the lurch,
Yet he canted like any thing.

The next was a talkative blade, whom we call
A doctor of the civil law,

Who guzzled and drank up the devil and all,
As faft as the drawers could draw:
But healths to all nobles he ftily deny'd,

Tho' luftily he could swill,
Because ftill the fafter the quality dy'd,
It brought the more grift to his mill.

me a lafs,

That's loving, engaging, and pretty; She freely into my affection fhall pafs,

As fure as there's fools in the city.

And if the proves kind, Sir, why I fhall prove

true,

And justly esteem her my treasure;

But fhould he be fcornful, what then fhall I do?

Why, faith, I'll difmifs her with pleasure.

SONG 380.

THE DAY MAGISTRATE; A CANTATA. RECITATIVE.

ABOUT the time when bufy faces meet,

And carts and coaches rumble in each street; When madam rifes, and the tea-things rattle; And all the fex prepare for general tattle, The maudlin libertines are let to know, They muft, attended, to the juftice go: