SONG I.
Forbear, God of Love, torment me no more!
Enough I've endur'd, give your Tyranny o'er!
Still must my fond Heart be for ever the Prize
Of Cloë's, or Daphne's, or Phillis's Eyes?
Must every Beauty, and every Grace
For me have a Charm? must you haunt ev'ry Place?
In Country, in Town; in the Park, at the Play
You lead, mighty Power, my Fancy astray.
Of all the deep Wounds you e'er gave me before,
None deeper than this, since I Phœbe adore:
Men say, thou art blind; but, alas! can it be?
For still I am wounded, and she's ever free.
Since then it is plain, you ne'er shoot in the Dark
O God of desire! be coy Phœbe your Mark!
The Pains, she despises so much, let her know,
That once she may feel, what her Slaves undergo.
SONG II.
I
Silly
Nymph, no more Airs I desire,
Nor think with that Face to trepan:
Time has rifled your Eyes of their Fire:
You must hope never more for a Man.
II
Yet, as Age hurries on, you grow proud,
Gay, airy, coquetish, and smart,
Still ogling, and talking aloud,
And wou'd fain make a Slave of my Heart.
SONG III.
I Envy not the mighty Great,
Those pow'rful Rulers of the State,
Who settle Nations as they please,
And govern at th' Expence of Ease.
Far happier the Shepherd's Swain,
Who daily drudges on the Plain,
And nightly in some humble Shed
On Rushy Pillows lays his Head.
No curs'd Ambition breaks his Rest,
No factious Wars divide his Breast:
His Flock, his Pipe, and artless Fair
Are all his Hope, and all his Care.
SONG IV.
I
Phillis
, sure the Pow'rs above
For our Joy did you compose
Graceful as the Queen of Love,
Wanton as the billing Dove,
Fragrant as the blowing Rose.
II
Wit, and Beauty, both we find
Striving, which shall arm you most:
Doubly, Phillis, thus you bind;
Had not Nature made you kind,
We, alas! were doubly lost!
SONG V.
I
Attend, ye coy Maidens! of Love is my Song,
And Phœbe the cruel, reform'd in a Dream,
As in a sweet Slumber she lay all along
In the midst of her Flock by a murmuring Stream
II
Now by Chance or Design arch Cupid was nigh,
And pleas'd, a sad, desperate Lover to save,
His Dart at this barbarous Beauty let fly
In Favour of Damon, her amorous Slave.
III
“Soft Dreams, cry'd the God, come, and melt her hard Breast,
“And may the fond Shepherd, poor Damon succeed,
“Who watches, all Night, by her Rigour opprest,
“And tends, all the Day, on her Herd in the Mead!
IV
Soft Dreams in a Moment croud into her Head,
She fancy'd rude Colin, that ugly, old Swain,
Caress'd her so long on a Violet Bed,
That she woke with the Pleasure, yet blush'd with Disdain.
V
Then, stretching, she cry'd, yet o'ercome with the Joy,
If Colin, in Dreams, can so gladden my Heart,
Farewel to my Frowns, I'll no longer be coy,
What Bliss, while I wake, must young Damon impart?
SONG VI.
[_]
To the Tune of A famous Vaudeville.
I.
When I was a Lover,
How I whin'd, how I cry'd,
How I sigh'd, how I dy'd,
All to flatter her Pride?
For in vain still I try'd
By all my Arts to move her.
II.
I treated, presented, went finely array'd,
Spent my Time, and Estate,
While I early, and late
For my Sentence did wait,
'Till quite tir'd of my Fate,
Thus to the God of Love I pray'd,
Humble a haughty, cruel Maid!
III.
Love heard my Petition,
And strait, mov'd by my Smart,
His kind Aid did impart,
To recover the Dart,
That stuck deep in my Heart,
And sav'd me from Perdition.
IV.
Then free, when I laugh'd at this Beauty so coy,
Tho' so long us'd to reign,
To frown, and disdain,
She herself wore my Chain,
And she sighs still in vain;
So let her still sigh on, blind Boy!
While I my Freedom still enjoy.
