Yet if rough Neptune roufe the wind Then, if we write not by each poft, By Dutchmen or by wind: The king, with wonder and furprise, Should foggy Opdam chance to know The Dutch would fcorn fo weak a foe, From men who've left their hearts behind? Let wind and weather do its worst, Be you to us but kind; Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, 'Tis then no matter how things go, Or who's our friend, or who's our foe. To pafs our tedious hours away, But now our fears tempeftuous grow, When any mournful tune you hear, Think then how often love we've made In justice you cannot refuse To think of our diftrefs; Our certain happiness: All thofe defigns are but to prove. And now we've told you all our loves, # In hopes this declaration moves We have too much of that at fea. W § 5. Song. Lord LANSDOWNE HY, cruel creature, why fo bent, To gold and title you relent; Love throws in vain his dart. If on those endless charms you lay But if a paffion without vice, Without difguife or art, Ah, Celia! if true love's your price, Behold it in my heart. Sir CAR SCROOPE § 6. Song. The wretched fhepherd waking kept, Why should you waste your tears for one Yet, O ye birds, ye flocks, ye pow'rs In this cold bank I'll make a grave, Sad nightingales the watch fhall keep, § 7. A Paftoral Elegy. AH, Damon, dear fhepherd, adieu ! By love and firft nature allied, Ah, would we together had died! Whomever engaging I fee, To his friendship I ne'er can incline, Though the Mufes fhould crown me with art, Though honour and fortune fhould join; Since thou art denied to my heart, What blifs can hereafter be mine? Ah Damon, dear fhepherd, farewel! Thy grave with fad ofiers I'll bind; Though no more in one cottage we dwell, I can keep thee for ever in mind. Each morning I'll vifit alone His afhes who lov'd me fo well, And murmur each eve o'er his ftone, "Ah Damon, dear fhepherd, farewel!" § 8. Song. MOORE. HARK! hark! 'tis a voice from the tomb ! To reft thee befide his cold clay. Ye friends and companions, adieu; To die on his bofom fo true. And night-ravens croak'd all around. How long muft thy Lucy complain? With thee o'er the world would she fly, For thee would fhe lie down and die. Alas! what avails it how dear Thy Lucy was once to her fwain! Her face like the lily fo fair," And eyes that gave light to the plain ! The fhepherd that lov'd her is gone, That face and thofe eyes charm no more; And Lucy, forgot and alone, To death fhall her Colin deplore. And mourn'd to the echoes around, O Colin, receive me, the cried! Twelve months are gone and over, And nine long tedious days: Why didit thou, vent'rous lover, Why didft thou trust the feas? Ceafe, ceafe thou cruel ocean, And let my lover reft: Ah! what's thy troubled motion To that within my breaft! The merchant, robb'd of pleasure, Views tempefts in despair; But what's the lofs of treasure To lofing of my dear! Should fome coaft be laid on, Where gold and diamonds grow, You'd find a richer maiden, But none that loves you fo. How can they fay that nature Has nothing made in vain; Why then beneath the water Do hideous rocks remain ? No eyes these rocks discover, you That lurk beneath the deep, To wreck the wand'ring lover, And leave the maid to weep. All melancholy lying, Thus wail'd the for her dear; Repaid each blast with fighing, Each billow with a tear: When, o'er the white wave ftooping, His floating corpfe the fpied; Then, like a lily drooping, She bow'd her head, and died. § 10. Song. HARD by the hall, our mafter's houfe, Where Merfey flows to meet the main; Where woods, and winds, and waves difpofe A lover to complain; With arms across, along the ftrand Poor Lycon walk'd, and hung his head; Which a bright nymph had made, Am I fome favage beaft of prey? Am I fome horrid monster grown? That thus the flics fo fwift away, Or meets me with a frown? That bofom foft, that lily skin (Truft not the fairest outfide fhow). Contains a marble heart within, A rock hid under fnow. Ah me! the flints and pebbles wound Her tender feet, from whence there fell Thofe crimson drops which stain the ground, And beautify each fhell. Ah! fair one, moderate thy flight, I will no more in vain purfue, But take my leave for a long night; With that, he took a running leap, He took a lover's leap indeed, The waters roll above his head, The billows tofs it o'er and o'er ; His ivory bones lie fcattered, And whiten all the shore. 