SLEEP, fleep, poor youth! fleep, fleep in peace, Far from thy happy manfion keep; 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. Haad in hand we 'll dance around, When mortals are at rest, 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 And cheerful old age feel the fpirit of youth; And the turf ever hallow'd which pillow'd his $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 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. Alas! quoth the 'fquire, howe'er fumptuous the Derry down, &c That I would, quoth the father, and thank you to boot; But our actions, you know, with our duty must fuit: Then, turning about to the hangman, he faid, 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, Hideous vells and fhrieks were heard; Which for winding-fheets they wore, When the fhade of Hofier brave His pale bands was feen to muster, Rifing from their wat'ry grave: I am Hofier's injur'd ghoft; You now triumph free from fears, You will mix your joys with tears. Ghaftly o'er this hated wave, Who were once my failors bold; § 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: I had caft them with dildain; But with twenty fhips had done Had our foul difhonour feen, Of this gallant train had been. Thy fuccessful arms we hail; 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, Wander through the midnight gloom. $70. Song. Captain Death. THE mufe and the hero together are fir'd, The fame noble views have their bofoms in- As freedom they love, and for glory contend, No heart was difmay'd, each as bold as Macbeth; Fire, thunder, balls, bullets, were feen, heard, and A fight that the heart of Bellona would meit! blood, [Blood: That foon dyed the waves to a crimion from green: I ne'er faw the fellow of brave captain Death. 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; Fer evermore adieu, thou Royal dazzling Sun, 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 : As does my lovely Peggy: Appears my lovely Peggy. I ftole a kifs the other day, Is not fo fweet as Peggy. And pipe upon the oaten reed, To pleafe my lovely Peggy. While bees from flow'r to flow'r fhall rove, So long fhall I love Peggy: 66 Adieu, my lovely Peggy!" Be married to-day, and to-morrow be cloy'd: 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 COME, come, my good fhepherds, our flocks we muft fhear; appear: In your holiday-fuits with your laffes * This fong was written in compliment to Mrs. Woffington. We Tho' mufic in both, they are both apt to jar; And it comes to my heart with a twang, twang, I am rock to the handfome and pretty, Ler all whining lovers go hang: The way to my heart's thro' my brain. We wits, you must know, 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. 8 79 Air in C, mon. GARRICK. You gave me latt week a young linnet, Then he mop'd and he pin'd |