 | The choice spirits feast |  |
RECITATIVE.
Ye social Sons! Ye Lady-loving Race!
Who taste with Transport Love's unfeign'd Embrace;
Who mingle o'er the Wit-enlivening Bowl,
The Feast of Reason and the Flow of Soul.
No more let Dulness in a Foreign Tongue
Taint your true Tastes, nor give up Sense for Song.
Who taste with Transport Love's unfeign'd Embrace;
Who mingle o'er the Wit-enlivening Bowl,
The Feast of Reason and the Flow of Soul.
No more let Dulness in a Foreign Tongue
Taint your true Tastes, nor give up Sense for Song.
Beautys of Britain, ye fair female Race,
Whose Words are Music, and whose Motions Grace:
Joy of all Hearts, Wish of admiring Eyes,
Heav'n's last, best Gift, and Love's luxurious Prize.
Forgive and favour these our rude Essays,
And patronize our rustic Roundelays.
Whose Words are Music, and whose Motions Grace:
Joy of all Hearts, Wish of admiring Eyes,
Heav'n's last, best Gift, and Love's luxurious Prize.
Forgive and favour these our rude Essays,
And patronize our rustic Roundelays.
| The choice spirits feast | |