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II.

Silvia, for all the griefs you see
Arifing in my breast,

I beg not that you'd pity me,
Would you but flight the rest.
Howe'er fevere your rigours are,
Alone with them I'd cope,
I can endure my own despair,
But not another's hope.

Hunting Song, going out.

I.

HARK! away, 'tis the merry ton'd horn

Calls the hunters all up with the morn; To the hills and the woodlands they steer, To unharbour the out-lying deer.

CHORUS of Huntsmen.

All the day long,

This, this is our fong,

Still hallooing,

And following,

So frolic and free;

Our joys know no bounds,

While we're after the hounds,

No mortals on earth are fo jolly as we.

II.

Round the woods when we beat, how we glow,

While the hills they all echo hillo;

With a bounce from his cover when he flies,

Then our shouts they refound to the skies.

All the day, &c.

III.

When we sweep o'er the valleys, or climb
Up the heath-breathing mountains fublime,
What a joy from our labour do we feel!
Which alone they who taste can reveal.
All the day, &c.

The Return from the Chace.

I.

HE sweet rofy morn peeps over the hills,

THE

With blushes adorning the meadows and fields;

The merry, merry, merry horn calls, Come, come away, Awake from your flumbers, and hail the new day.

The merry, &c.

II.

The stag rous'd before us, away feems to fly,
And pants to the chorus of hounds in full cry,
Then follow, follow, follow the musical chace,
Where pleasure and vigorous health we embrace.
Then follow, &c.

III.

The day's fport when over makes blood circle right, And gives the brisk lover fresh charms for the night; Then let us, let us now enjoy all we can while we may, Let love crown the night, as our sports crown the day. Then let us, &c.

The Girl that's blythe and gay.

Tune-Black Jock.

F all the girls in our town,

OF

Or black, or yellow, or fair, or brown,
With their foft eyes and faces fo bright;
Give me a girl that's blythe and gay,

As warm as June and as sweet as May,

With her heart free, and faithful as light.

What lovely couple then cou'd be

So happy and so bless'd as we !

On whom the sweetest joys would smile,
And all the cares of life beguile,

Entranc'd in blifs each rapt'rous night.

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CY

Cynthia's Perplexity.

I.

YNTHIA frowns whene'er I woo her,
Yet she's vex'd if I give over;

Much fhe fears I should undo her,
But much more to lose her lover;

Thus in doubting she refuses,
And not winning thus she loses.

II.

Prithee, Cynthia, look behind you,
Age and wrinkles will o'ertake you ;
Then too late, defire will find you
When the power must forsake you.
Think upon the fad condition
To be pafs'd, yet wish fruition.

Nought but Love.

I.

HE fun was funk beneath the hill,

THE

The western clouds were lin'd with gold, The sky was clear, the winds were still, The flocks were pent within the fold; When from the silence of the grove, Poor Damon thus despair'd of love!

II.

Who feeks to pluck the fragrant rose

From the bare rock, or oozy beach;
Who from each barren weed that grows
Expects the grape, or blushing peach;
With equal faith may hope to find
The truth of love in womankind.

III.

I have no herds, no fleecy care,

No fields that wave with golden grain, No pastures green, nor gardens fair,

A maiden's venal heart to gain : Then all in vain my fighs must prove, For I, alas! have nought but love.

IV.

How wretched is the faithful youth,

Since women's hearts are bought and fold!

They ask not vows of sacred truth,

Whene'er they figh, they figh for gold.

Gold can the frowns of fcorn remove,

But I, alas! have nought but love.

V.

To buy the gems of India's coast,

What wealth, what treasure can fuffice?

Not all their fhine can ever boast

The living luftre of her eyes:

For these the world too cheap would prove; But I, alas! have nought but love.

VI.

O Silvia! fince nor gems, nor ore,

Can with your brighter gems compare,
Confider that I offer more,

More feldom found, a foul fincere :
Let riches meaner beauties move,
Who pays thy worth, must pay in love.

Tell me, my Heart.

I.

WHEN Delia on the plain appears,

Aw'd by a thousand tender fears, I would approach, but dare not move : Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

II.

Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear
No other voice but hers can bear,
No other wit but hers approve :
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

III.

If the fome other fwain commend,
Tho' I was once his fondest friend,
That instant enemy I prove:
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

IV.

When she is abfent, I no more
Delight in all that pleas'd before,
The clearest spring, or fhady grove :
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

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