GO, TELL AMYNTA.

JOHN DRYDEN.

Go, tell Amynta, gentle swain,
would not die, nor dare complain;
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,
Thy voice will more prevail than mine;
For souls oppress'd, and dumb with grief,
The Gods ordain'd this kind relief,
That music should in sounds convey
What dying lovers dare not say.

A sigh, or tear, perhaps, she'll give,

But love on pity cannot live.

Tell her, that hearts for hearts were made,

And love with love is only paid.

Tell her, my pains so fast encrease,

That soon they will be past redress;

For ah! the wretch that speechless lies,
Attends but death to close his eyes.

ADDRESS TO BRITAIN.

JOHN DRYDEN.

Fairest isle, all isles excelling,

Seat of pleasure and of love,
Venus here will choose her dwelling,
And forsake her Cyprian grove.

Cupid, from his fav'rite nation,
Care and envy will remove,
Jealousy that poisons passion,
And despair that dies for love.

Gentle murmurs, sweet complaining,
Sighs that blow the fire of love,
Soft repulses, kind disdaining,
Shall be all the pains you prove.

Every swain shall pay his duty,
Grateful every nymph shall prove;
And as these excel in beauty,

Those shall be renowned for love.

LOVE IN WORD AND ACTION.

APHRA BEHN.

'Tis not your saying that you love,
Can ease me of my smart:
Your actions must your words approve
Or else you break my heart.

In vain you bid my passion ceae,

And ease my troubled breast,
Your love alone must give me peace,
Restore my wonted rest.

But if I fail your heart to move,
And 'tis not yours to give,

I cannot, will not cease to love,
But I will cease to live.

PHILLIS.

SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE.

When Phillis watch'd her harmless sheep
Not one poor lamb was made a prey;
Yet she had cause enough to weep,
Her silly heart did go astray,
Then flying to the neighbouring grove,
She left the tender flock to rove,

And to the winds did breathe her love.

She sought in vain

To ease her pain;

The heedless winds did fan her fire;

Venting her grief,

Gave no relief,

But rather did increase desire,

Then sitting with her arms across,
Her sorrows streaming from each eye;
She fix'd her thoughts upon her loss,
And in despair resolv'd to die.

[In the Comedy of "Love in a Tub."]

TO A LADY READING SHERLOCK UPON DEATHI.

LORD CHESTERFIELD.

Mistaken fair, lay Sherlock by,

His doctrine is deceiving,
For whilst he teaches us to die,

He cheats us of our living.

To die's a lesson we shall know,
Too soon without a master;
Then let us only study now
How we may live the faster.

To live's to love, to bless be blest,
With mutual inclination;
Share then my ardour in your breast,
And kindly meet my passion.

But if thus blest, I may not live,
And pity you deny,

To me at least your Sherlock give,
'Tis I must learn to die.

LOUISA'S LIP.

DAVID GARRICK.

For me my fair a wreath has wove
Where rival flowers in union meet,

As oft she kiss'd this gift of love,
Her breath gave sweetness to the sweet.

A bee within a damask rose

Had crept the nectar'd dew to sip, But lesser sweets the thief foregoes, And fixes on Louisa's lip.

There tasting all the bloom of Spring,
Wak'd by the ripening breath of May,
Th' ungrateful spoiler left his sting,
And with the honey fled away.

[This is imitated we are told from a Spanish Madrigal. Garrick wrote many songs, but they have little merit to recommend them.]

MUSEUM
BRITANNICE