Chapter 7

Still my Heart is so just to my Passionate Eyes, It dissolves with Delight while I gaze: And he that loves on, though _Sylvia_ denies, His Love but his Duty obeys: I no more can refrain her neglects to pursue, Than the force, the force Of her Beauty can cease to subdue.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

When first I fair _Celinda_ knew, Her Kindness then was great: Her Eyes I cou'd with Pleasure view, And friendly Rays did meet: In all Delights we past the time, That could Diversion move; She oft would kindly hear me Rhime Upon some others Love: _She oft would kindly hear me Rhime,_ _Upon some others Love._

But ah! at last I grew too bold, Prest by my growing Flame; For when my Passion I had told, She hated ev'n my Name: Thus I that cou'd her Friendship boast, And did her Love pursue; And taught Contentment at the cost, Of Love and Friendship too.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ FISHBURNE.

[Music]

Long had _Damon_ been admir'd, By the Beauties of the Plain; Ev'ry Breast warm Love inspir'd, For the proper handsome Swain: The choicest Nymph _Sicilia_ bred, Was won by his resistless Charms: Soft Looks, and Verse as smooth, had led And left the Captive in his Arms.

But our _Damon's_ Soul aspires, To a Goddess of his Race; Though he sues with chaster Fires, This his Glories does deface: The fatal News no sooner blown In Whispers up the Chesnut Row; The God _Sylvanus_ with a Frown, Blasts all the Lawrels on his Brow.

Swains be wise, and check desire In it's soaring, when you'll woe: _Damon_ may in Love require _Thestyles_ and _Laura_ too: When Shepherds too ambitious are, And Court _Astrea_ on a Throne; Like to the shooting of a Star, They fall, and thus their shining's gone.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ FISHBURN.

[Music]

Pretty _Floramel_, no Tongue can ever tell, The Charms that in thee dwell; Those Soul-melting Pleasures, Shou'd the mighty _Jove_ once view, he'd be in Love, And plunder all above, To rain down his Treasure: Ah! said the Nymph in the Shepherd's Arms, Had you half so much Love as you say I have Charms; There's not a Soul, created for Man and Love, More true than _Floramel_ wou'd prove, I'd o'er the World with thee rove.

Love that's truly free, had never Jealousie, But artful Love may be Both doubtful and wooing; Ah! dear Shepherdess, ne'er doubt, for you may guess, My Heart will prove no less, Than ever endless loving: Then cries the Nymph, like the Sun thou shalt be, And I, like kind Earth, will produce all to thee; Of ev'ry Flower in Love's Garden I'll Off'rings pay To my Saint. Nay then pray Take not those dear Eyes away.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ ROBERT KING.

[Music]

By shady Woods and purling Streams, I spend my Life in pleasing Dreams; And would not for the World be thought To change my false delightful Thought: For who, alas! can happy be, That does the Truth of all things see? _For who, alas! can happy be,_ _That does the Truth of all things see._

_A_ SONG. _Sett by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.

[Music]

In _Chloris_ all soft Charms agree, Enchanting Humour pow'rful Wit; Beauty from Affectation free, And for Eternal Empire fit: Where-e'er she goes, Love waits her Eyes, The Women Envy, Men adore; Tho' did she less the Triumph Prize, She wou'd deserve the Conquest more.

But Vanity so much prevails, She begs what else none can deny her; And with inviting treach'rous Smiles Gives hopes which ev'n prevent desire: Reaches at every trifling Heart, Grows warm with ev'ry glimm'ring Flame: And common Prey so deads her Dart, It scarce can wound a noble Game.

I could lye Ages at her Feet, Adore her careless of my Pain; With tender Vows her Rigour meet, Despair, love on, and not complain: My Passion from all change secur'd, Favours may rise, no Frown controuls; I any Torment can endure, But hoping with a crowd of Fools.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ THO. FARMER.

