Bright Phœbus on the parent vines,

From whence thy current ftreams, Sweet fmiling thro' the tendril fhines, And lavish darts his beams; The pregnant grape receives his fires, And all his force retains;

With that fame warmth our brains infpires,

And animates our trains.

From thee my Chloe's radiant eye

New fparkling beams receives;, Her cheeks imbibe a rofier dye,

Her beauteous bofom heaves: Summon'd to love by thy alarms,

O! with what nervous heat, Worthy the fair, we fill their arms,

And oft our blifs repeat !

The Stoic, prone to thought intenfe,
Thy foftnefs can unbind,

A chearful gaiety difpenfe,

And make him tafte a friend:
His brow grows clear, he feels content,
Forgets his pensive strife;

And then concludes his time well spent,
In honeft focial life.

E'en beaux, thofe foft amphibious things,
Wrapt up in felf and dress,
Quite loft to the delight that forings
From fenfe, thy pow'r confefs;
The fop, with chitty maudiia face,
That dares but deeply drink,
Forgets his queue and stiff grimace,
Grows free, and feems to think.

Here's to the maiden whofe dimples we prize,
And likewife to her that has none, Sir;
Here's to the maid with a pair of blue eyes,
And here is to her that's but one, Sir.
Let the toast país, &c.

Here's to the maid with a bofom of fnow,
And to her that's as brown as a berry;
And here's to the wife with a face full of woe,
And here's to the girl that is merry.
Let the toaft pafs, &c.

Let her be clumfy, or let her be flim,
Young, or ancient, I care not a feather;
So fill the pint bumper quite up to the brim,
And e'en let us toast them together.
Let the toaft pafs,

Drink to the lafs,

I warrant she'll prove an excufe for the glass.

SONG 1282.

THE SWEET OF SWEETS.

SWEET are the banks when spring perfumes The verdant plants and laughing flowers, Fragrant the violet as it blooms,

And fweet the bloffom after showers: Sweet is the foft, the funny breeze,

That fans the golden orange-grove; But oh! how fweeter far than the fe The kiffes are of her I love.

Ye rofes, blufhing in your beds,

That with your odours fcent the air;
Ye lilies chafte, with filver heads,
As dear Cleora's bofom fair;
No more I court your balmy sweets,
For I, and I alone, can prove
How fweeter, when each other meets,
The kiffes are of her I love.

Her tempting eyes my gaze inclin'd,
Their pleafing leffon first I caught,
Her fenfe, her friendship, next confin'd
The willing pupil fhe had taught.
Should fortune, ftooping from the sky,
Conduct me to her bright alcove :
Yet like the turtle I should die,
Denied the kifs of her J love.

While I a loftier theme rehearfe,
And think on thefe no more;
But praife, in fond and faithful verse,
The object I adore.

Her fkin is like the lily white,

Her cheeks red roses are; Her eyes outshine the fun-beams light, Her shape mott debonair.

Her manners mild as turtle-dove,

In ringlets flow her hair;

She looks-fhe is the queen of love,

And fairest of the fair.

Her breath like fpicy odours sweet
That fcent the eastern clime;
Her mind, her ways, are all compleat,
And fource of all fublime.

Written by Mr. BEST.

MY chearful companions attend,

Ye fhepherds and nymphs of the plain, In filence my forrows befriend,

Thofe ferrows which furely are vain; Yet gratitude claims the foft figh,

And pity fubdues my fond heart;
Compaffion now flows from my eye,
Unfeign'd, or untainted by art,
My Colin, alas! is no more

The pride and delight of each eye,
No more fhall he cherish the poor,
No more the afflicted fupply;
How anxious to foothe the diftreft,
How eager their griefs to affwage;
Nor ever was Colin more bleft,

Than, in fondnefs, when waiting on age.

