Nought but Love.

I.

HE fun was funk beneath the hill,

THE

The western clouds were lin'd with gold, The sky was clear, the winds were still, The flocks were pent within the fold; When from the filence of the grove, Poor Damon thus despair'd of love!

II.

Who feeks to pluck the fragrant rofe

From the bare rock, or oozy beach;
Who from each barren weed that grows

Expects the grape, or blushing peach;
With equal faith may hope to find
The truth of love in womankind.

III.

I have no herds, no fleecy care,

No fields that wave with golden grain,
No pastures green, nor gardens fair,
A maiden's venal heart to gain :
Then all in vain my fighs must prove,
For I, alas! have nought but love.

IV.

How wretched is the faithful youth,

Since women's hearts are bought and fold!

They ask not vows of facred truth,

Whene'er they figh, they figh for gold.

Gold can the frowns of fcorn remove,

But I, alas! have nought but love.

V.

To buy the gems of India's coast,

What wealth, what treasure can fuffice?

Not all their fhine can ever boast

The living luftre of her eyes:

For these the world too cheap would prove; But I, alas! have nought but love.

VI.

O Silvia! fince nor gems, nor ore,

Can with your brighter gems compare,
Confider that I offer more,

More feldom found, a foul fincere :
Let riches meaner beauties move,
Who pays thy worth, muft pay in love.

Tell me, my Heart.

I.

WHEN Delia on the plain appears,

Aw'd by a thousand tender fears,

I would approach, but dare not move:
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

II.

Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear
No other voice but hers can bear,
No other wit but hers approve :
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

III.

If she some other fwain commend,
Tho' I was once his fondest friend,
That instant enemy I prove:
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

IV.

When she is absent, I no more
Delight in all that pleas'd before,
The cleareft fpring, or fhady grove :
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

V.

When arm'd with insolent disdain,
She feem'd to triumph in my pain;
I ftrove to hate, but vainly ftrove:
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

CUPID mistaken.

AS

I.

S afternoon, one fummer's day, Venus ftood bathing in a river, Cupid a-shooting went that way,

New ftrung his bow, and fill'd his quiver: With skill he chose his sharpest dart, With all his might his bow he drew, Swift to his beauteous parent's heart, The too well-guided arrow flew.

II.

I faint! I die! the goddess cry'd:

O cruel! cou'dft thou find none other To wreak thy fpleen on? parricide,

Like Nero, thou haft flain thy mother! Poor Cupid, fobbing, scarce cou'd speak; Indeed, mamma, I did not know ye : Alas! how eafy the mistake,

I took you for your likeness Chloe.

SYLVIA to ALEXIS.

I.

ALEXIS, how artlefs a lover!

How bashful and filly you grow!
In my eyes can you never discover
I mean Yes, when I often say No!
I mean, &c.

II.

When you pine and you whine out your passion,
And only intreat for a kiss;
To be coy and deny is the fashion,
Alexis fhould ravish the bliss.
Alexis fhould, &c.

III.

In love, as in war, 'tis but reason
To make fome defence for the town:
To furrender without it, were treason,
Before that the outworks were won.
Before that, &c.

IV.

If I frown, 'tis my blushes to cover,
'Tis for honour and modefty's fake;
He is but a pitiful lover

Who is foil'd by a single attack.
Who is, &c.

V.

But when we by force are o'erpower'd,
The best and the bravest musft yield;
I am not to be won by a coward,
Who hardly dares enter the field.
Who hardly, &c.

1710

The ferious Lover.

I.

ELIEVE my fighs, my tears, my dear,
Believe the heart you have won,

Believe my vows to you fincere,

Or, Jenny, I'm undone.

You fay, I'm fickle, and apt to change,

At ev'ry face that's new:

Of all the girls I ever faw,
I ne'er lov'd one but you.

II.

My heart was like a lump of ice,
Till warm'd by your bright eye;
And then it kindled in a trice,
A flame that ne'er can die.
Then take and try me, you fhall find
That I've a heart that's true :

Of all the girls I ever faw,

I ne'er lov'd one like you.

The grateful Admirers.

FALSE tho' fhe be to me and love,

I'll ne'er pursue revenge;

For ftill the charmer I approve,
Tho' I deplore her change.

In hours of bliss we oft have met,

They could not always last;

But tho' the present I regret,

I'm grateful for the past.
I'm grateful, &c.