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XX. SET BY C. R.

1 PHILLIS, give this humour over, We too long have time abused; I shall turn an arrant rover,

If the favour's still refused.

2 Faith! 'tis nonsense out of measure,
Without ending thus to see
Women forced to taste a pleasure
Which they love as well as we.

3 Let not pride and folly share you,
We were made but to enjoy ;
Ne'er will age or censure spare you,
E'er the more for being coy.

4 Never fancy time's before you,
Youth, believe me, will away;
Then, alas! who will adore you,
Or to wrinkles tribute pay!

5 All the swains on you attending

Show how much your charms deserve;
But, miser like, for fear of spending,
You amidst your plenty starve.

6 While a thousand freer lasses,

Who their youth and charms employ; Though your beauty theirs surpasses, Live in far more perfect joy.

XXI.

HASTE, my Nannette, my lovely maid,
Haste to the bower thy swain has made;

For thee alone I made the bower,
And strewed the couch with many a flower.
None but my sheep shall near us come:
Venus be praised! my sheep are dumb!
Great god of love, take thou my crook,
To keep the wolf from Nannette's flock!
Guard thou the sheep, to her so dear;
My own, alas, are less my care.
But, of the wolf if thou 'rt afraid,
Come not to us to call for aid;

For with her swain my love shall stay,
Though the wolf prowl, and the sheep stray.

XXII. SET BY MR DE FESCH.

1 SINCE by ill fate I'm forced away,

And snatched so soon from those dear arms; Against my will I must obey,

And leave those sweet endearing charms.

2 Yet still love on; and never fear,
But you and constancy will prove
Enough my present flame to bear,
And make me, though in absence, love.

3 For, though your presence fate denies,
I feel, alas! the killing smart;
And can with undiscerned eyes
Behold your picture in my heart.

XXIII.- -SET BY MR DE FESCH.

1 In vain, alas! poor Strephon tries
To ease his tortured breast;
Since Amoret the cure denies,
And makes his pain a jest.

2 Ah! fair one, why to me so coy, And why to him so true;

Who with more coldness slights the joy,

Than I with love pursue?

3 Die then, unhappy lover! die,

For, since she gives thee death, The world has nothing that can buy A minute more of breath.

4 Yet, though I could your scorn outlive, 'Twere folly; since to me Not love itself a joy can give, But, Amoret, in thee.

XXIV. SET BY MR DE FESCH.

1 WELL! I will never more complain,
Or call the fates unkind;
Alas, how fond it is, how vain!
But self-conceitedness does reign
In every mortal mind.

2 'Tis true they long did me deny,
Nor would permit a sight;

I raged; for I could not espy,
Or think that any harm could lie
Disguised in that delight.

3 At last, my wishes to fulfill,

They did their power resign;
I saw her; but I wish I still
Had been obedient to their will,
And they not unto mine.

4 Yet I by this have learned the wit, Never to grieve or fret; Contentedly I will submit,

And think that best which they think fit, Without the least regret.

XXV. SET BY MR C. R.

1 CHLOE beauty has and wit,

And an air that is not common; Every charm in her does meet,

Fit to make a handsome woman.

2 But we do not only find

Here a lovely face or feature; For she's merciful and kind,

Beauty's answered by good nature.

3 She is always doing good,

Of her favours never sparing,
And, as all good christians should,
Keeps poor mortals from despairing.

4 Jove the power knew of her charms, And that no man could endure them, So, providing 'gainst all harms,

Gave to her the power to cure them.

5 And 'twould be a cruel thing,

When her black eyes have raised desire,

Should she not her bucket bring,

And kindly help to quench the fire.

XXVI.

1 SINCE, Moggy, I mun bid adieu, How can I help despairing?

Let cruel fate us still pursue,

There's nought more worth my caring.

2 'Twas she alone could calm my soul,
When racking thoughts did grieve me;
Her eyes my trouble could control,
And into joys deceive me.

3 Farewell, ye brooks; no more along
Your banks mun I be walking;
No more you'll hear my pipe or song,
Or pretty Moggy's talking.

4 But I by death an end will give
To grief, since we mun sever;
For who can after parting live,
Ought to be wretched ever.

XXVII.

1 SOME kind angel, gently flying, Moved with pity at my pain,

Tell Corinna, I am dying,

Till with joy we meet again.

2 Tell Corinna, since we parted,
I have never known delight;
And soon shall be broken-hearted,
If I longer want her sight.

3 Tell her how her lover, mourning,
Thinks each lazy day a year;

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