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13
SONG. ON A Young Lady,
Who sung Finely, and was afraid of a COLD.
I
Winter, thy Cruelty extend,'Till fatal Tempests swell the Sea;
In vain let sinking Pilots pray,
Beneath this Yoke let Nature bend;
Let piercing Frost, and lasting Snow,
Thro' Woods and Fields Destruction sow.
14
II
Yet we unmov'd will sit and smile,While you these lesser Ills create:
These we can bear; but, gentle Fate,
And thou, bless'd Genius of our Isle,
From Winter's Rage defend Her Voice,
At which the list'ning Gods rejoice.
III
May that Celestial Sound, each Day,With Extacy transport our Souls;
While all our Passions it controuls,
And kindly drives our Cares away.
Let no ungentle Cold destroy,
All Taste we have of Heav'nly Joy.
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