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SET BY MR. DE FESCH.
STREPHoNETTA, why dye fly me,
Oh! 'tis cruel to deny me,
CoME, weep no more, for 'tis in vain;
Think, Flavia, we may meet again,
You sigh and weep : the gods neglect That precious dew your eyes let fall;
Our joy and grief with like respect They mind; and that is, not at all.
We pray, in hopes they will be kind,
They hear; and the return we find
Then clear your brow, and look more gay, Do not yourself to grief resign;
Who knows but that those powers may The pair, they now have parted, join 2
But, since they have thus cruel been,
I dare not trust, lest now they're in,
Then, Flavia, come, and let us grieve,
This our last parting look believe,
Yet, should our sun shine out at last;
Throw but one reconciling cast,
How great then would our pleasure be,
And we, who had no hopes to see
But say, should Heaven bring no relief,
Why then what's due to such a grief,
But, oh she scorns to hear, or see, The wretch that lies so low as me; Her sudden greatness turns her brain, And Strephon hopes, alas ! in vain: For ne'er 'twas found (though often tried) That pity ever dwelt with pride.
SET BY MR. SMITH.
PHILLIs, since we have both been kind,
Tell me what pleasure you can find,
'Tis true, you may with art and pain
But still those glowings which remain
Then let us free each other's soul,
Who would love's liberty control,
Let us no impositions set,
But, as for pleasure first we met,
We both have spent our stock of love,
Thyrsis expects you in yon grove ;
PHILLIS, this pious talk give o'er,
In vain you fancy to deceive,
SET BY M.R. SMITH.
STILL, Dorinda, I adore;
For I lov'd you much before,
And, alas! now love you more, Though I force myself to leave you.
Staying, I my vows shall fail; Virtue yields, as love grows stronger;
Fierce desires will sure prevail;
You are fair; and I am frail, And dare trust myself no longer.
You my love, too nicely coy, Lest I should have gain'd the treasure,
Made my vows and oaths destroy
The pleasing hopes I did enjoy
To my vows I have been true, And in silence hid my anguish,
But I cannot promise too
What my love may make me do, While with her for whom I languish.
For in thee strange magic lies, And my heart is too, too tender;