Song in the Froft-Scene of King

WHA

ARTHUR.

CUPID.

AT ho! thou genius of the clime, what ho!
Ly'ft thou asleep beneath thofe hills of fnow!

Stretch out thy lazy limbs, awake, awake,
And winter from thy furry mantle shake.

GENIUS.

What power art thou, who from below
Hast made me rife, unwillingly and flow,
From beds of everlasting snow!

See'ft thou not how stiff and wondrous old,
Far unfit to bear the bitter cold?

I can scarcely move, or draw my breath;
Let me, let me freeze again to death.

CUPID.

Thou doating fool, forbear, forbear;
What, doft thou dream of freezing here?
At love's appearing, all the sky clearing,
The stormy winds their fury fpare:
Winter fubduing, and fpring renewing,
My beams create a more glorious year,
Thou doating fool, forbear, forbear,
What, dost thou dream of freezing here!

2

M

GE

GENIUS.

Great love, I know thee now;

Eldeft of the gods art thou:

Heaven and earth by thee were made,
Humane nature

Is thy creature,
Every where thou art obey'd.

Ο

N yonder bed, fupinely laid,

Behold thy lov'd expecting maid': In tremor, blushes, half in tears, Much, much she wishes, more fhe fears. Take, take her to thy faithful arms, Hymen beftows thee all her charms.

Heaven to thee bequeaths the fair,
To raise thy joy, and lull thy care!
Heaven made grief, if mutual, cease;
But joy, divided, to encrease:

To mourn with her exceeds delight;
Darkness with her, the joys of light.

I

HAVE been in love, and in debt, and in drink,

This many and many a year;

And thofe are three plagues enough, any fhou'd think,

For one poor mortal to bear.

'Twas love made me fall into drink,

And drink made me run into debt;

And tho' I have struggled, and struggled, and strove, I cannot get out of 'em yet.

There's nothing but money can cure me,

And rid me of all my pain; "Twill pay all my debts,'

And remove all my letts;

And my mistress, that cannot endure me,

Will love me and love me again,

Then, then I'll fall to my loving and drinking amain.

L

ET monarchs fight for power and fame,

With noife and arms mankind alarm;

Let daily fears their quiet fright,
And dreams difturb their reft at night;
Greatness shall ne'er my foul enthrall,
Give me content, and I have all.

Dif

L

Diffuafion from Prefumption.

ADIES, you that seem so nice,

And as cold in fhew as ice,

And, perhaps, have held out thrice,
Do not think but in a trice

One or other may intice,
And at laft, by fome device,
Set your honours at a price.

You whose smooth and dainty skin,
Rofie lips, or cheeks, or chin,

win;

All that gaze upon you
Yet infult not, sparks within

Slowly burn 'ere flames begin;
And presumption still hath been
Held a moft notorious fin.

TH

HEN never let me fee her more!
In vain I figh, in vain adore.

In fome lonely desart-place,
Far from fight of human race;
In fome unfrequented cell,

Where neither joy nor forrow dwell,
Oh! let me endeavour to forget
At once my felf, and Amoret.

On

I'

On CELIA's Coyness.

the quick fpirit of your eye,
Now languish, and anon must die;
If every sweet and every grace
Muft fly from that forfaken face;
Then, Celia, let us reap our joys,
'Ere time fuch goodly fruit destroys.

Or if that golden fleece must grow
For ever free from aged fnow;
If those bright funs must know no shade,
Nor your fresh beauty ever fade;
Then, Celia fear hot to beftow
What still being gather'd, still must grow.
Thus either time his fickle brings
In vain, or else in vain his wings.