III. Should a king be my rival in her I adore, He fhould offer his treasure in vain : O, let me alone to be happy and poor, And give me my Phyllis again! Let Phyllis be mine, and but ever be kind, I could to a defart with her be confin'd, And envy no monarch his reign. IV. Alas! I difcover too much of 15 20 my love, And the too well knows her own power! She makes me each day a new martyrdom prove, And makes me grow jealous each hour: But let her each minute torment my poor mind, I had rather love Phyllis, both false and un kind, Than ever be freed from her power. 25 SONG, IN TWO PARTS, IN THE SECOND PART OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. I. He. How unhappy a lover am I, All While I figh for my Phyllis in vain ; my hopes of delight Are another man's right, Who is happy, while I am in pain! 5 II. She. Since her honour allows no relief, But to pity the pains which you bear, "Tis the best of your fate, In a hopeless eftate, To give o'er, and betimes to despair. III. He. I have tried the falfe med'cine in vain ; 11 For I wish what I hope not to win: From without, my defire Has no food to its fire; But it burns and confumes me within. IV. She. Yet, at least, 'tis a pleasure to know Is as wretched, and more; And counts all your fufferings her own. V. He. O ye gods, let me fuffer for both; And take pleasure in death, To be pitied by her when I die. VI. 20 25 She. What her honour denied you in life, In her death fhe will give to your love. Such a flame as is true After fate will renew, For the fouls to meet clofer above. 30 SONG OF THE SEA-FIGHT, IN AMBOYNA. WHO ever faw a noble fight, That never view'd a brave sea-fight! Up with your fights, and your nettings pre pare ; Your merry mates cheer, with a lufty bold fpright, 5 Now each man his brindice, and then to the fight. St. George, St. George, we cry, The shouting Turks reply. Oh now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot, Ply it with culverin and with small shot; Hark, does it not thunder? no, roar, 10 'tis the guns The neighbouring billows are turned into gore; 15 Now, now they grapple, and now board amain; Blow up the hatches, they're off all again: Give them a broadfide, the dice run at all, Down comes the maft and yard, and tacklings fall; 20 She grows giddy now, like blind Fortune's wheel, She finks there, fhe finks, he turns up her keel. Who ever beheld fo noble a fight, As this fo brave, fo bloody fea-fight! |