Far remote and retir'd from the noife of the town, But well chofen and true, And sweet recreation our evening shall crown. With a rural repaft, a rich banquet for me, Shall afford me my drink, And Temp'rance my friendly physician fhall be. Ever calm and ferene, with contentment ftill bleft, 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, His life all difcontents and cares; 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 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 : It is a ftorm where the hot blood Which beats his bark with many a wave It is a flower which buds and grows, It It is a dream, whofe feeming truth It is a dial which points out It is a weary interlude Which doth fhort joys, long woes include. SONG XXI. BY MR. GEORGE LILLO. * THE HE fweet and blushing rose Short are the joys life knows, * In Sylvia, or the Country Burial. SONG XXII. BY MR. ROBERT DODSLEY, MAN AN's a poor deluded bubble, Seeing false, or feeing double, Who would truft to fuch weak eyes ? Yet prefuming on his fenfes, On he goes moft wondrous wife : SONG XXIII. THE BLIND BOY. BY COLLEY CIBBER ESQ. * Say! what is that thing call'd light, What are the bleffings of the fight, You talk of wond'rous things you fee, 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, Then let not what I cannot have SONG XXIV. WELCOME, welcome, brother debtor, To this poor but merry place, Where no bailif, dun, nor fetter, Ne'er repine at your confinement Scorn |