SONG CIII. Go, 80, 80, 80, falfest of thy fex, be gone, Leave, leave, ah leave me, leave me to myself alone! Why would you strive by fond pretence, Thus to destroy my innocence? Young Celia, you too late betray'd, She that believes man when he fwears, BELINDA, with affected mien, Tries all the power of art; Yet finds her efforts all in vain, To gain a single heart : Is but herself to please, And makes new conquests every day, Belinda's haughty air destroys Belinda may our pity move; SONG CV. ΟΝ N a bank of flowers, Inviting and undress'd, In her bloom of youth, Fair Celia lay, With love and fleep opprefs'd; When a youthful fwain, Wish'd that he durft The sweet maid furprise ; As he gaz'd, A gentle zephyr arose, Which waking she would hide : With a fa, la, la, la, &c. All amaz'd he stood, That Celia might be kind : Yet the amorous youth, Her glowing bofom prefs'd: With a fa, la, la, la, &c. Now, now repenting, What a dull and a stupid That fuch a chance abus'd? To my shame 'twill now Afleep betray'd, With a fa, la, la, la, &c. And let her go a maid. SONG CVI. WHILE filently I lov'd, nor dar'd To tell my crime aloud, The influence of your smiles I fhar'd, In common with the croud. But when I once my flames expreft, In hopes to ease my pain, You fingl'd me out from all the rest, The mark of your disdain. If thus, Corinna, you shall frown Then all mankind must be undone, SONG CVII. H! happy, happy grove, OH! Witness of our tender love; Oh! happy, happy shade, Where firft our vows were made : She knows not what I mean; Has left the flow'ry green: Mourn, ye nymphs, that sporting play'd, ` Where poor Strephon was betray'd; There the secret wound she gave, When I was made her flave. SONG CVIII. THE fages of old, In prophecy told The cause of a nation's undoing; No prophecies need, For each one here feeks his own ruin. With grumbling and jars, And preach up false tenets to many; We rail and we fight Then him let's commend, That's true to his friend, And the church and the fenate would fettle; Who delights not in blood, But draws when he shou'd, And bravely stands brunt to the battle. Who rails not at kings, Nor politic things, Nor treason will speak when he's mellow; To his country's success: This, this is an honest brave fellow. |