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Far remote and retir'd from the noife of the town,
I'll exchange my brocade for a plain ruffet gown;
My friends fhall be few

But well chofen and true,

And sweet recreation our evening shall crown.

With a rural repaft, a rich banquet for me,
On a moffy green turf, near fome fhady old tree;
The rivers clear brink,

Shall afford me my drink,

And Temp'rance my friendly physician fhall be.

Ever calm and ferene, with contentment ftill bleft,
Not too giddy with joy, or with forrow depreft,
I'll neither invoke,

Or repine at Deaths ftroke,

But retire from the world, as I would to my rest.

SONG XIX.

PRINCES that rule, and empire sway,

How tranfitory is their state!

Sorrows the glories do allay,

And richest crowns have greatest weight.

The mighty monarch treafon fears,
Ambitious thoughts within him rave;

His life all difcontents and cares;
And he at best is but a flave.

Vainly we think with fond delight

To cease the burden of our cares; Each grief a fecond does invite, And forrows are each others heirs.

H 3

For

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BY DR. HENRY KING, BISHOP OF CHICHESTER.

WHAT is th' existence of mans life?

WHA

But open war, or slumber'd ftrife,

Where fickness to his fenfe presents

The combat of the elements :
And never feels a perfect peace
Till Deaths cold hand figns his release.

It is a ftorm where the hot blood
Out-vies in rage the boiling flood;
And each loud paffion of the mind
Is like a furious guft of wind,

Which beats his bark with many a wave
Till he cafts anchor in the grave.

It is a flower which buds and grows,
And withers as the leaves difclofe ;
Whofe fpring and fall faint feafons keep,
Like fits of waking before fleep:
Then fhrinks into that fatal mold,
Where its first being was enroll'd,

It

It is a dream, whofe feeming truth
Is moralis'd in age and youth:
Where all the comforts he can fhare
As wand'ring as his fancies are ;
Till in a mist of dark decay
The dreamer vanish quite away.

It is a dial which points out
The fun-fet as it moves about:
And shadows out in lines of night
The fubtile ftages of Times flight,
Till all obfcuring earth hath laid
The body in eternal shade.

It is a weary interlude

Which doth fhort joys, long woes include.
The world the ftage, the prologue tears,
The acts vain hope, and varied fears;
The scene shuts up with lofs of breath,
And leaves no epilogue but Death.

SONG XXI.

BY MR. GEORGE LILLO. *

THE

HE fweet and blushing rose
Soon withers and decays.

Short are the joys life knows,
And few our happy days,
The fairest day muft fet in night;
Summer in winter ends;
So anguish ftill fucceeds delight,
And grief on joy attends.

* In Sylvia, or the Country Burial.

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SONG

XXII.

BY MR. ROBERT DODSLEY,

MAN

AN's a poor deluded bubble,
Wand'ring in a mift of lies,

Seeing false, or feeing double,

Who would truft to fuch weak eyes ?

Yet prefuming on his fenfes,

On he goes moft wondrous wife :
Doubts of truth, believes pretences ;
Loft in error, lives and dies.

SONG XXIII.

THE BLIND BOY.

BY COLLEY CIBBER ESQ. *

Say! what is that thing call'd light,
Which I must ne'er enjoy,

What are the bleffings of the fight,
O tell your poor blind boy!

You talk of wond'rous things you fee,
You fay the fun shines bright;
I feel him warm, but how can he

Or make it day or night.

Written for, and fet by the celebrated mr. Stanley, organist of St. Andrews, Holborn

My

My day or night myself I make,

Whene'er I fleep or play And could I ever keep awake With me 'twere always day.

With heavy fighs I often hear,
You mourn my hapless woe;
But fure with patience I can bear
A lofs I ne'er can know.

Then let not what I cannot have
My chear of mind destroy;
Whilst thus I fing, I am a king,
Although a poor blind boy.

SONG XXIV.

WELCOME, welcome, brother debtor,

To this poor but merry place,

Where no bailif, dun, nor fetter,
Dares to show his frightful face:
But, kind fir, as you're a ftranger,
Down your garnish you muft lay,
Or your coat will be in danger;
You must either strip or pay.

Ne'er repine at your confinement
From your children or your wife;
Wisdom lies in true refignment
Through the various fcenes of life.

Scorn

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