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§ 43. Song:

The court ne cart, I like te loathe : My mind to me a kingdom is;

Extremes are counted worst of all : Such perfect joy therein I find,

The golden mean betwixt them both As far exceeds all earthly bliss,

Doth surest sit, and fears no fall; That God or nature hath assign'd:

This is my choice; for why? I find
Though much I want that most would have,

No wealth is like a quiet mind.
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.
Content I live, this is my stay;
I seek no more than may suffice:

$ 44. Song. COUNTESS OF WINCHELSEA. I press to bear no haughty sway;

Would we attain the happier state Look what I lack my mind supplies.

That is design'd us here; Lo! thus I triumph like a king,

No joy a rapture must create, Content with that my mind doth bring.

No grief beget despair : I see how plenty surfeits oft,

No injury fierce anger raise, And hasty climbers soonest fall:

No honor tempt to pride : I see that such as sit aloft

No ain desires of empty praise Mishap doth threaten most of all:

Must in the seul abide : These get with toil, and keep with fear :

| No charms of youth or beauty move Such cares my mind could never bear.

The constant, settled breast : No princely pomp, nor wealthy store,

Who leaves a passage free to love No force to win a victory,

Shall let in ail the rest. No wily wit to salve a sore,

In such a heart soft peace will live, No shape to win a lover's cye:

Where none of these abound; To none of these I yield as thrall,

The greatest blessing Heaven does give, For why? my mind despiseth all.

Or can on earth be found.
Some have too inuch, yet still they crave;

I little have, yet seek no more:
They are but poor, though much they have;

$ 45. Song. BEDINGFIELD. And I am rich with little store: They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;

To hug yourself in perfect ease, They lack, I lend; they pine, I live. What would you wish for more than these!

A healthy, clean, paternal seat,
I laugh not at another's loss,

Well shaded from the summer's heat :
I grudge not at another's gain;
No worldly wave my mind can toss,

A little parlour-stove, to hold
I brook that is another's bane.

A constant fire from winter's cold,
I fear no foe, nor fawn no friend;

Where you may sit and think, and sing, I loathe not life, nor dread mine end. Far off from court, God bless the king. My wealth is health, and perfect ease :

Safe from the harpies of the law, My conscience clear my chief defence : From party-rage, and great man's paw; I never seek by bribes to please,

Have choice few friends of your own taste;
Nor by desert to give offence :

A wife agreeable and chaste :
Thus do I live, thus will I die;
Would all did so as well as I !

An open, but yet cautious mind,

Where guilty cares no entrance find;
I take no joy in earthly bliss;

Nor miser's fears, nor envy's spire,
I weigh nou Cresus' wealth a straw; To break the sabbath of the night :
For care, I know not what it is;

Plain equipage, and temp'rate meals,
I fear not Fortune's fatal law.

Few tailors', and no doctors' bills;
My mind is such as may not move

Content to take, as Heaven shall please, For beauty bright, or force of love.

A longer or a shorter lease. I wish but what I have at will ;

I wander not to seek for more ; I like the plain, I climb no hill;

$ 46. Song. Miss PILKINGTON. In greatest storms I sit on shore, And laugh at them that toil in vain

I envy not the proud their wealth, To get what must be lost again.

Their equipage and state :
I kiss not where I wish to kill;

Give me but innocence and health,
I feign not love where most I hate;

I ask not to be great.
I break no sleep to win my will;

I in this sweet retirement find
I wait not at the mighty's gate;

A joy unknown to kings,
I scorn no poor, I fear no rich;

For sceptres to a virtuous mind I feel no want, nor have too much.

Seem vain and empty things.

Great Cincinnatus at his plough

| His flocks, his pipe, and artless fair, With brighter lustre shone,

Are all his hope, and all his care Than guilty Cæsar e'er could show,

Though seated on a throne. Tamuliuous joys and restless nights

§ 49 Song. Ambition ever knows, A stranger to the calm delights

No glory I covet, no riches I want,

Ambition is nothing to me; Of study and repose.

The one thing I beg of kind Heaven to grant, Then free from envy, care, and strife,

Is a mind independent and free.
Keep me, ye pow'rs divine!
And pleas'd, when ye demand my life,

With passions unruffled, untainted with pride). May 'I that life resign!

By reason my life let me square;
The wants of my nature are cheaply supplied,

And the rest are but folly and care.

