 | A Collection of Original Poems |  |
The ADVICE.
A CANTATA
Recitative.
By no rude blasts disturb'd, Thames calmly roll'd,While to the stream, his griefs thus Damon told;
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Sought with regret the mazes of the vale.
Air.
I flourish'd like the summer rose,Was blooming, young, and fair,
Each frolic scene of pleasure chose,
My heart was free from care:
Love was a stranger to my breast;
I knew no passion, to disturb my rest,
Till Celia, like the Indian sun,
Her blaze of beauty pour'd;
I gaz'd, I sigh'd, my heart was gone,
Love every sense devour'd;
I pine, I languish in the toil:
She has my heart, and glories in the spoil.
Recitative.
Sage Isabella, who long since had known,Love's ev'ry art, by chance o'erheard his moan;
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Taught him to triumph o'er the nymph's disdain.
Air.
Wherefore, swain, the flooded eye?Why the soul-distracting sigh?
These will never win her heart,
Prythee, try some other art.
If your Celia you'd secure,
If you'd of her love be sure;
Teize her wheresoe'er she goes,
She'll oblige you for repose.
From her force the balmy kiss;
If she should refuse the bliss,
To repeat it, boldly try;
Pleas'd the nymph will soon comply.
If to anxious grief a prey,
Thus you waste the summer's day,
She'll but smile at your despair;
Courage only wins the fair.
| A Collection of Original Poems | |