STREP

III. SET BY MR. DE FESCH.

TREPHONETTA, why d'ye fly me,
With fuch rigour in your eyes?

Oh! 'tis cruel to deny me,

Since your charms I fo much prize.

II.

But I plainly fee the reafon
Why in vain I you pursued,
Her to gain 'twas out of season,
Who before the chaplain woo'd.

IV. SET BY MR. SMITH.

COME, weep no more, for 'tis in vain ;
not thus your pretty heart;

Think, Flavia, we may meet again,
As well as that we now muft part.

II.

You figh 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.

III.

We pray, in hopes they will be kind
As if they did regard our state;
They hear, and the return we find
Is, that no prayers can alter Fate.

IV.

Then clear your brow, and look more gay;
Do not yourself to grief refign;

Who knows but that thofe powers may
The pair they now have parted join,

V.

But since they have thus cruel been,
And could fuch conftant lovers fever,
I dare not truft, left, now they're in,
They fhould divide us two for ever.

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VI.

Then, Flavia, come, and let us grieve,
Rememb'zing, though, upon what score;
This our laft parting look believe,
Believe we muft embrace no more.

VII.

Yet fhould our fun fhine out at last,
And Fortune, without more deceit,
Throw but one reconciling cast,
To make two wand'ring lovers meet.

VIII.

How great then would our pleasure be
To find heaven kinder than believ'd,
And we, who had no hopes to see
Each other, to be thus deceiv'd!

IX.

But fay, fhould heaven bring no relief;
Suppofe our fun fhould never rife
Why, then, what's due to such a grief
We've paid already with our eyes.

V. SET BY MR. DE FESCH.

ET perjur'd fair Amynta know
What for her fake I undergo;
Tell her, for her how I sustain
A ling'ring fever's wasting pain ;
Tell her the torments I endure,
Which only, only she can cure.
II.

But, oh! the fcorns to hear or fee
The wretch that lies fo low as me ;
Her fudden greatness turns her brain,
And Strephon hopes, alas! in vain ;
For ne'er 'twas found (though often try'd)
That Pity ever dwelt with Pride.

VI. SET BY MR. SMITH.

PHILLIS, we have but all,

HILLIS, fince we have both been kind,

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Tell me what pleasure you can find
In forcing Nature 'gainst her will.

II.

'Tis true, you may, with art and pain,
Keep in fome glowings of desire,
But ftill thofe glowings which remain
Are only afhes of the fire.

III.

Then let us free each other's foul,
And laugh at the dull conftant fool
Who would Love's liberty control,
And teach us how to whine by rule.

IV.

Let us no impofitions fet
Or clogs upon each other's heart;
But, as for pleasure first we met,
So now for pleasure let us part.

V.

We both have spent our ftock of love,
So confequently should be free;
Thyrfis expects you in yon grove,
And pretty Chloris ftays for me.

VII. SET BY mr. de fESCH.

PHILLIS, this pious talk give o'er,

And modeftly pretend no more,

It is too plain an art:

Surely you take me for a fool,

And would by this prove me fo dull
As not to know your heart.

II.

In vain you fancy to deceive;
For truly I can ne'er believe
But this is all a fham.
Since any one may plainly fee
You'd only fave yourself with me,
And with another damn.

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VII. SET BY MR. SMITH.

STILL, DORINDA, I adore;

Think I mean not to deceive ye,
For I lov'd you much before,
And, alas! now love you more,
Tho' I force myself to leave you.

II.

You, my love, too nicely coy,
Left I fhou'd have gain'd the treasure,
Made my vows and oaths deftroy
The pleafing hopes I did enjoy
Of all my future peace and pleasure.

IV.

IX. SET BY MR. DE FESCH.

Sit, O love, thy want of

eyes,

Or by the Fates decreed,
That hearts fo feldom fympathize,
Or for each other bleed?

II.

If thou wouldst make two youthful hearts
One am'rous fhaft obey,

'Twould fave thee the expence of darts,
And more extend thy sway.

III.

Forbear, alas! thus to destroy
Thyfelf, thy growing pow'r,

For that which would be stretch'd by joy
Defpair will foon devour.

IV.

Ah! wound then my relentless fair,

WHY, Harry, what ails you? why look you fo fad?

To think and ne'er drink will make you ftark

mad.

'Tis the mistress, the friend, and the bottle, old boy,
Which create all the pleasure poor mortals enjoy ;
But wine of the three's the moft cordial brother,
For one it relieves, and it ftrengthens the other.
XI. SET BY MR. DE FESCH.

MO

ORELLA, charming without art,
And kind without defign,

Can never lose the finallest part

Of fuch a heart as mine.

II.

Oblig'd a thousand sev'ral ways,
It ne'er can break her chains,

While paffion which her beauties raise
My gratitude maintains.

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