SONG 19.

Sung in the DUENNA.

GIVE Ifaac the nymph who no beauty can boast,

But health and good humour to make her his toaft; If ftreight I don't mind whether flender or fat, And fix fit or four--- We'll ne'er quarrel for that.

Whate'er her complexion... I vow I don't care ; If brown-it is lafting---more pleafing if fair: And tho' in her cheeks I no dimples fhould fee, Let her fmile---and each dell is a dimple to me.

Let her locks be the reddeft that ever were feen, And her eyes--may be e'en--any colour but green; For in eyes, tho' fo various the luftre and hue, I fwear I've no choice...only let her have two.

'Tis true, I'd difpenfe with a throne on her back, And white teeth I own--are genteeler than black: A little round chin too's a beauty I've heard, But I only defire-- fhe mayn't have a beard.

SONG 20.

By a Lady of Quality.

THE fun his gladfome beams withdrawn,

The hills all white with fnow,

Leave me dejected and forlorn ;

Who can defcribe my woe?

But not the fun s warm beams could chear,

Nor hills tho' e'er fo green;

Unless my Damon fhould

To beautify the scene.,

appear

The frozen brooks, and pathlefs vales,

Disjoin my love and me;

The pining bird his fate bewails,

On yonder leafles tree!

But, what to me are birds, or brooks,
Or any joy that's near?

Heavy the lute, and dull the brooks,
While Damon is not here.

The Laplander, who, half the year,
Is wrapt in fhades of night,
Mourns not, like me, his winter drear,

Nor wishes more for light.

But what were light, without my
Or objects e'er fo fine?

love,

The flow'ry meadow, field, or grove,
If Damon be not mine?

Each moment, from my dear

away,

Is a long age of pain;
Fly fwift, ye hours! be calm the day
That brings my love again!

O! hafte, and bring him to my arms,

Nor let us ever part;

My breast fhall beat no more alarms, When I fecure his heart.

'TWAS

SONG 21.

THE NUT-BROWN MAID.

WAS in the bloom of May, When odours breathe around, When nymphs are blyth and gay, And all with mirth abound; That happily I ftray'd

To view my fleecy care, Where I beheld a maid, No mortal e'er fo fair ; No mortal e'er so fair.

She wore upon her head

A bonnet made of ftraw.
Which fuch a face did fhade
As Phoebus never faw.

Her locks of nut brown hue
A cap and coif conceal'd,
Which to my pleafing view,
A sporting breeze reveal'd.

Around her flender waist

A fcrip embroider'd hung,

The lute her fingers grac'd,
Accompany'd with a fong,
With fuch a pleasing note,.
Curroni might regale;
Or Philomela's throat,

That warbles through the vale.

Not long I ftood to view,

Struck with her heav'nly air,
I to the charmer flew,

And caught the yielding fair.
Hear this, ye fcornful belles,
And milder ways pursue ;
She that in charms excells,
Excells in kindness too.

SONG 22.

YOUNG Jockey, who teiz'd me a twelve-month

or more,

Now bolder is grown than was mortal before; He whispers fuch things as no virgin fhould hear, And he preffes my lips with a warmth I can't bear.

With ftories of love he would foften my mind, And his eyes fpeak a temper to mischief inclin'd; But I vow not a moment I'll truft him alone, And when nex the grows rude I will bid him begone.

Of honour and truth not a word has he spoke, And his actions declare he thinks virtue a joke; He fhall find his mistake if he ventures to try : For, than yield on such terms, oh! I rather would die..

With no creature befide he fuch freedom dare take;

Yet the handfome and witty he quits for my fake: But how can I think that he loves me the best? Or how can I love him who'd break all my reft?

Oh! Jockey, reform, nor be foolish again, Left you lofe a fond heart you fhall never regain: If you change your behaviour, and to church chufe

to go,

I'll forgive all that's paft, and will never fay No.

Он

SONG 23.

PATTY OF THE HILL.

OHI Venus, queen of foft delights,

Accept a fuppliant's pray'r, Who wishes to attend the rights

In which thy vot'ries share :
Infpire his tongue with gentleft airs,
Yet void of art or skill,

While he his unfeign'd love declares
For Patty of the hill.