The rich and the great he defpis'd,

Nor valu'd the world for it's wealth; 'Twas wisdom and honour he priz'd,

The fource of contentment and health:
While blooming with virtue and truth,
Simplicity lifp'd on his tongue,
Vivacity fmil'd with his youth,

And the fyrens would ceafe when he fung,

No more fhall I hear his fond tale,

Beneath yonder oak in the grove;
No more fhall I blefs the fof: gale,
That fann'd the recefs of my love:
See, Philomel weeps on the foray,

No more to revifit the grove;
The fongfters no longer are gay,
But mourn the fad lofs of my love.
Adieu, ye dear shades of my blifs,

Where Colin was conftant and true; Where oft, I've receiv'd his fond kifs Farewel, and for ever adieu.

Ye nymphs, my companions fo dear, Whofe feelings my forrows opprefs, Adieu! but forgive the fond tear

That flows from the fount of diftrefs.

Alas! the delights of the gay,

The joys of the rich and the great, All fade as the flowers in May,

That bloom and confume with the heat,
What's life, but the offspring of care;
A fhadow, that rapidly flies,
A dream of diftrefs and despair,
That bloffoms with hope, as it dies?
I'll hie me, where Colin is laid,
And there, undisturb'd will I weep;
Till nature's great debt I have paid,
My eyes fhall be ftrangers to fleep.
She inftantly quitted the grove,

And all the long night wept and figh'd
O'er the fod that fequefter'd her love,

Till the morn, when the ficken'd and died.

SONG 1285.

THE CAMP-MEDLEY.

THE lark was up, the morning grey,
The drum had beat a revelly,
And jolly foldiers on the ground,
In peaceful camp flept fafe and found:
Only one poor foldier, who,
Nought but love could e'er fubdue,
Wander'd to a neighbouring grove,
There to vent his plaints of love.

For women are whimsical, changeable things, Their fweets, like the bee's, are mingled with ftings;

They're not to be got without toil, care and coft,
They're hard to be won and are easily loft.
In feeking a fair-one, I found, to my fmart,
I know not the way, but I loft my own heart.

Ah! hapless, hapless day,

That e'er I faw fair Biddy; My heart fhe ftole away,

My head the turn'd quite giddy, The world may laugh and ftare, 'Tis truly ftrange to fee,

A lover fo fincere,

A fwain admir'd like me.
She's graceful, tall and flender,
She's brighter than the fun;
Her looks are soft and tender,

But oh her heart's of ftone:
Nor tears, nor fighs can move her ;

My bleeding heart the fees,
She knows too well I love her,

In vain Iftrive to please. Too vainly once I thought

To gain the lovely charmer, And ev'ry method fought,

In hopes to win and warm her; But all my hopes are over!

What charms then can I try; But, like a hapless lover,

I'll fet me down and die.

As on the ground he lay,
Minerva came that way,
In armour bright and gay,
And thus to him did fay:

Rife, foldier, rife,

The drum has beat to arms,
Hark to her loud alarms!
Hang her beauty,

Mind your duty,
Think not of her charms.

Rife, foldier, rife;

I'll take you by the hand,

And I'll lead you through the land;
I'll give you the command

Of a well chosen band.
Don't be ftupid,

Drive away Cupid,

Follow Minerva's wife advice.

Soldier, go home, go home,

Nor mind your mistress's scorn ;

Slight, flight her again;

For flighted vows fhould flight return.

The foldier thus rous'd from his amorous floth, Hafted away to his duty;

Swore to Minerva a terrible oath,

He'd never more think of her beauty.
Batchelor bluff, batchelor bluff;
Heigh for a heart that is rugged and tough.
He that is fingle can never wear horns;
He that is fingle is happy ;
He that is married lays upon thorns,

And always is ragged and fhabby.
Batchelor bluff, &c.

He that is fingle, he fears not the rout,
Nothing to him can be sweeter;
He has no wife that can wimper and pout,
Or cry, Can you leave me, dear creature.
Batchelor bluff, batchelor bluff;
Heigh for a heart that is rugged and tough.
Ye belles and flirts, so smart and fair,
Say, are not foldiers form'd for love?
For you shall find them all fincere,

Would you but kind and conftant prove: But if you flight their paffion ftill,

And tyrannife o'er hearts fo true,

Depend upon't they'll all rebel,
And will not care one fig for you.

Ah! hold your foolish tongue
A little laughing Cupid faid,
Have you not heard it fung,
That conftancy will win a maid?
And what on earth would ever prove
Superior to the joys of love!

