AIR XVIII.

FLATTERING hopes the mind deceiving

Easy faith too often cheat, Woman, fond and all believing

Loves and hugs the dear deceit.

Noisy shew of pomp and riches,

Cupid's trick to catch the fair, Lowly maids too oft bewitches,

Flattery is the beauty's snare.

AIR XIX.

WHAT's all the pomp of gaudy courts,

But vain delights and jingling toys, While pleasure crowns your rural sports

With calm content, and tranquil joys.

AIR XXI A

RETURN, fweet lafs, to flacks and twains, Y H'N
Where simple Nature midly reigns; ri ziswe 1101 364
Where Love is every shepherd's care, ilu 11odel 93912

s
And every nymph is kind as fair. 1vubHuyu Yui'!

The court has only tinsel toys,"* "vy 9t' yng 99.9H
Infipid mirth and idle noise ;

polis em Na ir But rural joys are ever new,

u Pragu zor.} b'A While nymphs are kind, and shepherds true.' ** B'w

AIR XXI.

AGAIN in rustic weeds array'd,
A simple swain, a fimple maid,
O'er rural scenes with joy we'll rove,
By dimpling brook, or cooling grove.

The birds shall strain their little throats,
And warble wild their merry notes ;
Whilst we converse beneath the shade,
A happy swain, and happy maid.

Thy hands shall pluck, to grace my bow's,
The luscious fruit, the fragrant flow'r,
Whilst joys shall bless, for ever new,
Thy PHOEBE kind, my COLIN true.

A IR XXII.A

WHY should I now, my love, complain,
That toil awaits thy chearful swain,
Since labour oft a sweet bestows
Which lazy splendour never knows?

Hence springs the purple tide of health,
The rich man's wish, the poor man's wealth,
And spreads those blushes o'er the face,
Which come and go with native grace.

The pride of dress, the pomp of shew,
Are trappings oft to cover woe ;
But we, whose wishes never roam,
Shall taste of real joys at home.

AIR XXIII.

NO doubt but your fool's-cap has known

His highness obligingly kind,
-Odzooks I could knock the fool down,

Was e'er such a cuckoldy hind ?

bed ;

To be fare, like a good-natur'd fpoufe,
You've lent him a part of

your
He has fitted the horns to your brows,

And I see them sprout out of your head.

To

To keep your wife virtuous and chaste

The court is a wonderful school, - My Lord you've an excellent taste.

- And, son, you're a cuckoldy fool.

If your lady should bring you an heir,

The blood will flow rich in his veins, Many thanks to my Lord for his care

You dog, I could knock out your brains. To

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HE Author's Apology

The Actor

The Law Student

The Poetry Professors

The Cit's Country Box

GENIUS, ENVY, and Time. A Fable

The HARE and Tortoise. A Fable.

The Satyr and Pedlar

The Nightingale, the Owl, and the Cuckow

A Tale

SHAKSPEARE, an Epistle

Epistle to CHURCHILL

to J, B. Efq

to the same

To **** about to publish some Miscellanies

Familiar Epistle to George COLMAN, Esq.

To OBLIVION. Ode I.

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