$ 47. Song. The Character of a happy Life.] The blessings which Providence freely has lent, SIR HENRY W OTTON. I'll justly and gratefully prize;

Whilst sweet meditation, and cheerful content, How happy is he born and taught,

Shall make me buth healthful and wise. That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought,

In the pleasures the great man's possessions disa And simple truth his utmost skill ;


Unenvied I'll challenge my part;
Whose passions not his masters are,

For ev'ry fair object my eyes can survey
Whose soal is still prepar'd for death : Contributes to gladden my heart.
Untied unto the world by care
Of public fame, or private breath!

How vainly, through infinite trouble and strife,

The many their labors employ! Who envies none that chance doth raise, Since all that is truly delightful in life Nor vice hath ever understood;

Is what all, if they please, may enjoy. How deepest wounds are giv'n by praise,

Nor rules of state, but rules of good! Who hath his life from rumors freed, Whose conscience is his strong retreat;

$ 50. Song. Dr. Darlton. Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great!

Nor on beds of fading flow'rs,

Shedding soon their gaudy pride, Who God doth late and early pray

Nor with swains in syren bow'rs,
More of his grace than gifts to lend;

Will true pleasure long reside.
And entertains the harmless day
With a religious book or friend !

On awful virtue's hill sublime

Enthroned sits th' immortal fair : This man is freed from servile hands,

Who wins her height must patient climb; . Of hope to rise, or fear to fall :

The steps are peril, toil, and care.
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.

So from the first did Jove ordain
Eternal bliss for transient pain.

$ 48. Song. HILDEBRAND JACOB, Esq.

: $ 51. Song. A Moral Thought.


I ENVY not the mighty great, Those pow'rful rulers of the state, Who settle nations as they please, And govern at th' expense of ease. Far happier the shepherd swain, Who daily drudges on the plain, And nightly in some humble shed On rushy pillows lays his head. No curst ambition breaks his rest, No factions wars divide his breast;

THROUGH groves sequester'd, dark, and still,

Low vales, and mossy cells among,
In silent paths the careless rill

With languid murmurs steals along.
A while it plays with circling sweep,

And ling'ring leaves its native plain ;
Then pours impetuous down the steep,

And mingles with the boundless main.

In the Masque of Comus. It seems to be imitated from a passage in the 17th, buok of Tasso's Jerusalem.

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O let my years thus devious glide

$ 54. Song. Robert Dopsleyt. Through silent scenes obscurely calm; How happy a state does the miller possess, Nor wealth nor strife pollute the tide,

Who would be no greater, nor fears to be less ! Nor honor's sanguinary palm.

| On his mill and himself he depends for support, When labor tires, and pleasure palls,

Which is better than servilely cringing at court. Still let the stream untroubled be, As down the steep of age it falls,

What though he all dusty and whiten'd does go, And mingles with eternity.

The more he's be-powder'd, the more like a beau:
A clown in his dress may be honester far

Than a courtier who struts in his garter and star. $ 52. Song.

Though his hands are so daub'd they're not fit

to be secn, From the court to the cottage convey me away, The hands of his betters are not very clean: For I'm weary of grandeur, and what they call A palm more polite may as dirtily deal; gay;..

Gold, in handling, will stick to the fingers like Where pride without measure,

meal. And poinp without pleasure, Make life in a circle of hurry decay.

What if, when a pudding for dinner he lacks,

Hecribs without scruple from other men's sacks; Far remote and retir'd from the noise of the town, In this of right noble example he brags, I'll exchange my brocade for a plain russet gown: Who borrow as freely from other men's bags. My friends shall be few, But well chosen and true,

Or should he endeavour to heap an estate, And sweet recreation our evening shall crown. / In this he would mimic the tools of the state ;

Whose aim is alone their own coffers to 611, With a rural repast, a rich banquet for me,

As all his concern's to bring grist to his mill. Ona mossy green turf, near some shady old tree, The river's clear brink

He eats when he's hungry, he drinks when he's Shall afford me my drink, And temp'rance my friendly physician shall be. And down, when he's weary, contented does lie;

Then rises up cheerful to work and to sing : Ever calm and serene, with contentment still If so happy a miller, then who'd be a king?

