Then, Virtue, to the helm repair,

Thou, Innocence, shalt guide the oar;
Now rage, ye winds! ftorms, rend the air!
My bark, thus mann'd, shall gain the shore.

SONG X.

BY JAMES SHIRLEY.

HE glories of our birth and state,

THE

Are fhadows, not fubftantial things;

There is no armour against fate;
Death lays his icy hands on kings:
Scepter and crown

Muft tumble down,

And in the dust be equal made

With the poor crooked scythe and fpade.

Some men with fwords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill
But their strong nerves at last must yield,
They tame but one another ftill,
Early or late

They ftoop to fate,

And must give up their murm'ring breath,
When the pale captive creeps to death.

* These fine moral ftanzas were originally intended for a folemn fumeral fong in The Contention of Ajax and Ulyffes." It is faid to have been a favourite fong with King Charles II. PERCY. I. 270.

The

The laurel withers on your brow,

Then boast no more your mighty deeds, Upon Deaths purple altar now

See where the victor victim bleeds;

All heads must come

To the cold tomb:

Only the actions of the just

Smell fweet, and bloffom in the dust.

NOR

SONG XI.

BY DR. DALTO N. *

OR on beds of fading flowers,
Shedding foon their gawdy pride
Nor with fwains in Syren bowers
Will true pleasure long refide.

On aweful Virtues hill fublime,
Enthroned fits th' immortal fair;
Who wins her height muft patient climb,
The steps are peril, toil, and care.

So from the firft did Jove ordain,
Eternal blifs for tranfient pain.

*In the Mafque of Comus.-It feems to be imitated from a passage in the 17th book of Taffos Jerufalem.

SONG

2

SONG XII.

FROM METASTASIO. *

WHAT

BY MR. HOOLE.

WHAT frenzy mufl his foul poffefs,
Whose hopes on evil deeds depend!
For though the wicked meet fuccefs,
Yet peace can ne'er their steps attend.

For ev'n in lifes ferenest state,

Shall Vice receive her fecret fting; As Virtue, though depress'd by fate, Herself her own reward fhall bring.

SONG XIII.

BY THE REV. THOMAS WARTON.

O tinkling brooks, to twilight fhades,
To defert profpects rough and rude,

With youthful rapture firft I ran,

Enamour'd of sweet solitude.

On beauty next I wondering gaz'd,

Too foon my fupple heart was caught:

An eye, a breaft, a lip, a fhape,

Was all I talk'd of, all I thought.

Next, by the fmiling Mufes led,

On Pindus laurel'd top I dream,
Talk with old bards, and listening hear
The warbles of th' inchanting stream.

In the opera of Hypfipile.

Then

Then Harmony and Picture came
Twin-nymphs my fenfe to entertain,
By turns my eye, my ear was caught,
With Raphaels ftrokes and Handels ftrain.

At laft, fuch various pleasures prov'd,
All cloying, vain, unmanly found,
Sweet for a time as morning dew,

Yet parents of fome painful wound.

Humbly I afk'd great Wifdoms aid,
To true delight to lead my feet:
When thus the goddefs whifpering faid,
"Virtue alone is blifs complete."

SONG XIV.

BY M R. GARRICK. *

NOME, come, my good fhepherds, our flocks we muft

In your holiday fuits, with your laffes appear:

The happiest of folk are the guiltless and free,

And who are fo guiltless, fo happy as we ?

We harbour no paffions, by luxury taught,

We practise no arts, with hypocrify fraught;

What we think in our hearts, you may read in our eyes; For knowing no falfehood, we need no difguife.

Sung by a shepherdefs, at the Sheep-fhearing in Florizel and Perdita.

By

By mode and caprice are the city dames led,
But we, as the children of nature are bred;

By her hand alone, we are painted, and drefs'd;
For the roles will bloom, when there's peace in the breast.

That giant Ambition we never can dread,

Our roofs are too low for fo lofty a head;
Content and fweet Chearfulness open our door,
They fmile with the fimple, and feed with the poor.

When love has poffefs'd us, that love we reveal;
Like the flocks that we feed are the paffions we feel:
So harmless and fimple we fport, and we play,
And leave to fine folks to deceive and betray.

This was the firft and happiest life,

When man enjoy'd himself;

Till pride exchanged peace for ftrife,
And happiness for pelf.

'Twas