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SLEEP, fleep, poor youth! fleep, fleep in peace,
Reliev'd froin love, and mortal care;
Whilft we, that pine in life's disease,
Uncertain bleft lefs happy are.
Couch'd in the dark and filent grave,
No ills of fate thou now canst fear;
In vain would tyrant power enflave,
Or fcornful beauty be fevere.
Wars that do fatal ftorms difperfe,

Far from thy happy manfion keep;
Earthquakes that shake the univerfe,

Can't rock thee into founder fleep. With all the charms of peace poffeft, Secure from life's tormentor, pain, Sleep, and indulge thyself with reft, Nor dream thou e'er fhalt rife again.

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Haad in hand we 'll dance around,
For this place is fairy ground,

When mortals are at rest,
And fnoring in their neft;
Unheard and unefpied,
Through key-holes we do glide;
Over tables, ftools, and fhelves,
We trip it with our fairy elves.

And if the house be foul, With platter, difh, or bowl, Up ftairs we nimbly creep, And find the fluts afleep; Then we pinch their arms and thighs None us hears, and none us fpies. But if the house be swept, And from uncleannefs kept, We praife the household maid, And duly the is paid : Every night before we go, We drop a tefter in her thoe.

Then o'er a mushroom's head Our table-cloth we spread; A grain of rye or wheat, The dier that we eat ; Pearly drops of dew we drink, In acorn-cups fill'd to the brink. The brains of nightingales, With unctuous fat of fails, Between two cockles stew'd, Is meat that's easily chew'd; Tails of worms, and marrow of mice, Do make a difh that's wondrous nice.

The grasshopper, gnat, and fly, Serve for our minstrelfy; Grace faid, we dance awhile, And fo the time beguile : And if the moon doth hide her head, The glow-worm lights us home to bed. O'er tops of dewy grafs So nimbly we do pafs,

The young and tender stalk

Ne er bends where we do walk; Yet in the morning may be feen Where we the night before have been

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And cheerful old age feel the fpirit of youth;
For the raptures of fancy here poets fhall tread,
For hallow'd the turf is that pillow'd his head.
Flow on, filver Avon, in fong ever flow !
Be the fwans on thy borders ftill whiter than fnowTo
Ever full be thy ftream, like his fame may it
fpread!

And the turf ever hallow'd which pillow'd his
head.

$67. Song. The Fairies. OME follow, follow me,

Co

Ye Fairy elves that be, Light tripping o'er the green; Come follow Mab your queen:

the Grève,

The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave; Where honour and juftice moft oddly contribute cafe heroes pains by a halter and gibbet. Derry down, down, hey derry down. There death breaks the fhackles which force had put on,

And the hangman completes what the judge had begun :

There the 'fquire of the pad, and the knight of the poft,

Find their pains no more balk'd, and their hopes

no more crofs'd. Derry down, &c.

Great

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The fquire,whofe good grace was to open the fcene, Seem'd not in great hafte that the fhow fhould begin; Now fitted the halter, now travers'd the cart; And often took leave, but was loth to depart. Derry down, &c.

What frightens you thus, my good fon? fays the pricft;

You murder'd, are forry, and have been confefs'd. O father! my forrow will fcarce fave my bacon; For 'twas not that I murder'd, but that I was taken. Derry down, &c.

Poh! pr'ythee ne'er trouble thy head with fuch

fancies;

Rely on the aid you fhall have from Saint Francis If the money you promis'd be brought to the cheft, You have only to die; let the church do the rest. Derry down, &c.

And what will folks fay if they fee you afraid? It reflects upon me, as I knew not my trade: Courage, friend! to-day is your period of forrow; And things will go better, believe me, to-morrow. Derry down, &c.

To-morrow our hero replied in a fright; He that's hang'd before noon ought to think of tonight.

Tell your beads, quoth the priest, and be fairly

tru'd up;

For you furely to-night fhall in paradife fup.
Derry down, &c.

Alas! quoth the 'fquire, howe'er fumptuous the
Parbleu! I fall have little ftomach to cat: [treat,
Ifhould therefore efteem it great favour and grace,
Would you be fo kind as to go in my place.