Let wifdom preach in schools,
For what has fhe with love to do;
We go not by fuch rules:
Unbounded pleasures we purfue;
On rofy wine our fancies fly;
We ev'ry wordly care defy.

Let Mars in council boast, Of refolution, ftrength, and art; Love comes without a hoft, And fteals away the foldier's heart: Love breaks the bow, the fword and fpear, And turns the angry face of war.

E'en mighty Jove above

Hath been by Cupid's pow'r o'ercome;
There's none can conquer love,
Tho' arm'd with fword and fpear, or gun.
Then ground your arms, ye fons of war;
None can refit the British fair.

SONG 1286.

Written by the EDITOR.

MY Nancy quits the rural plain,

And kindly feeks her faithful fwain ;
Who, 'midft the din of war's alarms,
His much-lov'd country calls to arms.

Of old, when heroes fally'd forth,
To efcue innocence and worth,
The fair-one's image in the heart,
Could vigour to their nerves impart:

Then what fuperior laurels, now,
Muft grace the happy foldier's brow;
Bleft with her prefence in the field,
To whom alone his heart can yield!

As Strephon was ftrolling along, &c.
Ah, Chloris! could I now but fit
Ah! why should love, with tyrant fway
Ah! the fhepherd's mournful fate
Arife, arife, great dead, for arms, &c.
As near a weeping spring reclin'd
Afk me not, how calmly 1

1046

1058

1063

Adieu, ye jovial youths, who join
An amorous fwain to Juno psay'd

1137

1165

All my paft life is mine no more
Ah! think not to deceive me

1083

1168

1201

1237
1242

A choir of bright beauties in fpring, &c. 1205
As Celia in her garden fray'd
As late in the meadow reclined I lay
A cobler there was, and he liv'd in a tall 1257
Attend all ye nymphs and ye fwains, &c. 1274
Away to the woodlands, away

B.

1276

Come liften, and laugh at the times
Come rouze, brother sportsmen, &c.
Come hafte to the wedding, &c.
Come, shepherds, we'll follow the hearfe
Come let us prepare

Can, then, a look create a thought
Could you guefs, for I ill can repeat
Come fing round my favourite tree
Come roufe from your trances
Come, ye party jangling fwains
Come, fill me a bumper, &c.
Come, Laura, and meet your fond fwain
Come, fhepherds, attend whilst I fing
Come live with me, and be my love
Come live with me, and be my dear
Come ev'ry brifk foul

Can love be controul'd by advice

Come, Clio, come, and with thee bring
Come, my never-frowning glafs
Cot (plutter o'nails

Conftantia, fee! thy faithful flave

Song

7

13

20

Bright Cynthia's pow'r, divinely great
By moffy brook, and flow'ry plain
Beneath a green fhade, a lovely, &c.
Belinda, with affected mien

165

Caft, my love, thine eyes around

450

183

Cruel Cupid! why diftrefs me

451

267

239

377

378

By the fide of a fiream, at the foot, &c. 324
Beauteous nymph, approve the flame 338
Behold this fair goblet, 'twas carv'd, &c. 357
By the banks of a murmuring brook 376
Be content in your ftation, my friend
Bacchus, when merry, beftriding his tun
By the dew-befprinkled rofe
Brifk wine and women are
By the fide of the fweet River Tay
Before the morn's empurpling light
Beneath this grove, this filent fhade
By a cool fountain's flow'ry fide
Bid me, when forty winters more
Bleft as th' immortal gods is he

Come, come, my good fhepherds, &c.
Come, ye lads who wish to fhine
Celia, hoard thy charms no more
Cynthia frowns whene'er I woo her
Come, come, my companions, &c.
Cupid, god of love and joy

Come, chear up, my lads, &c.
Come, hate, my Phillis, hafte away
Cupid, god of pleafing anguish

540

545

549

579

590

593

633

393

660

424

661

436

452

Ceafe, dear charmer, thus to vex thee
Come, thou rofy, dimpled boy

720

737

461

Can the fhepherds and nymphs of the grove 746

463

Come, folly ! thou goddess, &c.

749