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Fair, and soft, and gay, and young,
All charm! she play'd, she danc'd, she sung,
There was no way to 'scape the dart,
No care could guard the lover's heart.
Ah! why cry'd I, and dropt a tear,
(Adoring, yet despairing e'er
To have her to myself alone)
Was so much sweetness made for one?

But growing bolder, in her ear
I in soft numbers told my care:
She heard and rais'd me from her feet,
And seem'd to glow with equal heat.
Like heaven's, too mighty to express,
My joys could but be known by guess !
Ah! fool, said I, what have I done,
To wish her made for more than one?

But long I had not been in view,
Before her eyes their beams withdrew;
E’er I had reckon'd half her charms
She sunk into another's arms.
But she that once could faithless be,
Will favour him no more than me:
He too will find himself undone,
And that she was not made for one.

(From the Hive, a collection of Songs, 4 vol. 8vo. 1732.]


Rail no more ye learned asses,

'Gainst the joys the bowl supplies ;
Sound its depth and fill your glasses,

Wisdom at the bottom lies.
Fill them higher still and higher,
Shall our draughts perplex the brain;

Sipping quenches all our fire,

Bumpers light it up again.
Draw the scene for wit and pleasure-

Enter jollity and joy;

We for thinking have no leisure,

Manly mirth is our employ:
Since in life there's nothing certain,

We'll the present hour engage ;
And when death shall drop the curtain,

With applause we'll quit the stage.

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To the health I'm now proposing,

Let's have one full glass at least ; No one here can think’t imposing

'Tis the founder of the feast.



Care, thou canker of our joys,

Now thy tyrant reign is o'er, Fill the mystic bowl, my boys,

Join the bacchanalian roar.

Seize the villain, plunge him in,

See the hated miscreant dies :Mirth and all thy train come in,

Banish sorrow, tears and sighs.

O'er our merry midnight bowls,

0, how happy shall we be ; Day was made for vulgar souls,

Night my boys for you and me.


A choir of bright beauties

In spring did appear,
To chuse a May-lady

To govern the year ;

All the nymphs were in white,

And the shepherds in green,
The garland was given,

And Phillis was queen.
But Phillis refused it,

And sighing did say,
I'll not wear a garland,

While Pan is away.

While Pan and fair Syrinx

Are fled from the shore,

graces are banish’d,
And love is no more:
The soft god of pleasure

That warm'd our desires,
Has broken his bow,

And extinguish'd his fires
And vows that himself

And his mother will mourn,
Till Pan and fair Syrinx

In triumph return.
Forbear your addresses,

And court us no more ;
For we will perform

What the deity swore :
But if you dare think

Of deserving our charms,
Away with your sheep-hooks,

And take to your arms :
Then laurels and myrtles

Your brows shall adorn,
When Pan and fair Syrinx

In triumph return.


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Born 1685-Died 1750.

Oh! forbear to bid me slight her,

Soul and senses take her part; Could my death itself delight her,

Life should leap to leave my heart. Strong, though soft, a lover's chain, Charm'd with woe, and pleased with pain.

Though the tender flame were dying,

Love would light it at her eyes;
Or, her tuneful voice applying,

Through my ear my soul surprise.
Deaf, I see the fate I shun;
Blind, I hear and am undone.



Vainly now ye strive to charm me,

All ye sweets of blooming May;
How can empty sunshine warm me,

While Lotharia keeps away?
Go, ye warbling birds, go leave me;

Shade, ye clouds, the smiling sky;
Sweeter notes her voice can give me,

Softer sunshine fills her eye.

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