Derry down, &c

That I would, quoth the father, and thank you to boot;

But our actions, you know, with our duty must fuit:
The fealt propos'd to you, I cannot tafte;
For this night, by our order, is mark'd for a fast.
Derry down, &c.

Then, turning about to the hangman, he faid,
Difpatch me, I pr'ythee, this troublefome blade:
For thy cord and my cord both equally tie;
And we live by the gold for which other men die.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.

The cafe of Hofier, which is here fo pathetically represented, was briefly this: In April, 1726, that commander was lent with a frong firet into the Spanish Weft-Indies, to block up the gulleons in the ports of that country; or, should they piefume to come out, to feize and carry them into England: be accordingly arrived at the Bagimentos near Porto-Bello; but being reflicted by bis orders from abeying the dictates of bis corage, lay inactive on that flation until ke became the jeft of the Spaniards : he afterwards venorwed to Carthagent, and continued cruizing in thee feas till the far greater part of his mon perified deplorably by the diseases of that unbealthy climate. This brave man, seeing bis but afficers and men thus daily fwept away, bis ships expoled to inevitable defiruction, and bimself made tor Sport of the enemy, is faid to have died of a broken beart.

AS near Porto-Bello lying

On the gently-fwelling flood,
At midnight, with ftreamers flying,
Our triumphant navy rode;
There, while Vernon fate all-glorious
From the Spaniards' late defeat,
And his crews, with fhouts victorious,
Drank fuccefs to England's fleet;
On a fudden, fhrilly founding,

Hideous vells and fhrieks were heard;
Then, eacli heart with fear confounding,
A fad troop of ghofts appear'd;
All in dreary hammocks throuded,

Which for winding-fheets they wore,
And, with looks by forrow clouded,
Frowning on that hoftile fhore.
On them gleam'd the moon's wan luftre,

When the fhade of Hofier brave

His pale bands was feen to muster,

Rifing from their wat'ry grave:
O'er the glimmering wave he hied him,
Where the Burford rear'd her fail,
With three thousand ghofts befide him,
And in groans did Vernon hail.
Heed, O heed, our fatal story!

I am Hofier's injur'd ghoft;
You who now have purchas'd glory
At this place where I was loft:
Though in Porto-Bello's ruin

You now triumph free from fears,
When you think on my undoing,

You will mix your joys with tears.
See thefe mournful fpeétres fweeping

Ghaftly o'er this hated wave,
Whofe wan cheeks are ftain'd with weeping:
Thefe were English captains brave:
Mark thofe numbers, pale and horrid,

Who were once my failors bold;
Lo! cach hangs his drooping forehead,

§ 69. Song. Alminal Hofier's Ghoft, GLOVER. -was written by the ingenious author of Leonidas, on the taking of Porto-Bello from the Spa-I, niards by Admiral Vernon, Nov. 22, 1739.—

While his difmal tale is told. by twenty fail attended, Did this Spanish town affright;

Nothing

Nothing then its wealth defended,

But my orders-not to fight:
O! that in this rolling ocean

I had caft them with dildain;
And obcy'd my heart's warm motion
To have quell'd the pride of Spain!
For refiftance I could fear none,

But with twenty fhips had done
What thou, brave and happy Vernon,
Haft achiev'd with fix alone.
Then the Battimentos never

Had our foul difhonour feen,
Nor the fea the fad receiver

Of this gallant train had been.
Thus like thee, proud Spain difmaying,
And her galleons leading home,
Though condemn'd for difobeying,
I had met a traitor's doom:
To have fallen, my country crving,
"He has play'd an English part,"
Had been better far than dying
Of a griev'd and broken heart.
Unrepining at thy glory,

Thy fuccessful arms we hail;
But remember our fad ftory,

And let Hofier's wrongs prevail. Sent in this foul clime to languish, Think what thoufands fell in vain, Wafted with difeafe and anguish,

Not in glorious battle flain. Hence with all my train attending

From their oozy tombs below. Through the hoary foam afcending, Here i feed my conftant woe: Here the Bastimentos viewing,

We recall our fhameful doom,
And, our plaintive crics renewing,

Wander through the midnight gloom.
O'er these waves, for ever mourning,
Shall we roam, depriv'd of rest,
If, to Britain's fhores returning,
You neglect my just request:
After this proud foe fubduing,
When your patriot friends you fee,
Think on vengeance for my ruin,
And for England-sham'd in me.