[Music]

When busie Fame o'er all the Plain, _Velinda's_ Praises rung; And on their Oaten Pipes each Swain Her matchless Beauty sung: The Envious Nymphs were forc'd to yield She had the sweetest Face; No emulous disputes were held, But for the second place.

Young _Coridon_, whose stubborn Heart No Beauty e'er could move; But smil'd at _Cupid's_ Bow and Dart, And brav'd the God of Love: Would view this Nymph, and pleas'd at first, Such silent Charms to see: With Wonder gaz'd, then sigh'd, and curs'd His Curiosity.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FISHBURNE.

[Music]

Why am I the only Creature, Must a ruin'd Love pursue; Other Passions yield to Nature, Mine there's nothing can subdue: Not the Glory of Possessing, Monarch wishes gave me ease, More and more the mighty Blessings Did my raging Pains encrease.

Nor could Jealousie relieve me, Tho' it ever waited near; Cloath'd in gawdy Pow'r to grieve me, Still the Monster would appear: That, nor Time, nor Absence neither, Nor Despair removes my Pain; I endure them all together, Yet my Torments still remain.

Had alone her matchless beauty, Set my amorous Heart on Fire, Age at last would do its Duty, Fuel ceasing, Flames expire. But her Mind immortal grows, Makes my Love immortal too; Nature ne'er created Faces, Can the Charms of Souls undoe.

And to make my Loss the greater, She laments it as her own; Could she scorn me, I might hate her, But alas! she shews me none: Then since Fortune is my Ruin, In Retirement I'll Complain; And in rage for my undoing, Ne'er come in its Power again.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

_Laurinda_, who did love Disdain, For whom had languish'd many a Swain: Leading her bleating Flocks to drink, She 'spy'd upon a River's brink A Youth, whose Eyes did well declare, How much he lov'd, but lov'd not her.

At first she laugh'd, but gaz'd a while, Which soon it lessen'd to a smile; Thence to Surprize and Wonder came, Her Breast to heave, her Heart to flame: Then cry'd she out, Ah! now I prove Thou art a God most mighty _Jove_.

She would have spoke, but shame deny'd, And bid her first consult her Pride; But soon she found that aid was gone, For _Jove_, alass! had left her none: Ah! now she burns! but 'tis too late, For in his Eyes she reads her Fate.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Fair _Caelia_ too fondly contemns those Delights, Wherewith gentle Nature hath soften'd the Nights; If she be so kind to present us with Pow'r, The Fault is our own to neglect the good Hour: Who gave thee this Beauty, ordain'd thou should'st be, As kind to thy Slaves, as the Gods were to thee.

Then _Caelia_ no longer reserve the vain Pride, Of wronging thy self, to see others deny'd; If Love be a Pleasure, alass! you will find, We both are not happy, when both are most kind: But Women, like Priests, do in others reprove, And call that thing Lust, which in them is but Love.

What they thro' their Madness and Folly create, We poor silly Slaves still impute to our Fate; But in such Distempers where Love is the Grief, 'Tis _Caelia_, not Heaven, must give us Relief: Then away with those Titles of Honour and Cause, Which first made us sin, by giving us Laws.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ WILLIAM TURNER.

[Music]

I Lik'd, but never Lov'd before I saw that charming Face; Now every Feature I adore, And doat on ev'ry Grace: She ne'er shall know that kind desire, Which her cold Looks denies, Unless my Heart that's all on Fire, Should sparkle through my Eyes: Then if no gentle Glance return, A silent Leave to speak; My Heart which would for ever burn, Alass! must sigh and break.

_A_ SONG _in_ Valentinian.

[Music]

Where would coy _Amyntas_ run, From a despairing Lover's Story? When her Eyes have Conquest won, Why should her Ear refuse the Glory: Shall a Slave, whose Racks constrain, Be forbidden to complain; Let her scorn me, let her Fly me, Let her Looks, her Love deny me: Ne'er shall my Heart yield to despair, Or my Tongue cease to tell my Care, Or my Tongue cease to tell my Care: Much to love, and much to pray, Is to Heav'n the only way.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Pelham Humphreys.

