A S O N G. FAL I. AIR, fweet and young, receive a prize Referv'd for your victorious eyes : From crouds, whom at your feet you see, O pity, and diftinguish me! As I from thousand beauties more Distinguish you, and only you adore, II. Your face for conqueft was design'd, But when at once they hear and view, Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you, III. No graces can your form improve, For after dying all reprieve's too late, A S O N G. HIG IGH ftate and honors to others impart, That treasure, that treasure alone, I beg for my own. So gentle a love, fo fervent a fire, That treasure, that treasure alone, I beg for my own. Your love let me crave; Give me in poffeffing So matchlefs a bleffing; That empire is all I would have. Love's my petition, All my ambition; So faithful a lover, I'll die, I'll die, So give up my game. RONDELA Y. CH I. HLOE found Amyntas lying, Sighing to himself, and crying, Kifs me once, and ease II. my pain! Sighing to himfelf, and crying, Ever fcorning and denying To reward your faithful fwain: Kiss me, dear, before my dying; Kifs me once, and cafe my pain! Ever fcorning, and denying To reward your faithful fwain. Chloe, laughing at his crying, Told him, that he lov'd in vain : Kifs me, dear, before my dying; IV. Chloe, laughing at his crying, Told him, that he lov'd in vain : But repenting, and complying, When he kiss'd, fhe kiss'd again : Kifs'd him up before his dying; Kifs'd him up, and eas'd his pain. <X*X*X*X* G A S Ì. O tell Amynta, gentle fwain, I would not die, nor dare complain : Thy tuneful voice with numbers join, Thy words will more prevail than mine. To fouls opprefs'd, and dumb with grief, The gods ordain this kind relief; That mufic should in found's convey, What dying lovers dare not fay. II. A figh or tear, perhaps, fhe'll give, Tell her that hearts for hearts were made; And love with love is only paid. Tell her my pains fo faft increase, That foon they will be past redress ; *&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&. A SONG TO A ****** Fair Young LADY, going out of the Town in the Spring. I. ASK not the caufe, why fullen Spring So long delays her flowers to bear; Why warbling birds forget to fing, And winter storms invert the year: Chloris is gone, and fate provides To make it Spring, where the refides. |