$70. Song. Captain Death. THE mufe and the hero together are fir'd,

The fame noble views have their bofoms in-
spir'd ;

As freedom they love, and for glory contend,
The mufe o'er the hero ftill mourns as a friend:
And here let the muse her poor tribute bequeath
To one British hero-'tis brave captain Death!
His fhip was the Terrible-dreadful to fee!
His crew were as brave and as gallant as he;
Two hundred or more was their good complement,
And fure braver fellows to fea never went:
Each man was determin'd to spend his laft breath
In fighting for Britain, and brave captain Death.
A prize they had taken diminish'd their force,
And foon the good prize-fhip was loft in her course:
The French privateer † and the Terrible met:—
The battle begun- all with horror befet!

No heart was difmay'd, each as bold as Macbeth;
They fought for old England, and brave captain
Death.

Fire, thunder, balls, bullets, were feen, heard, and
felt;

A fight that the heart of Bellona would meit!
The throuds were all torn, and the decks fill'd with

blood,

[Blood:
And fcores of dead bodies were thrown in the
The flood, from the days of old Noah and Seth,
Ne'er faw fuch a man as our brave captain Death.
At laft the dread bullet came wing'd with his fate,
Our brave captain dropp'd, and foon after his mate;
Each officer fell, and a carnage was feen,

That foon dyed the waves to a crimion from green:
And Neptune rofe up, and he took off his wreath,
And
gave it a Triton to crown captain Death.
Thus fell the strong Terrible bravely and bold;
But fixteen furvivors the tale can unfold,
The French were the victors,tho'much to their coft,
For many brave French were with Englishmen loft.
And thus, fays Old Time, from good queen Eli-
zabeth,

I ne'er faw the fellow of brave captain Death.

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That the battle will be foon begun.

+ Called the Vengeance.

*Written, as it is faid, by one of his furviving crew. The great naval victory, intended to be celebrated by this excellent old fong, was determined, after a running action of feveral days, off cape La Hogue, on the coaft of Normandy, the 22d of May, 1692, in favour of the English and Dutch combined fleets, confifting of 99 fail of the line, under the command of admiral Ruffel, afterwards earl of Orford, over a French fquadron of about half that number, commanded by the chevalier Tourville, whofe fhip, Le Soleil Royal, carried upwards of a hundred guns, and was esteemed the finest veffel in Europe. This lait fleet was fitted out for the purpose of restoring King James the Second to his dominions; and that prince. together with the duke of Berwick, and feveral great officers both of his own court and of the court of France, and even Tourville himfelt, beheld the final destruction of the French thips from an eminence on the fhore. It is now certain that Ruffel had engaged to favour the fcheine of his old mafter's restoration, on condition that the French took care to avoid him; but Tourville's impetuofity and rafhnefs rendered the whole measure abortive and the diftreffed and ill-fated monarch retired, in a fit of defpondency, to mourn his misfortunes, and recover his peace of mind, amid the folitary gloom of La Trappe.

Tourville on the main trumphant roll'd,

Were fhe arrav'd in ruftic weed,

To meet the gallant Ruffel in combat on the With her the bleating flocks I'd feed,

deep;

He led a noble train of heroes bold,

To fink the English admiral and his fleet. Now every valiant mind to victory doth afpire, The bloody fight's begun, the fea itself on fire; And mighty Fate stood looking on; Whilft a flood,

All of blood,

Fill'd the fcuppers of the Royal Sun. Sulphur, finoke, and fire, difturbing the air, With thunder and wonder affright the Gallic fhore;

Their regulated bands stood trembling near,

To fee the lofty ft camers now no more. At fix o'clock the Red the finiling victors led, To give a fecond blow, the fatal overthrow; Now death and horror equal reign, Now they cry,

Run or die,

British colours ride the vanquish'd main See they fly amaz'd o'er rocks and fands,

One danger they grafp at to fhun the greater fate;

In vain they cry for aid to weeping lands;

The nymphs and fea-gods mourn their loft;
eftate;

Fer evermore adieu, thou Royal dazzling Sun,
From thy untimely end thy mafter's fate begun:
Enough, thou mighty god of war!

