孝

Song for a Mufick-meeting.

OME, ftoick, come, thou proud philofopher, Thou, thou that art fo cold, and fo fevere; Who, with vain gravity difeas'd,

Art fo afraid of being pleas'd.

Come, liften, liften to our tuneful strains,

View the the delightful nymphs, and ravish'd swains. Poor, loft philofopher,

How wilt thou find thy paffions here?

How wish thy felf all eye; and with thy felf all ear, Come, ftoick, come, thou proud philofopher,

Thou, thou that art fo cold, and fo fevere:

Who fo fevere, whom mufick cannot charm?
So cold, whom beauty cannot warm? -
But when both, both are combining,
Both united forces joining,

Then what madness 'tis to arm!
-When fo kind too is th' alarm,

And fuch foftness does impart,
Such glad fom tremblings to the heart."
Who fo fevere, whom mufick cannot charm?
So cold, whom beauty cannot warm?

Let loofe thy foul to joy;
Nor call what pleafes thee a toy.

Fool he, that wants to be above
'Gay delight, and gentle love!
Fool, against himself contriving,
Who, with kindly nature striving,
Quarrels with the fweets of living,
Let loofe thy foul to joy,

Nor call what pleafes thee a toy.

Virtue, the mistress of thy care,
Is but a part of good;
Pleafure's the reft; is lovely fair,

And wou'd be wifely woo'd;

Cheat not thy felf of bliss was meant thee;
But take, take all kind fate has sent thee.

ONFOUND thofe dull fools,

CON

Who, for coffee or tea,

Do fly the delights

Of true Burgundy.

Hot water can never
Dull humours expel;

For our parts, boys, let's away,
Let's away to the Bell.

Το our

miftreffes healths

Let's take off our glaffes,

And laugh at those tea drinking
Politick affes.

I

BURN, I burn, I burn, with grief!
My bofom blazes, fierce the flames ↳
Whither fhall I, raging, rove?

To what fhady bow'r, or grove,
Or cooling, crystal streams?

In vain, in vain, I seek relief

From chilly froft, or fleecy fnows!
Damon, like the adder deaf,
Heaps the fewel on my grief,
And hell within me blows.

COME

CARESAD

COME, neighbours, now we've made our hay,

The fun in hafte

Drives to the west,

With sports, with sports conclude the day.
Let every man chufe out his lafs,
And then falute her on the grass;

And when you find

She's coming kind,.

Let not that moment pass.

(honour,

Chorus. We'll tofs off our bowls with true love and To all kind loving girls, and the lord of the manour.

At night, when round the hall we're fet,

With good brown bowls,

To chear our fouls,

And raise a merry, merry chat;

When blood grows warm, and love runs high,
And jokes all round the table fly;

Then we retreat,

And that repeat

Which all wou'd gladly try.

Then again tofs our bowls, &c. I

Let lazy great one's of the town

Drink night away,...

And fleep all day, .!

Till gouty, gouty they are grown::

Our

Our nightly sports such vigour give,
That oftentimes we do revive,
And kifs our dames

With stronger flames

Than any prince alive.

Then again tofs our bowls, &c.

5

HIS great world is a trouble,

ΤΗ

Where all must their fortunes bear ;

Make the most of the bubble,

You'll have but a neighbour's fare.
Let not jealousy teize ye,

Think of nought but to please ye;
What's paft 'tis but in vain

For mortals to wish again.

When dull cares do attack you,
Drinking will those clouds repel; -
Four full bottles will make you
Happy, they feldom fail.

If a fifth fhou'd be wanted,
Ask the gods 'twill be granted;
Thus with ease you'll obtain
A remedy for all pain.

Written