III.

Forbear your addreffes, and court us no more, For we will perform what the deity swore : But if you dare think of deferving our charms, Away with your sheephooks, and take to your

arms:

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Then laurels and myrtles your brows shall

adorn,

When Pan, and his fon, and fair Syrinx, return.

A SONG.

I.

FAIR, fweet, and young, receive a prize

eyes:

you fee,

Referv'd for your victorious
From crouds, whom at your feet
O pity, and diftinguish me!
As I from thousand beauties more
Distinguish you, and only you adore.

II.

Your face for conqueft was design'd,
Your every motion charms my mind;
Angels, when you your filence break,
Forget their hymns, to hear you speak;
But when at once they hear and view,
Are loth to mount, and long to stay with

III.

No graces can your form improve,
But all are loft, unless you love;
While that sweet paffion you difdain,
Your veil and beauty are in vain :
In pity then prevent my fate,
For after dying all reprieve's too late.

A SONG.

HIGH ftate and honours to others impart,

But give me your heart:

That treafure, that treasure alone,

I beg for my own.

So gentle a love, fo fervent a fire,

My foul does infpire;

That treafure, that treafure alone,

I beg for my own.

Your love let me crave;
Give me in poffeffing

So matchlefs a bleffing;

That empire is all I would have.
Love's my petition,

All my ambition;
discover

If e'er you

So faithful a lover,

So real a flame,

I'll die, I'll die,

So give up my game.

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15

A SONG.

I.

GO tell Amynta, gentle swain,
I would not die, nor dare complain :
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,
Thy words will more prevail than mine.
To fouls opprefs'd, and dumb with grief,
The gods ordain this kind relief;
That mufic fhould in founds convey,
What dying lovers dare not say.

II.

A figh or tear, perhaps, she'll give,

But love on pity cannot live.

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Tell her that hearts for hearts were made,

And love with love is only paid.

Tell her my pains so fast increase,
That foon they will be paft redress;
But ah! the wretch, that speechless lies,
Attends but death to clofe his eyes.

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SONG

TO A

FAIR YOUNG LADY,

GOING OUT OF THE TOWN IN THE SPRING.

I.

ASK not the caufe, why fullen Spring
So long delays her flowers to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to fing,
And winter ftorms invert the

year:

Chloris is gone, and fate provides
To make it Spring, where she resides.

11.

Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;

She caft not back a pitying eye:
But left her lover in despair,
To figh, to languish, and to die:
Ah, how can thofe fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!

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