Not too giddy with joy, or with sorrow deprest,

I'll neither invoke,
Or repine at death's stroke,

$ 55. Song. The Old Man's Wish. Dr. Pope. But retire from the world as I would to my rest. If I live to grow old, for I find I go down,

Let this be my fate :- In a country town

Mayl have a warm house, with a stone atthegate, $ 53. Song. The Blind Boy.

And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate! Colley Ciber. May I govern my passion with an absolute

sway, O SAY what is that thing call'd light,

And grow wiser and better as my strength Which I must ne'er enjoy?

wears away, What are the blessings of the sight?

Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay! O tell your poor blind boy!

Near a shady grore, and a murmuring brook, You talk of wondrous things you sec,

With the ocean at distance, whereon I may look; You say the sun shines bright;

With a spacious plain, without hedge or stile, I feel him warın, but how can he

And an easy pad-dag to ride out a mile.
Or make it day or night?

May I goyern, &c.
My day or night myself I make,
Whene'er I sleep or play:

With Horace, and Petrarch, and two or three

more And could I ever keep awake,

Of the best wits that reign'd in the ages before; With me 'twere always day,

With roast mutton, rather than ven'son or teal, With heavy sighs I often hear

And clean, though coarse, linen at ev'ry meal. You mourn my hapless woe;

May I govern, &c. But sure with patience I can bear

With a pudding on Sundays, with stout humA loss I ne'er can know.

ming liquor, Then let not what I cannot have

And remnants of Latin to welcome the ficar; My cheer of mind destroy :

With Monte Fiascone, or Burgundy wine, Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,

To drink the king's health as oft as I dine. Although a poor blind boy.

May I govern, &c. . • Written for, and set by, the late celebrated Mr. Stanley, organist of St. Andrew, Holborn; + In the entertainment of the Miller of Mansfield.

With a courage undaunted may I face my | French fashions then were scornd, last day;

Fond fangles then none knew, And, when I am dead, may the better sort say, | Then inodesty women adorn'd, In the morning when sober, in the evening when this old cap was new.

when mellow, He's gone, and (has) left not behind him his A man might then behold fellow:

At Christmas, in each hall, For he governd his passion with an absolute | Good fires to curb the cold,

And meat for great and small : And grew wiser and better as his strength wore

The neighbours were friendly bidden, away,

And all had welcome true, Without gout or stone by a gentle decay.

The poor from the gates were not chidden,

When this old cap was new.

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$ 56. Song. Time's Alleration. When this old cap was new,

'Tis since two hundred year, No malice then we knew,

But all things plenty were; All friendship now decays

(Believe me this is true), Which was not in those days

When this old cap was new.

Black jacks to ev'ry man

Were filld with wine and beer,
No pewter pot, nor can,

In those days did appear :
Good cheer in a nobleman's house

Was counted a seemnly show;
We wanted no brawn or souse,

When this old cap was new.
We took not such delight

In cups of silver fine :
None under degree of a knight

In plate drank beer or wine :
Now each mechanical man

llath a cupboard of plate for a shew, Which was a rare thing then

When this old cap was new.

The nobles of our land

Were much delighted then
To have at their command

A crew of lusty men,
Which by their coats were known

Of tawny, red, or blue,
With crests on their sleeres shown,

When this old cap was new. .

Now pride hath banish'd all,

Unto our land's reproach, When he whose means are small

Maintains both horse and coach; Instead of a hundred men,

The coach allows but two; This was not thought on then, When this old cap was new.

Then brib'ry was unborn,

No simony men did use;
Christians did usury scorn,

Devis'd among the Jews :
The lawyers to be fee'd

At that time hardly knew,
For man with man agreed,

When this old cap was new.
No captain then carous'd,

Nor spent poor soldiers' pay;
They were not so abus'd

As they are at this day:
Of seven days they make eight,

To keep them from their due;
Poor soldiers had their right

When this old cap was knew;

Good hospitality

Was cherish'd then of many; Now poor men starve and die,

And are not help'd by any : For charity waxeth cold,

And love is found in few; This was not in time of old, When this old cap was new.

Where'er you travellid then,

You might meet on the way Brave knights and gentlemen,

Clad in their country grey, That courteous would appear,

And kindly welcome you : No puritans then were,

When this old cap was new.

Which made them forward still

To go, although not press'd;
And going with good-will,

Their fortunes were the best.
Our English then in fight

Did foreign foes subdue,
And forc'd them all to Alight,

When this old cap was new.