[Music]

A Wife I do hate, For either she's False, or she's Jealous; But give me a Mate, Who nothing will ask us or tell us: She stands at no Terms, Nor Chaffers by way of Indenture: Or Loves for the Farms, But takes the kind Man at a Venture.

If all prove not right, Without an Act, Process or Warning, From Wife for a Night, You may be divorc'd the next Morning, Where Parents are Slaves, Their Brats can't be any other; Great Wits and great Braves, Have always a Punk to their Mother.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Tell me ye _Sicilian_ Swains, Why this Mourning's o'er your Plains; Where's your usual Melody? Why are all your Shepherds mad, And your Shepherdesses sad? What can the mighty meaning be? _Chorus._ _Sylvia_ the Glory of our Plains; _Sylvia_ the Love of all our Swains; That blest us with her Smiles: Where ev'ry Shepherd had a Heart, And ev'ry Shepherdess a Part; Slights our Gods, and leaves our Isle, Slights our Gods, and leaves our Isle.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

When gay _Philander_ left the Plain, The Love, the Life of ev'ry Swain; His Pipe the mournful _Strephon_ took, By some sad Bank and murm'ring Brook: Whilst list'ning Flocks forsook their Food, And Melancholy by him stood; On the cold Ground himself he laid, And thus the Mournful Shepherd play'd.

Farewel to all that's bright and gay, No more glad Night and chearing Day; No more the Sun will gild our Plain, 'Till the lost Youth return again: Then every pensive Heart that now, With Mournful Willow shades his Brow; Shall crown'd with chearful Garlands sing, And all shall seem Eternal Spring.

Say, mighty _Pan_, if you did know, Say all ye rural Gods below; 'Mongst all Youths that grac'd your Plain, So gay so beautiful a Swain: In whose sweet Air and charming Voice, Our list'ning Swains did all Rejoyce; Him only, O ye Gods! restore Your Nymphs, and Shepherds ask no more.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ THO. KINGSLEY.

[Music]

How Happy's the Mortal whose Heart is his own, And for his own Quiet's beholden to none, (_Eccho._ Beholden to none, to none;) That to Love's Enchantments ne'er lendeth an Ear, Which a Frown or a Smile can equally bear, (_Eccho._ Can equally bear, can bear,) Nor on ev'ry frail Beauty still fixes an Eye, But from those sly Felons doth prudently fly, (_Eccho._ Doth prudently, prudently fly, doth fly;) For the Heart that still wanders is pounded at last, And 'tis hard to relieve it when once it is fast, (_Eccho._ When once it is fast, is fast.)

By sporting with Dangers still longer and longer, The Fetters and Chains of the Captive grows stronger; He drills on his Evil, then curses his Fate, And bewails those Misfortunes himself did create: Like an empty Camelion he lives on the Air, And all the Day lingers 'twixt Hope and Despair; Like a Fly in the Candle he sports and he Games, 'Till a Victim in Folly, he dies in the Flames.

If Love, so much talk'd of, a Heresie be, Of all it enslaves few true Converts we see; If hectoring and huffing would once do the Feat, There's few that would fail of a Vict'ry Compleat; But with Gain to come off, and the Tyrant subdue, Is an Art that is hitherto practis'd by few; How easie is Freedom once had to maintain, But Liberty lost is as hard to regain.

This driv'ling and sniv'ling, and chiming in Parts, This wining and pining, and breaking of Hearts; All pensive and silent in Corners to sit, Are pretty fine Pastimes for those that want Wit: When this Passion and Fashion doth so far abuse 'em, It were good the State should for Pendulums use 'em; For if Reason it seize on, and make it give o'er, No Labour can save, or reliev't any more.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Henry Purcell.

