But then old Noll was one in ten, 'Tis worth a fage's obfervation How love can make a jest of passion. If anger Love form'd his features to a fmile: He in few words exprefs'd his mind- That That recompence from each, which shame Am old, God knows, and something lame; Our fhepherd, like the Phrygian swain, ODE ODE to be performed by Dr. BRETTLE, and a Chorus of HALES-OWEN CITIZENS. The Inftrumental Part, a Viol d' Amour. A AIR by the DOCTOR. WAKE! I fay, awake good people! Come let's be merry; ftir the tipple; How can you fleep, Whilft I do play? how can you sleep, &c. CHORUS of CITIZENS. Pardon, O! pardon, great musician! Thy ftrains to hear; To drink, To hear, And keep awake! SOLO by the DOCTOR. Hear but this ftrain-'twas made by Handel, DUET TE. Dr. How could they go Whilst I do play? Soft mufic. Sal. How could they go! How should they stay ? warlike mufic. CUPID AND PLUTU S. W HEN Celia, Love's eternal foe, To rich old Gomez firft was marry'd; And angry Cupid came to know, His fhafts had err'd, his bow miscarry'd; He figh'd, he wept, he hung his head, On the cold ground, full fad, he laid him; When Plutus, there by fortune led, In this defponding plight furvey'd him. And fure, he cry'd, you 'll own at last Your boafted power by mine exceeded: Say, wretched boy, now all is past, How little fhe your efforts heeded. If with fuccefs you would affail, Gild, Youngfter, doubly gild your arrows: Little the feather'd shafts avail, Though wing'd from Mamma's doves and spar rows. What though each reed, each arrow grew, Where Venus bath'd herself; depend on 't, 'Twere more for ufe, for beauty too, A diamond sparkled at the end on 't. Peace, Plutus, peace!-the boy reply'd; Were not my arts by your's infested, I could each other power deride, And rule this circle, unmolested. See See yonder pair! no worldly views In Chloe's generous breaft refided: Love bade her the fpruce valet chufe, And the by potent love was guided. For this the quits her golden dreams, In her gilt coach no more the ranges: And her rich crimfon, bright with gems, For cheeks impearl'd with tears, the changes. Though fordid Celia own'd your power, Think not fo monftrous my difgrace is You gain'd this nymph-that very hour I gain'd a fcore in different places. EPILOGUE to the Tragedy of CLEONE: WELL, ladies-fo much for the tragic ftile And now the custom is to make you fmile. To make us fmile !-methinks I hear you fay-- |