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A PARAPHRASE FROM THE FRENCH.
IN grey-haired Celia's withered arms
As mighty Lewis lay,
She cried, ‘If I have any charms,
My dearest, let's away!
For you, my love, is all my fear,
Hark how the drums do rattle ;
Alas, sir! what should you do here
In dreadful day of battle
Let little Orange stay and fight,
For danger's his diversion; 10
The wise will think you in the right,
Not to expose your person.
Nor vex your thoughts how to repair
The ruins of your glory;
You ought to leave so mean a care
To those who pen your story.
Are not Boileau and Corneille paid
For panegyric writing :
They know how heroes may be made
Without the help of fighting. 20
When foes too saucily approach,
'Tis best to leave them fairly;
Put six good horses in your coach,
And carry me to Marly.
Let Bouflers, to secure your fame,
Go take some town, or buy it;
Whilst you, great sir, at Nostredame,
Te Deum sing in quiet!’
READING ends in melancholy;
Wine breeds vices and diseases;
Wealth is but care, and love but folly;
Only friendship truly pleases.
My wealth, my books, my flask, my Molly,
Farewell all, if friendship ceases.
1 WHITHER would my passion run,
Shall I fly her, or pursue her?
Losing her, I am undone;
Yet would not gain her, to undo her.
2 Ye tyrants of the human breast,
Love and reason! cease your war,
And order death to give me rest;
So each will equal triumph share.
1 STREPHONETTA, why d'ye fly me,
With such rigour in your eyes?
Oh! 'tis cruel to deny me,
Since your charms I so much prize.
2. But I plainly see the reason,
Why in vain I you pursued;
Her to gain 'twas out of season,
Who before the chaplain wooed.
1 CoME, weep no more, for 'tis in vain;
Torment not thus your pretty heart;
Think, Flavia, we may meet again,
As well as, that we now must part.
2 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.
3 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.
4 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!
5 But, since they have thus cruel been, And could such constant lovers sever; I dare not trust, lest now they’re in, They should divide us two for ever.
6 Then, Flavia, come, and let us grieve,
Remembering though upon what score;
This our last parting look believe,
Believe we must embrace no more.
7 Yet, should our sun shine out at last;
And fortune, without more deceit,
Throw but one reconciling cast,
To make two wandering lovers meet;
8 How great then would our pleasure be,
To find Heaven kinder than believed;
And we, who had no hopes to see
Each other, to be thus deceived!
9 But say, should Heaven bring no relief,
Suppose our sun should never rise:
Why then what’s due to such a grief,
We’ve paid already with our eyes.
W.-SET BY MR. DE FESCH.
1 Let perjured fair Amynta know,
What for her sake I undergo;
Tell her, for her how I sustain
A lingering fever's wasting pain;
Tell her, the torments I endure,
Which only, only she can cure.
2. 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.
WI.—SET BY MR SMITH.
1 PHILLIS, since we have both been kind,
And of each other had our fill;
Tell me what pleasure you can find,
In forcing nature 'gainst her will.
2 "Tis true, you may with art and pain Keep in some glowings of desire; But still those glowings which remain
Are only ashes of the fire.
3 Then let us free each other's soul,
And laugh at the dull constant fool,
Who would love's liberty control,
And teach us how to whine by rule.
4 Let us no impositions set,
Or clogs upon each other's heart;
But, as for pleasure first we met,
So now for pleasure let us part.
5 We both have spent our stock of love, So consequently should be free; Thyrsis expects you in yon grove; And pretty Chloris stays for me.
WII.-SET BY MR. DE FESCH.
1 PHILLIS, this pious talk give o'er,
And modestly pretend no more;
It is too plain an art;
Surely you take me for a fool,
And would by this prove me so dull,
As not to know your heart.
2 In vain you fancy to deceive,
For truly I can ne'er believe
But this is all a sham;
Since any one may plainly see,
You'd only save yourself with me,
And with another damn.
1 STILL, Dorinda, I adore;
Think I mean not to deceive you;
For I loved you much before, .