[Music]

A Thousand several ways I try'd, To hide my Passion from your view; Conscious that I should be deny'd, Because I cannot Merit you: Absence, the last and worst of all, Did so encrease my wretched Pain, That I return'd, rather to fall By the swift Fate, by the swift Fate of your Disdain.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

To the Grove, gentle Love, let us be going, Where the kind Spring and Wind all Day are Woing; He with soft sighing Blasts strives to o'er-take her, She would not tho' she flies, have him forsake her, But in circling Rings returning, And in purling Whispers Mourning; She swells and pants, as if she'd say, Fain I would, but dare not stay.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ FISHBURN.

[Music]

Tell me no more of Flames in Love, That common dull pretence, Fools in Romances use to move Soft Hearts of little Sense: No, _Strephon_, I'm not such a Slave, Love's banish'd Power to own; Since Interest and Convenience have So long usurp'd his Throne.

No burning Hope or cold Despair, Dull Groves or purling Streams, Sighing and talking to the Air In Love's fantastick Dreams, Can move my Pity or my Hate, But Satyrist I'll prove, And all ridiculous create That shall pretend to Love.

Love was a Monarch once, 'tis true, And God-like rul'd alone, And tho' his Subjects were but few, Their Hearts were all his own; But since the Slaves revolted are, And turn'd into a State, Their Int'rest is their only Care, And Love grows out of Date.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ FISHBURN.

[Music]

Wealth breeds Care, Love, Hope and Fear; What does Love our Business hear? While _Bacchus_ merry does appear, Fight on and fear no sinking, Charge it briskly to the Brim, 'Till the flying Top-sails swim, We owe the great Discovery to him Of this new World of Drinking.

Grave Cabals that States refine, Mingle their Debates with Wine; _Ceres_ and the God o'th' Wine; Makes every great Commander. Let sober Sots Small-beer subdue, The Wise and valiant Wine does woe; The _Stagyrite_ had the honour to Be drunk with _Alexander_.

Stand to your Arms, and now Advance A Health to the _English_ King of _France_; On to the next a _bon Speranze_, By _Bacchus_ and _Apollo_. Thus in State I lead the Van, Fall in your Place by your right-hand Man, Beat Drum! now March! Dub a dub, ran dan, He's a _Whig_ that will not follow.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Fishburn.

[Music]

Tho' Fortune and Love may be Deities still, To those they Oblige by their Pow'r; For my Part, they ever have us'd me so ill, They cannot expect I'll adore: Hereafter a Temple to Friendship I'll raise, And dedicate there all the rest of my Days, To the Goddess accepted my Vows, _To the Goddess accepted my Vows_.

Thou perfectest Image of all things Divine, Bright Center of endless Desires, May the Glory be yours, and the Services mine, When I light at your Altars the Fires. I offer a Heart has Devotion so pure, It would for your Service all Torments endure, Might you but have all things you wish, _Might you_, &c.

But yet the Goddess of Fools to despise, I find I'm too much in her Power; She makes me go where 'tis in vain to be wise, In absence of her I adore: If Love then undoes me before I get back, I still with resignment receive the Attack, Or languish away in Despair, _Or languish_, &c.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ Henry Purcell.

[Music]

He himself courts his own Ruin, That with too great Passion sues 'em: When Men Whine too much in Wooing, Women with like Coquets use 'em: Some by this way of addressing Have the Sex so far transported, That they'll fool away the Blessing For the Pride of being Courted.

Jilt and smile when we adore 'em, While some Blockhead buys the Favour; Presents have more Power o'er 'em Than all our soft Love and Labour, Thus, like Zealots, with screw'd Faces, We our fooling make the greater, While we cant long winded Graces, Others they fall to the Creature.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ DAMASENE.

[Music]

Cease lovely _Strephon_, cease to charm; Useless, alas! is all this Art; It's needless you should strongly arm, To take a too, too willing Heart: I hid my weakness all I could, And chid my pratling tell-tale Eyes, For fear the easie Conquest should Take from the value of the Prize.

