For fure you'll find them all fincere,

If you'll but kind and constant prove;
But if you flight their paffion ftill,
And tyrannise o'er hearts so true,
Depend upon't they'll all rebel,
And never care a fig for you.

O! hold your foolish tongue,
Little fmiling Cupid faid;
Have you never heard it fung,

That conftancy would win a maid?

The greatest men alive

Have been by Cupid's pow'r o'ercome; 'Tis in vain with love to ftrive,

Though arm'd with fword, and fpear, and gun.

Then ground your arms, Sons of War,
There's no quarr'ling with the Fair.

SONG 3.

WHILE yet as a cowan I wander'd the plain,

I thought to be a mafon again and again,
But often. was told it was not for my weil,
For at meetings of masons they raifed the Deil..
raifed the Deil, &c.

I thithier repair'd, being refolv'd in my mind, When to my furprise a good friend I did find,

And hade me prepare, for fo hearty I'd feel; What fill was now ftrange when I thought on the

Deil.

thought on the Deil, &c..

We knock'd, but was ftopp'd; when we enter'd

the door,

They faid, Who bring you here whom we ne'er faw before;

I told them I thought to be admitted fu' weil, As I freely, came here to fhake hands wi' the Deil. Shake hands wi' the Deil, &c.

By leave from the chair then admittance we found, But like one that's blind I gropp'd all the way round; "Till fomething I felt made me ftagger and reel, Which rais'd my old thought, I'd meet wi' the Deil. meet with the Deil, &c.

At laft to my joy. I found all things go right, And began by degrees to difcover the light; The mafter advis'd me to fwallow a pill, Which he faid would purge me from all fears of the Deil.

fears of the Deil, &e.

By leave from the chair I did join the glad throng, And partook of their joys o'er a glafs and a fong, Ye-cowans, remember the mafons are leel, And beware of yourfelves when you speak of the

Deil..

Speak of the Deil, &c.

SONG 4.

To the tune of, I told my nymph, I told her true.

A DIEU!

DIEU! ye native fields and bow'rs!
Where fportive pleafure loves to dwell;
Where rural mirth can charm the hours:
Ye fcenes! ye lovely haunts, farewell!

Ye dear companions of my youth!
Who oft partook my heedlefs joy,
When all was innocence and truth;

(No cares, did then my blifs annoy.)

Farewell!-and, O! may happy days,
And ev'ry bleffing round ye dwell!
May fweet contentment, join'd with ease,
For ever fhade your native cell.

And thou, Philander! chofen friend,
Whofe faithful breaft oft footh'd my care;

That Heav'n from ev'ry ill defend
My friend, fhall be my latest pray'r.

Yet, yet Philander! yet a figh;

A peufive figh ftill heaves my breaft;
A tear efcapes my downcaft eye,
And fond remembrance breaks my

When I recal thofe happy hours

reft.

With thee, my friend, in wanton play,

Amid yon green-lin❜d leafy bow'rs; How lightly flew thofe hours away!

Or at the foot of yonder hill,

Where falls the rufhing ftream fo faft; And here, where fweetly glides the rill, With how much joy our time we past!

The dear delufion wou'd not laft;
The airy vifion now is o'er :

Cou'd I forget but time that's paft,
And fond reflection were no more?

Adieu! ye feats of pure delight!
Ne'er will ye joy to me renew;
A ling'ring tear now dims my fight,
Perhaps for ever.-Ah! adieu !

པ་་་་་ ར.

SONG 5.

A SHAPE alone let others prize

The features of the Fair;

I look for fpirit in her eyes,
And meaning in her air:

A damask'd cheek, an iv'ry arm,
Could ne'er my wishes win;

Give me an animated form

That speaks a mind within.

A face where awful honour fhines,
Where fenfe and sweetness move,
And angel-innocence refines

The tendernefs of love:

Thefe are the force of beauty's charms,
Without, whofe vital aid,
Unfinish'd all her features feem,

And all her rofes dead.

But ah where both thefe two-unite

How perfect is the view,
With ev'ry image of delight,
With graces ever new :

With pow'r to footh the greatest grief
The wildeft rage controul ;
Diffufing wildnefs o'er the brow,
And rapture through the foul.

Their pow'r but faintly to exprefs,
All language must despair;
go, behold Amafia's face,
And read it perfect there.

But

SONG 6.

COULD ye guefs,-for I ill can repeat,

The fenfation I am deftin'd to prove;