Now we fing,

Blefs the king,

Let us drink to every English tar.

GARRICK.

§ 72. Song. Peggy. ONCE more I'll tune the vocal shell, To hills and dales my paffion tell, A flame which time can never quell,

That burns for thee, my Peggy :
Yet greater bards the lyre fhould hit;
For pray what fubject is more fit,
Than to record the fparkling wit
And bloom of lovely Peggy'
The fun first rifing in the morn,
That paints the dew-befpangled thorn
Does not fo much the day adorn,

As does my lovely Peggy:
And when, in Thetis' lap to rest,
He ftreaks with gold the ruddy weft,
He's not fo beauteous as undreis'd

Appears my lovely Peggy.
When Zephyr on the violet blows,
Or breathes upon the damafk role,
He does not half the fweets difclofe
That does my lovely Peggy.

I ftole a kifs the other day,
And, trust me, nought but truth I fay,
The fragrance of the blooming May

Is not fo fweet as Peggy.

And pipe upon the oaten reed,

To pleafe my lovely Peggy.
With her a cottage would delight,
All's happy when the 's in my fight;
But when the 's gone it 's endless night—
All 's dark without my Peggy.

While bees from flow'r to flow'r fhall rove,
And linnets warble through the grove,
Or ftately fwans the rivers love,

So long fhall I love Peggy:
And when death with his pointed dart
Shall frike the blow that rives my heart,
My words thall be, when I depart,

66

Adieu, my lovely Peggy!"

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Be married to-day, and to-morrow be cloy'd:
My body is ftout, and my heart is as found;
And my love, like my courage, will never give
ground.

CHORUS -I love Sue, &c.
Let ladies of fathion the beft jointures wed,
And prudently take the best bidders to bed:
Such figning and fealing 's no part of our blifss
We fettle our hearts, and we feal with a kits.
CHORUS -I love Sue, &c.

Tho'Ralph is not courtly, nor none of your beaux, Nor bounces, nor flatters, nor wears your fine clothes;

In nothing he'll follow the folks of high life, Nor e'er turn his back on his friend or his wife. CHORUSI love Sue, &c.

While thus I am able to work at my mill,

While thus thou art kind, and thy tongue but

lies ftill,

Our joys fhall continue and ever be new,

And none be fo happy as Ralph and his Sue. I love Sue, &c.

CHORUS

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COME, come, my good fhepherds, our flocks

we muft fhear;

appear:

In your holiday-fuits with your laffes
The happieft of folk are the guileless and free,
And who are fo guileless, so happy as we?

* This fong was written in compliment to Mrs. Woffington.

We

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Tho' mufic in both, they are both apt to jar;
How tuneful and foft from a delicate touch,

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And it comes to my heart with a twang, twang,
And it comes to my heart with a twang.

I am rock to the handfome and pretty,
Can only be touch'd by the witty ;
And beauty will ogle in vain :

Ler all whining lovers go hang:

The way to my heart's thro' my brain.

We wits, you must know,
Have two firings to our bow,

To return them their darts with a twang, twang, Not handled too roughly, nor play'd on too much 'To return them their darts with a twang. The fparrow and linnet will feed from your hand, Grow tame at your kindnefs, and come at command:

Exert with your hufband the fame happy skill. For hearts, like young birds, may be tam'd to your will.

Be gay and good-humour'd, complying and kind, Turn the chief of your care from your face to your mind;

'Tis thus that a wife may her conquefts improve, And Hymen fhall rivet the fetters of Love.

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8 79

Air in C, mon.

GARRICK.

You gave me latt week a young linnet,
Shut up in a fine golden cage;
Yet how fad the poor thing was within it,
O how it did flutter and rage!

Then he mop'd and he pin'd
That his wings were confin'd,
Tilt I open'd the door of his den:
Then fo merry was he;
And, because he was free,
He came to his cage back again.

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