But oh! th' unruly Passion grew So fast, it could not be conceal'd, And soon, alas! I found to you I must without Conditions yield, Tho' you have thus surpriz'd my Heart, Yet use it kindly, for you know, It's not a gallant Victor's part To insult o'er a vanquish'd Foe.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ DAMASENE.

[Music]

You happy Youths, whose Hearts are free From Love's Imperial Chain, Henceforth be warn'd and taught by me, And taught by me to avoid inchanting Pain, Fatal the Wolves to trembling Flocks, Sharp Winds to Blossoms prove: To careless Seamen, hidden Rocks; To human quiet Love.

Fly the Fair-Sex, if Bliss you prize, The Snake's beneath the Flow'r: Whoever gaz'd on Beauties Eyes, That tasted Quiet more? The Kind with restless Jealousie, The Cruel fill with Care; With baser Falshood those betray, These kill us with Despair.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Dr._ STAGGINS.

[Music]

When first _Amyntas_ charm'd my Heart, The heedless Sheep began to stray; The Wolves soon stole the greatest part, And all will now be made a Prey: Ah! let not Love your Thoughts possess, 'Tis fatal to a Shepherdess; The dangerous Passion you must shun, Or else like me, be quite undone.

A SONG.

_Set by Mr._ RICHARD CROONE.

[Music]

How happy and free is the resolute Swain, That denies to submit to the Yoak of the Fair; Free from Excesses of Pleasure and Pain, Neither dazl'd with Hope, nor deprest with Despair. He's safe from Disturbance, and calmly enjoys All the Pleasures of Love, without Clamour and Noise.

Poor Shepherds in vain their Affections reveal, To a Nymph that is peevish, proud sullen and coy; Vainly do Virgins their Passions conceal, For they boil in their Grief, 'till themselves they destroy, And thus the poor Darling lies under a Curse: To be check'd in the Womb, or o'erlaid by the Nurse.

_A_ SONG.

_Sung by Mrs._ Cross _in the_ Mock-Astrologer, _Set by Mr._ RAMONDON.

[Music]

Why so pale and wan fond Lover? Prithee, prithee, Prithee why so pale: Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking Ill, looking ill prevail? Why so dull and mute young Sinner? Prithee, prithee why so mute; Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing, nothing do't? Quit, quit for shame, this will not move, This cannot, cannot, cannot, cannot take her; If of her self she will not love, Nothing can, nothing can make her, The Devil, the Devil, the Devil, the Devil take her.

_A_ SONG _occasioned by a Lady's wearing a Patch upon a becoming place on her Face. Set by Mr._ John Weldon.

[Music]

That little Patch upon your Face Wou'd seem a Foil on one less Fair, Wou'd seem a Foil, wou'd seem a Foil, Wou'd seem a Foil on one less Fair: On you it hides a charming Grace, And you in Pity, you in Pity, You in Pity plac'd it there; On you it hides a Charming Grace, And you in Pity, you in Pity, In Pity plac'd it there. _And you in Pity, Pity,_ _And you in Pity plac'd it there._

_A_ SONG.

_Set and Sung by Mr._ LEVERIDGE _at the_ THEATER.

[Music]

_Iris_ beware when _Strephon_ pursues you, 'Tis but to boast a Conquest won: All his Designs are aim'd to undo you, Break off the Love he has begun: When he's Addressing, and prays for the Blessing, Which none but his _Iris_ can give alone; O then beware, 'tis all to undo you, 'Tis but to boast a Conquest won: She that's believing, while he is deceiving, Like many already, will be undone; _Iris_ beware when _Strephon_ pursues you, 'Tis but to boast a Conquest won.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ RAMONDON, _Sung at the_ Theatre.

[Music]

How charming _Phillis_ is, how Fair, How charming _Phillis_ is, how Fair, O that she were as willing, To ease my wounded Heart of Care, And make her Eyes less killing; To ease my wounded Heart of Care, And make her Eyes less killing; To ease my wounded Heart of Care, And make her Eyes less killing; To ease my wounded Heart of Care, And make her Eyes less killing.