Our ladies, in those days,

In civil habit went;
Broad-cloth was then worth praise,

And gave the best content:

God save our gracious king,

And send him long to live!
Lord, mischief on them bring

That will not their alms give;
But seek to rob the poor

Of that which is their due :
This was not in time of yore,

When this old cap was new.

$ 57. Song. The Vicar of Bray. $ 58. Song. · The Storm. G. A. STEVENS. In good king Charles's golden days,

Cease, rude Boreas, blustering railer; When loyalty no harm meant,

List, ye landsmen, all to me! A zealous high-churchunan I was,

Messmates, hear a brother sailor And so I got preferinent:

Sing the dangers of the sea ; To teach my flock I never miss'd,

From bounding billows fast in motion, Kings are by God appointed,

When the distant whirlwinds rise, And dann'd are those that do resist

To the tem pest-troubled oceair, Or touch the Lord's Anointed.

Where the seas contend with skies ! And this is law I will maintain

| Hark! the boatswain hoarsely bawling,
Until my dying day, sir-
That whatsoever king shall reign,

By topsail-sheets and haulyards stand !
I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir.

Down top-gallants quick be bauling,

Down your stay-sails, hand, boys, hand!

Now it freshens, set the braces, When Royal James obtain'd the crown,

The topsail sheets now let go; And popery came in fashion,

Luff, boys, luff! don't make wry faces,
The penal laws I hooted down,

Up your topsails nimbly clew.
And read the Declaration :
The church of Rome I found would fit Now all you on down beds sporting,
Full well my constitution ;

Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms;
And had become a Jesuit,

Fresh enjoyments wanton courting,
But for the Revolution.

Safe from all but love's alarıns;
And this is law, &c.

Round us roars the tempest louder,

Think what fear our minds enthrals; When William was our king declar'd,

Harder yet, it yet blows harder,
To ease the nation's grievance;

Now again the boatswain calls !
With this new wind about I steer'd,
And swore to him allegiance :

The top-sail yards point to the wind, bors, Old principles I did revoke,

See all clear to reef each course; Set conscience at a distance;

Let the fore-sheet go, don't mind, bors, Passive obedience was a joke,

Though the weather should be worse.
A jest was non-resistance.

Fore and aft the sprit-sail yard get, .
And this is law, &c.

Reef the mizen, see all clear;

Hands up, each preventure-brace set,
When gracious Anne became our queen,

Man the fore-yard, cheer, lads, cheer !
The church of England's glory,
Another face of things was seen,

Now the dreadful thunder's roaring,
And I became a tory:

Peal on peal contending clash, Occasional conformists base,

On our heads fierce rain falls pouring. I damn'd their moderation ;

In our eyes blue lightnings flash; And thought the church in danger was

One wide water all around as:
By such prevarication.

All above us one black sky;
And this is law, &c.-

Different deaths at once surround us :

Hark! what means that dreadful cry? When George in pudding time came o'er,

The foremast's gone, cries ev'ry tongue out, And mod'rate men look'd big, sir!

O'er the lee, twelve feet 'bove deck; I turn'd a cat-in-pan once more,

A leak beneath the chest-tree's sprong out, And so became a whig, sir :

Call all hands to clear the wreck. And thus preferment I procurd

Quick the lanyards cat to pieces ; From our new faith's defender;

Come, my hearts, be stout and bold; And almost ev'ry day abjuri

Plumb the well-the leak increases,
The pope and the pretender.

Four feet water in the hold.
And this is law, &c.

While o'er the ship wild waves are beating, Th' illustrious house of Hanover,

We for wives or children mourn ; And protestant succession ;

| Alas! from thence there's no retreating! To these I do allegiance swear

Alas! to them there's no return!
While they can keep possession : . Still the leak is gaining on us !
For in my faith and loyalty

Both chain-pumps are chok'd below:
I never more will falter,

Heaven have mercy here upon us !
And George my lawful king shall be-

For only that can save us now.
Uptil the times do alter.
And this is law I will maintain

O'er the lee-beam is the land, boys,
Until my dying day, sir-

Let the gups o'erboard be thrown ;
That whatsoever king shall reign, | To the pump corne ev'ry hand, boys,
I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir.

I See ! our mizen-mast is gone!

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