N

O, silly Cloris !

Tell me no such Stories,

True gen'rous Love can never undo

When I desert ye,

Let affected Virtue,

ye;

Charm ev'ry Fop that now does pursue ye :

Search all human Nature,

Try ev'ry Creature,

Study all Complexions,

Ev'ry Face and Feature ;

And when e're I dye,

You'll too late descry,

None ever yet did Love so well as I.

Curse on Ambition,

What a bless'd condition

Lovers were in, not aw'd by that Dæmon;
Then cruel Cloris !

Careless of Vain-Glories,

Would reap more Bliss than Pride e'er could dream on : We should have no dying,

No Self-denying,

Sighings or Repulses,

When the Soul is flying;

But truly wise,

Dirt she would despise,

And own her Love the Crown of all her Joys.

The

B

Y all the Pow'rs! I love you so,
Nothing's so dear to me below;
And when I would your scorn forsake,
Some Angel turns, and brings me back :

Altho' my Heart's not fool'd with ease,
Yet you may break it when you please;
'Tis noble, and does rather dare to dye,
Than languish and despair.

Ah! tell me not that Men deceive,
But if you'd be believ'd, believe;
My Heart, like Tapers shut in Urns,
Whilst Love gives matter ever burns:

Since kindness has resistless Charms,
And Beauty, wanting Youth, decays;

Make hast, and fly into my Arms, And crown my bless'd remaining Days.

Joy

Joy after Sorrow.

A New SONG.

The Words made to the Duke D'Aumonds Minuet.

3

L

ET Burgundy flow,

Let the Glass run o'er, let the Glass run o'er boys,

To cure all our Woe,

Let the Glass run over the Brim,

Though Anna is gone,

Think of it no more, think of it no more boys,
Great George now comes on,

Toast away your Bumpers to him,

Tho' the Feuds were so big

"Twixt the Tory and Whigg,

That the Mischiefs pursuing prov'd almost our Ruin, Like a Prophet I know,

They will be no more so,

We've a King will unite now both High-Church and Low.

And now your Hand's in
Fill it up again, fill it up again there,
To all these brave Men,

Who their Hate to Lorrain bear strong,
Who frentick with Pride

Boldly durst defend, lately the Pretender,
*And if I'm not wide,

Will be sure to pay for't e'er long,

Nor a less Glass let's have

To the Catalans brave,

Who held out with a Glory, not equall'd in Story,
For not Cæsar in Gaul,

Nor the great Hannibal,

Ever equall'd their Chief, with a number so small.

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