I Sigh, I Sigh, I Languish now, And Love will not let me rest; I drive about the Park and Bow, Where-e'er I meet my Dearest.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ ANTHONY YOUNG.

[Music]

Cease whining _Damon_ to Complain, Of thy Unhappy Fate; That _Sylvia_ should thy Love disdain, Which lasting was and great.

For Love so constant flames so bright, More unsuccessful prove: Than cold neglect and sudden slight, To gain the Nymph you love.

Then only you'll obtain the Prize, When you her Coyness use; If you pursue the Fair, she flies, But if you fly, pursues.

Had _Phoebus_ not pursu'd so fast The seeming cruel she; The God a Virgin had embrac'd, And not a lifeless Tree.

_A_ SONG _in the_ OPERA _call'd the_ BRITTISH ENCHANTERS. _Set by Mr._ J. ECCLES.

[Music]

Plague us not with idle Stories, Whining Loves, whining Loves, whining Loves, And Senceless Glories. What are Lovers? what are Kings? What, at best, but slavish Things? What are Lovers? what are Kings? What, at best, but slavish Things? What, at best, but slavish Things?

Free I liv'd as Nature made me, Love nor Beauty durst invade me, No rebellious Slaves betray'd me, Free I liv'd as Nature made me, Each by turns as Sence inspired me, _Bacchus_, _Ceres_, _Venus_ fir'd me, I alone have learnt true Pleasure, Freedom, Freedom, Freedom is the only, only Treasure.

JUNO _in the Prize._

_Set by Mr._ JOHN WELDON.

[Music]

Let Ambition fire thy Mind, Thou wert born o'er Men to Reign; Not to follow Flocks design'd, Scorn thy Crook, and leave the Plain: Not to follow Flocks design'd, Scorn thy Crook, and leave the Plain.

Crowns I'll throw beneath thy Feet, Thou on Necks of Kings shalt tread, Joys in Circles, Joys shall meet, Which way e're thy fancy leads.

_The Beau's Character in the Comedy call'd_ Hampstead-Heath. _Set and Sung by Mr._ Ramondon.

[Music]

A Whig that's full, An empty Scull, A Box of _Burgamot_; A Hat ne'er made To fit his Head No more than that to Plot. A Hand that's White, A Ring that's right, A Sword, Knot, Patch and Feather; A Gracious Smile, And Grounds and Oyl, Do very well together.

A smatch of _French_, And none of Sence, All Conquering Airs and Graces; A Tune that Thrills, A Lear that Kills, Stoln Flights and borrow'd Phrases. A Chariot Gilt, To wait on Jilt, An awkward Pace and Carriage; A Foreign Tower, Domestick Whore, And Mercenary Marriage.

A Limber Ham, G---- D---- ye M'am, A Smock-Face, tho' a Tann'd one; A Peaceful Sword, Not one wise Word, But State and Prate at Random. Duns, Bastards, Claps, And Am'rous Scraps, Of _Caelia_ and _Amadis_; Toss up a Beau, That Grand Ragou, That Hodge-Podge for the Ladies.

_A_ SONG _in the Innocent Mistress. Set by Mr._ John Eccles, _Sung by Mrs._ Hodgson.

[Music]

When I languish'd and wish'd you wou'd something bestow, You bad me to give it a Name; But by Heav'n I know it as little as you, Tho' my Ignorance passes for Shame: You take for Devotion each passionate Glance, And think the dull Fool is sincere; But never believe that I spake in Romance, On purpose to tickle, on purpose, on purpose, On purpose to tickle your Ear: To please me than more, think still I am true, And hug each Apocryphal Text; Tho' I practice a Thousand false Doctrines on you, I shall still have enough, I shall still have enough, Shall still have enough for the next.

VENUS _to_ PARIS _in the Prize Musick. Set by Mr._ JOHN WELDON.

[Music]