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Fly, thoughtless youth, th' enchantress fly
For ever, Fortune, will thou prove

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From place to place forlorn I go

Gentle air, thou breath of lovers
Gently touch the warbling lyre
Good madam, when ladies are willing
Good morrow to the day so fair
Go plaintive sounds, and to the fair
Go tell Amynta, gentle swain

Had I a heart for falsehood framed
Hail to the myrtle shade

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Hard is the fate of him who loves

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Hark, hark, 'tis a voice from the tomb

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How blest has my time been, what days have I known 274

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I ne'er could any lustre see

I never knew a sprightly fair

I prithee send me back my heart

I smile at love and all his arts

If all the world and love were young
If ever thou didst joy to bind
If the quick spirit of your eye
If truth can fix the wavering heart
If wine and music have the power

I'll range around the shady bow'rs

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In vain, dear Chloe, you suggest

I tell thee, Charmion, could I time retrieve

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Mistaken fair, lay Sherlock by
Mortals learn your lives to measure
My banks they are furnish'd with bees
My days have been so wonderous free
My dear mistress has a heart

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My love was fickle once and changing

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My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-hook
My temples with clusters of grapes I'll entwine
My time, O ye Muses! was happily spent

Not, Celia, that I juster am

Now see my goddess, earthly born

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There is one dark and sullen hour
The sun was sunk beneath the hillTM
The western sky was purpled o'er.
This bottle's the sun of our table

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Too plain, dear youth, those tell-tale eyes

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To the brook and the willow that heard him complain 139

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We all to conquering beauty bow
What, put off with one denial
When all was wrapt in dark midnight
When charming Teraminta sings
When Damon languish'd at my feet
When daisies pied and violets blue
When Delia on the plain appears
When first I dar'd by soft surprise
When first I saw Lucinda's face
When first I saw thee graceful move
When first I sought fair Celia's love
When first upon your tender cheek
When gay Philander fell a prize

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Why, cruel creature, why so bent

Why heaves my fond bosom! ah, what can it mean

Why we love and why we hate

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Why will Florella, while I

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Why will you my passion reprove

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Wine, wine in the morning

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With amorous wiles and perjur'd eyes

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With women I have pass'd my days
Would you taste the noontide air
Wrong not, sweet Mistress of my heart

Ye happy swains whose hearts are free

Ye little loves that round her wait

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You tell me I'm handsome, I know not how true

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Young I am, and yet unskill'd

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