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AMYMONE.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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58

AMYMONE.

A CANTATA.

Recitative.

Near Argos, where with insolent command,
The foaming surges lash the rocky land,
From a Faun's love fair Amymone fled;
A deadly paleness o'er her visage spread;
The azure God she in her flight intreats,
Fond Eccho thus the plaintive strain repeats.

Air.

Neptune, whose trident rules the waves,
Whose pow'r exerted honour saves,
Attend a virtuous maiden's pray'r,
Ah! let it not be lost in air.
Save me! oh save me! from the harms
That threat thy tender vot'ries charms:

59

So shall I always bow to thee,
Still own thee for my deity.

Recitative.

Thus sung the nymph, her face bedew'd with tears,
While Neptune hastes to dissipate her fears;
Quick the Faun fled, and thus the God address'd
The trembling nymph, and kindled love express'd.

Air.

Lovely nymph, the rude repel,
'Tis beauty's pow'r the fierce to quell;
He who scorns for love to sue
Merits scorn and torture too.
Happy he who wears thy chains,
Blest his raptures, sweet his pains.
On that heav'nly bosom dying,
Gently breathing, softly sighing;
Joys beyond a mortal's share,
Joys the gods alone can bear.

60

Happy he who wears thy chains,
Blest his raptures, sweet his pains.
Oh! let me then thy pity move,
Thou best, thou only source of love:
Spare, spare a God so lately free,
And wounded but in aiding thee.
Rival to the Queen of Love,
Hear my passion, and approve.

Recitative.

How could the Nymph resist celestial charms?
She heard the God, and sunk into his arms.
What had she from the savage Faun to fear,
More than she met from her protector here;
While modest Doris to her cave retir'd,
Shame in her heart, her face with blushes fir'd,
And gently thus her listening train inspir'd.

61

Air.

Nymphs, whose hearts incline to love,
Hear my moral, and improve;
Love is but a present fire,
Soon enjoyment quells desire.
Vows of lovers are deceit,
When for favours they intreat;
Shun the snare, for if you're caught,
You'll, too soon, the truth be taught.
Force will ne'er ensure the heart;
Force only proves a want of art:
But, my nymphs beware your fate
From him who can insinuate.