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The Chaplet

A Musical Entertainment
  
  
  

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PART I.
 1. 
 2. 
 3. 
 4. 
 5. 
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1. PART I.

SCENE I.

Damon, Laura.
Laura.
Ungrateful Damon! Is it come to this?
Are these the happy Scenes of promis'd Bliss?
Ne'er hope, vain Laura, future Peace to prove;
Content ne'er harbours with neglected Love.


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Damon.
Consider, Fair, the ever-restless Pow'r
Shifts with the Breeze, and changes with the Hour:
Above Restraint he scorns a fix'd Abode,
And on his silken Plumes flies forth the rambling God.
AIR.
You say at your Feet that I wept in Despair,
And vow'd that no Angel was ever so fair;
How could you believe all the Nonsense I spoke?
What know we of Angels—I meant it in joke.
I next stand indicted for swearing to love,
And nothing but Death should my Passion remove;
I have lik'd you a Twelve-month, a Calendar Year,
And not yet contented—have Conscience, my Dear.
Recitative.
To Day Damætas gave a rural Treat,
And I once more my chosen Friends must meet.
Farewel, sweet Damsel, and remember this,
Dull Repetition deadens all our Bliss.

[Exit.

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SCENE II.

Laura.
Where baleful Cypress forms a gloomy Shade,
And yelling Spectres haunt the dreary Glade;
Unknown to all, my lonesome Steps I'll bend;
There weep my Suff'rings, and my Fate attend.
AIR.
Vain is ev'ry fond Endeavour,
To resist the tender Dart;
For Examples move us never,
We must feel to know the Smart.
When the Shepherd swears he's dying,
And our Beauties sets to view;
Vanity her Aid supplying,
Bids us think 'tis all our Due.
Softer than the vernal Breezes,
Is the mild, deceitful Strain;
Frowning Truth our Sex displeases,
Flatt'ry never sues in vain.

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Soon, too soon, the happy Lover
Does our tend'rest Hopes deceive;
Man was form'd to be a Rover,
Foolish Woman to believe.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

Damon and several Shepherds drinking.
Damon.
In Mirth and Pastime ev'ry Hour employ,
Lost is the Day that is not spent in Joy;
Here strew your Roses, here your Chaplets bring,
And listen, Neighbours, to the Truths I sing.
AIR.
Push about the brisk Bowl, 'twill enliven the Heart;
While thus we sit round on the Grass,
The Lover who talks of his Suff'rings and Smart,
Deserves to be reckon'd an Ass.
The Wretch who sits watching his ill-gotten Pelf,
And wishes to add to the Mass;
Whate'er the Curmudgeon may think of himself,
Deserves to be reckon'd an Ass.

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The Beau, who so smart with his well-powder'd Hair,
An Angel beholds in his Glass,
And thinks with Grimace to subdue all the Fair,
May justly be reckon'd an Ass.
The Merchant from Climate to Climate will roam,
Of Cræsus the Wealth to surpass;
And oft' while he's wand'ring, my Lady at home
Claps the Horns of an Ox on an Ass.
The Lawyer'so grave when he puts in his Plea,
With Forehead well cover'd with Brass;
Tho' he talk to no purpose he pockets your Fee;
There you, my good Friend, are the Ass.
The formal Physician, who knows ev'ry Ill,
Shall last be produc'd in this Class;
The sick man awhile may confide in his Skill,
But Death proves the Doctor an Ass.
Then let us Companions be jovial and gay,
By turns take the Bottle and Lass;
For he who his Pleasures puts off for a Day,
Deserves to be reckon'd an Ass.

[Exeunt.

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SCENE IV.

Pastora, Palæmon.
Palæmon.
Indeed, Pastora, spite of all you say,
I must this very Instant haste away;
You think my Flame's extinguish'd quite, I know;
And other Objects strike me—may be so.

Pastora.
Perfidious Boy! I know 'tis Sylvia's Charms
That tear Palæmon from these circling Arms;
But soon perhaps some other wiser Youth,
May learn to set due Value on my Truth.

Palæmon.
Whoe'er the Youth may be, who claims my Part,
He has my full Consent with all my Heart.
AIR.
Farewel, my Pastora, no longer your Swain,
Quite sick of his Bondage, can suffer his Chain:
Nay arm not your Brow with such haughty Disdain,
My Heart leaps with Joy to be free once again.
Sing tol derol.

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I'll live like the Birds, those sweet Tenants of May,
Who always are sportful, who always are gay:
How sweetly their Sonnets they carol all Day;
Their Love is but Frolick, their Courtship but Play.
Sing tol derol.
If struck by a Beauty they ne'er saw before,
In chirping soft Notes they her Pity implore;
She yields to Intreaty; and when the Fit's o'er,
'Tis an Hundred to Ten that they never meet more.
Sing tol derol.

[Exit.
Pastora.
Insulting Boy! I'll tear him from my Mind;
Ah! wou'd my Fortune could a Husband find:
And just in time young Damon comes this Way,
A handsom Youth he is, and rich they say.

SCENE V.

Damon, Pastora.
Damon.
Vouchsafe, sweet Maid, to hear a wretched Swain,
Who, lost in Wonder, hugs the pleasing Chain;
For you in Sighs I hail the rising Day;
To you at Eve I sing the love-sick Lay;
Then take, my Love, my Homage as your Due.
The Devil's in her if all this won't do.

[Aside.

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AIR.
Damon.
Beauteous Maid, reward my Passion;
Crown with Hopes my fierce Desire.

She.
Soon to yield is not the Fashion,
Maids some Courtship should require.

He.
Tedious Courtship damps all Pleasure,
By this melting Kiss I swear.

She.
Now you're rude beyond all Measure;
Kiss again, Sir, if you dare.

He.
Where yon Bank the Willows cover,
We will shun the Heat of Day:

She.
You're in too much haste, young Lover,
For the Priest must lead the Way.

He.
We can do without him better,
None but Fools would marry now;
Priest the free-born Mind would fetter,
We will meet without a Vow.


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Pastora.
Away, false Man, no more your Tale I'll hear;
The black Attempt offends my rigid Ear:
The Joys I taste shall be without a Crime;
I'll ne'er be fool'd by Man—a second Time.

[Aside.
Damon.
If so, farewel, I'll other Regions try;
My gen'rous Mind disdains the slavish Tye;
Lovers, like Warriors, oft Repulses meet;
Yet both undaunted their Attacks repeat.

AIR.
He.
From Flow'r to Flow'r, his Joy to change,
Flits yonder wanton Bee;
From Fair to Fair thus will I range,
And I'll be ever free.

She.
Yon little Birds attentive view,
That hop from Tree to Tree;
I'll copy them, I'll copy you,
For I'll be ever free.

He.
Whilst Tempests shake the nodding Grove,
And plough the foaming Sea;
While Hawks pursue the flying Dove,
So long will I be free.


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She.
'Till on the Bush the Lily grows,
'Till Flocks forsake the Lea,
'Till from the Rock bursts forth the Rose,
You'll find me blith and free.

Both.
Then let's divide to East and West,
Since we shall ne'er agree;
And try who keeps their Promise best,
And who's the longest free.

[Exeunt.