Sung by Mrs. Donaldfon at Mary-bone Gardens.
YE nymphs who know the pleasing fmart,
The gentle-feeling pains,
When love informs the glowing heart,
And darts along the veins,
Direct an unexperienc'd fair
To fhun the foft alluring fnare,
And conquer the arts of my Strephon.
Screen'd from the fun's too powerful ray,
In yonder confcious fhade,
I'll fing a pity-moving lay,
Of fome too-cruel maid;
And in the language of my eyes
He read the thoughts I wou'd difguife:
Oh! what can I think of my Strephon?
The genial fpring adorns the groves;
The kids and lambkins play;
The warblers tell their little loves
On ev'ry blooming spray:
He cry'd, can Chloe fee all this,
And not consent to toy and kiss?
Oh! what can I think of my Strephon?
His voice delights my lift'ning ear,
His graceful mien my eye:
I blush, when I behold him near;
Whene'er he's absent figh:
Then a'n't I in a hopeful way ?
For fure the victor of the day,
Will be the all conquering Strephon.
The Swain by the Side of a Stream.
TN a pleasant rich vale, by a sweet chrystal stream,
Ν
Reflecting new glories to Phæbus's beam,
There liv'd a young thepherd, fecluded from care,
And a ftranger to vices, which great ones enfnare;
He minded his bus'nefs, he tended his sheep,
And still in fome useful employment wou'd keep.
His pleasure was always unmingled with pain,
Nor felt he the wounds of which lover's complain :
Ambition had never yet enter'd his breast;
He dwelt in a cottage, contended and bleft;
About folks in high stations ne'er troubled his head,
But his care was to live without begging his bread,
A damfel, the pride of the neighbouring plain,
Fair Daphne, who oft had been courted in vain,
Watch'd ev'ry occafion to lie in his way,
And made it her bus'nefs his heart to betray;
Whene'er the pafs'd by him, fhe deign'd him a
glance,
And frequently paid him a vifit-by chance.
At length fhe, with feeming reluctance, would fit On his knee, and fometimes fome innocent freedoms admit,
Till by little and little the gain'd his esteem,
And in his young bofom had kindled a flame :
Thus his innocent heart fhe too eafily won,
Who thought that no falfhood was under the fun.
But as foon as the found she had gotten his heart,,
She laugh'd at his pain, and derided his fmart;
His honeft warm paffion now flights with difdain,
And boasts of her conqueft all over the plain :
He fighs at her feet; but the treats him with fcorn,
And leaves him unpity'd, and hopeless, to mourn..
Take heed, ye young fparks, then, of Britain's gay ifle,
How your hearts ye let go, for a look or a fmile:
Beware whom ye truft over these to prevail;
For you'll find a falfe Daphne in ev'ry vale,
Who forward to favour your courtship may feem:
But remember the Swain by the Side of the Stream.
In L'Allegro Penferofo.
By Mr. HANDEL.
R let the merry bells ring round, And the jocund Rebecks found, To many a youth and many a maid, Dancing in the checquer'd fhade.
Set by Mr. BERG.
Sung at Ranelagh.
Kitty cries, was Damon wife,
M His paffions I'd approve;
But like the bee, fo gay, fo free,
He merit's not my love:
From maid to maid, his heart has ftray'd,
Which each new face has won ;
My fpirit's great, a fliare I hate,
I'll have him all or none.
Her reas'ning fuch, I wonder much,
Herfelf fhe cannot fee;
For oh! the fawn, that skips the lawn,
Is not fo wild as fhe:
Each am'rous fwain, breathes out his pain,
To all the lends an ear;
The cafe is thus, and which of us
In love's most infincere ?
I often cry, dear Kitty, why
Shou'd youth in vain be spent ;
In Hymen's bands, let's join our hands,
And live with each content:
But her reply, commands a figh,
'Tis Damon, patient wait;
Grow wife and mend, I'll be your friend,
And leave the rest to fate.
Ye pow'rs above, who rule o'er love,
Our giddy thoughts confine;
My heart wou'd her, o'er all prefer,
Wou'd the be only mine :
She thinks 'tis ftrange, that I fhould range,
I think fhe waftes her charms;
And plainly fee we shant' agree,
'Till each in other's arms.
Set by Mr. BERG.
Sung by Mr. BEARD, at Ranelagh.
LL in her fair fequefter'd cell,
A Where happines was wont to dwell,
Contentment fat, with down-caft look,
And thefe, (or words like thefe) fhe spoke.
Genius of Albion! wake your queen,
Lo! Gallia clouds the peaceful fcene!:
Bid her arife her wrongs to fee.
Protect herself, and cherish me!
Britannia alarm'd at contentment's request;
In a voice that confefs'd her, her people addrest.
Caft the olive wreath off,
Arm, ye Britons, advance,
Sound the trumpet, beat the drum,
Point your thunders at France,
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