11. Song. Jemmy Dawfon*. SHENSTONE. COME listen to my mournful tale, Ye tender hearts, and lovers dear; And pity every plaint, but mine. Of gentle blood the damfel came: O had he never seen that day! Their colours and their fafh he wore, And in the fatal drefs was found; And now he muft that death endure Which gives the brave the keenest wound. So pale, or yet fo chill, appear. O Dawfon, monarch of my heart, For thou and I will never part. Should learn to lifp the giver's name. But tho', dear youth, thou shouldft be dragg'd Thou shalt not want a faithful friend Which the had fondly lov'd fo long; Which in her praife had fweetly fung; And fever'd was that beauteous neck, Round which her arms had fondly cha'd; And mangled was that beauteous breast, On which her love-fick head repos'd; She did to every heart prefer; She bore this conftant heart to fee; Now, now, the cried, I follow thee. And let us, let us weep no more. The lover's mournful hearfe retir'd; § 12. Song. A Morning Piece: or, a Him f SMART BRISK chaunticleer his matins had begun, And broke the filence of the night; run. Strong Labour got up with his pipe in his mouth, thatch, Where never physician had lifted the latch. * Captain James Dawfon, the amiable and unfortunate subject of thefe beautiful ftanzas, was one of the eight officers, belonging to the Manchester Regiment of volunteers, in the fervice of the Young Chevalier, who were hanged, drawn, and quartered, on Kennington-common, in 1746: and this ballad, written about the time, is founded on a remarkable circumftance which actually happened at his execution. Just before his death he wrote a fong on his own misfortunes, which is fuppofed to be still extant. Now Now the rural Graces three The abbey bells, in wak'ning rounds, The warning peal have given; And pious Gratitude refounds Her morning hymn to Heaven. All nature wakes; the birds unlock their throats, And mock the fhepherd's ruftic notes. All alive o'er the lawn, Full glad of the dawn, Sylvia and Sol arife, and all is day. Come, my mates, let us work, And all hands to the fork, While the fun fhines, our haycocks to make; And fo fragrant the hay, That the meadow's as blithe as the wake. §14. Song. Humphrey Gubbin's Courtship. A Courting I went to my love, Who is fweeter than rofes in May; I clafp'd her hand clofe to my breast, Yet nothing I faid, I proteft, But-Madam, 'tis very fine weather. To an arbour I did her attend, She afk'd me to come and fit by her; I crept to the furthermoft end, For I was afraid to come nigh her. I ask'd her which way was the wind, Have you juft fent your wits for a venture? Then I follow'd her into the house, There I vow'd I my paffion would try; But there I was ftill as a mouse: O what a dull booby was 1! § 15. Song. The Defpairing Lover, WALSH, DISTRACTED with care, For Phyllis the fair; Since nothing could move her, No longer to languish, But, mad with his love, To a precipice goes; Where a leap from above When in rage he came there, But a neck, when once broken, And that he could die But bold, unconcern'd, § 16. Song. 1 Cobler there was, and he liv'd in a ftall, Which ferv'd him for parlour, for kitchen, and hall, No coin in his pocket, no care in his pate, Derry down, down, down, derry down. Contented hework'd, andhe thought himselfhappy If at night he could purchase a jug of brown nappy: How he'd laugh then, and whistle, and fing too, moft sweet! Saying just to a hair I have made both ends meet! Derry down, down, &c. But love, the disturber of high and of low, That shoots at the peasant as well as the beau; a a He He thot the poor cobler quite thorough the heart; | With his winning behaviour he melted her hear I wish he had hit fome more ignoble part. Derry down, down, &c. Which put the poor cobler quite into defpair. Derry down, down, &c. He took up his awl that he had in the world, And now, in good will, I advife, as a friend, That love brings us all to an end at the laft. WHEN Damon languish'd at my feet, And I believ'd him true, And vows of endless love. The conqueft gain 'd, he left his prize, To talk of joy with weeping eyes,_ But Heaven will take the mourner's part, And the laft figh that rends the heart, But, quite artless herself, the fufpećted no an. He had figh'd, and protested, had kneel, as implor'd, And could lye with the grandeur and air of ales Then her eyes he commended in language n. drefs'd, And enlarg'd on the torments that trouble) Till his fighs and his tears had fo wrought mind, That in downright compaffion to love fhe incins But as foon as he'd melted the ice of her bre All the flames of his love in a moment decress, And at noon he goes flaunting all over the rat, Where he boafts of his conqueft to Sufan Nell: $19. Song. BARTON BOOTH, E. SWEET are the charms of her I love, More fragrant than the damafk rote, Soft as the down of turtle dove, Gentle as the air when Zephyr blows, Refreshing as defcending rains To fun-burnt climes and thirty plains. True as the needle to the pole, Or as the dial to the fun; Conftant as gliding waters roll, Whofe fwelling tides obey the moon; From every other charmer free, My life and love fhall follow thee. The lamb the flowery thyme devours, The dam the tender kid puriues; Of verdant fpring, her note renews; As winter to the fpring gives place, Summer th' approach of autumn flies: Devouring |