F

From her power I no refuge can find; If another I take in my arms,

Yet Cloe is then in my mind;

Unbleft with the joy, ftill a pleasure I want,
Which none but my Cloe, my Cloe can grant.

Let my Cloe but fmile, I grow gay,

And I feel my heart fpring with delight; On Cloe I cou'd gaze all the day,

And Cloe do wifh for each night;

Awake when I think, asleep if I dream,
Here Cloe's the image, there Cloe the theme,

Oh! did Cloe but know how I love,
And the pleasure of loving again,

My paffion her favour wou'd move,

And in prudence she'd pity my pain;

Good-nature and intereft fhou'd both make her kind,
For the joy the might give, and the joy fhe might find. ;

THERE

HERE ne'er was fo wretched a lover as I,

T Whole hopes are for ever prevented;

I'm neither at reft when Amynta looks coy,
Nor when she looks kind am contented:

Her frowns give a pain I'm unable to bear,

The thoughts of 'em fet me a trembling;
And her smiles are a joy fo great, that I fear
Left they shou'd be no more but diffembling.

Then pr'ythee, Amynta, confent and be kind;
A pox of this troublesome wooing;
For I find I fhall ne'er be at peace in my mind,
Till once you and I have been doing.

For fhame, let your lover no longer complain
Of ufage that's hard above measure;

But fince I have carry'd fuch loads of love's pain,
Now let me take toll of the pleasure.

The

The following English Cantata was fung at the Opera Houfe in the Hay-Market, by Seignora DURASTANTI, being then about to quit this Kingdom.

G

ENEROUS, gay, and gallant nation,
Bold in arms, and bright in arts;

Land fecure from all invasion,

All, but Cupid's gentle darts.

From your charms, oh! who wou'd run?
Who wou'd leave you for the fun?

Happy foil, adieu, adieu;

Let old charmers yield to new.

In arms, in arts,, be fstill more shining,
All your joys be ftill increafing,

All your taftes be still refining,
All your jars for ever ceafing:
But let old charmers yield to new:
Happy foil, adieu; adieu.

To

L'

To Seignora CuZZONI.

ITTLE Syren of the stage,

Charmer of an idle age;

Empty warbler, breathing lyre,
Wanton gale of fond defire;

Bane of every manly art,
Sweet enfeebler of the heart:
O, too pleafing in thy ftrain,
Hence, to fouthern climes again.

Tuneful mischief, vocal spell,

To this ifland bid farewel;
Leave us as we ought to be,
Leave the Britons rough and free.

RUEL defpair, no more torment me,
No more my blooming hopes annoy;

Let foft delufion, to content me,
Arife with flattering dreams of joy.

No more my bleeding heart fhall languish
In fighs, the voice of filent grief;
No more I'll dread the painful anguish;
Sweet hope returning brings relief.

Apollo

D

Apollo and Daphne.

APHNE, the beautiful and coy,

Along the winding fhore of Peneus flew,

To fhun love's tender offer'd joy,

Tho' 'twas a god that did her charms pursue:

While thus Apollo, in a moving strain,

Awak'd his lyre, and foftly breath'd his amorous pain.