[Music]
Through the cold shady Woods,
As I was ranging,
I heard the pretty Birds,
Notes sweetly changing:
Down by the Meadow's side,
There runs a River
A little Boy I spy'd
With Bow and Quiver.
Little Boy tell me why
Thou art here diving?
Art thou some Run-away;
And hast no abiding?
I am no Run-away,
_Venus_ my Mother,
She gave me leave to play,
When I came hither.
Little Boy go with me,
And be my servant,
I will take care to see
For thy preferment:
If I with thee should go,
_Venus_ would chide me,
And take away my Bow,
And never abide me.
Little Boy let me know,
What's thy Name termed,
That thou dost wear a Bow,
And go so arm'd:
You may perceive the same,
With often changing;
_Cupid_ it is my Name,
I live by ranging.
If _Cupid_ be thy Name,
That shoot at Rovers;
I have heard of thy Fame,
By wounded Lovers:
Should any languish that
Are set on fire;
By such a naked Brat,
I much admire.
If thou dost but the least,
At my Laws grumble;
I'll pierce thy stubborn breast,
And make thee humble,
If I with Golden Dart,
Wound thee but surely,
There's no Physitians Art,
That e're can cure thee.
Little Boy with thy Bow,
Why dost thou threaten;
It is not long ago
Since thou wast beaten:
Thy wanton Mother, fair
_Venus_ will chide thee;
When all thy Arrows are gone,
Thou may'st go hide thee.
Of powerful shafts you see,
I am well stored;
Which makes my Deity,
So much adored:
With one poor Arrow now,
I'll make thee shiver;
And bend unto my Bow,
And fear my Quiver.
Dear little _Cupid_ be,
Courteous and kindly;
I know thou can'st not see,
But shootest blindly:
Altho' thou call'st me blind,
Surely I'll hit thee;
That thou shalt quickly find,
I'll not forget thee.
Then little _Cupid_ caught,
His Bow so nimble;
And shot a fatal shaft,
Which made him tremble:
Go tell thy Mistress dear,
Thou canst discover;
What all the Passions are,
Of a dying Lover.
And now this gallant Heart
Sorely lies bleeding;
He felt the greatest smart,
From Love proceeding;
He did her help implore,
Whom he affected,
But found that more and more,
Him she rejected.
For _Cupid_ with his Craft,
Quickly had chosen,
And with a Leaden shaft,
Her Heart had frozen:
Which caus'd this Lover more,
Daily to languish;
And _Cupid's_ Aid implore,
To heal this Anguish.
He humble pardon crav'd
For his Offence past;
And vow'd himself a Slave,
And to love stedfast;
His Prayers so ardent were,
Whilst his Heart panted,
That _Cupid_ lent an ear,
And his suit granted.
For by his present plaint,
He was regarded;
And his adored Saint,
His Love rewarded:
And now they live in Joy,
Sweetly embracing,
And left the little Boy,
In the Woods chasing.
_The Duke of_ GLOUCESTER's _March, Set by Dr._ BLOW.
[Music]
And now, now the Duke's March,
Let the Haut-boys play;
And his Troops in the Close,
Shall Huzza, Huzza, Huzza:
And now, now the Duke's March,
Let the Haut-boys play;
And his Troops in the Close,
Shall Huzza, Huzza, Huzza.
_A_ SONG _Sung at_ RICHMOND _New Wells, the Words by_ M. S. _Set by
Mr._ MORGAN.
[Music]
_Aurelia_ now one Moment lost,
A thousand Sighs may after cost;
Desires may oft return in vain,
But Youth will ne'er return again:
Desires may oft return in vain,
But Youth will ne'er return again.
The fragrant sweets which do adorn,
The glowing blushes of the Morn;
By Noon are vanish'd all away,
Then let _Aurelia_ live to Day.
_A_ SONG _Sung by Mrs._ PRINCE _in the_ Agreeable Disappointment.
_Sett by Mr._ JOHN ECCLES.
[Music]
_Chloe_ found Love for his _Psyche_ in Tears,
She play'd with his Dart, and smil'd at his Fears, fears;
'Till feeling at length the Poison it keeps,
_Cupid_ he smiles, and _Chloe_ she weeps:
'Till feeling at length the Poison it keeps,
_Cupid_ he smiles, and _Chloe_ she weeps.
_Cupid_ he smiles, and _Chloe_ she weeps.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ JOHN BARRETT.
[Music]
_Liberia's_ all my Thought and Dream,
She's all, all, all, she's all, all, all, my Pleasure
and my Pain:
_Liberia's_ all that I esteem,
And all I fear is her Disdain,
Her Wit, her Humour and her Face,
Please beyond all I felt before:
Oh! Why can't I Admire her less,
Or dear _Liberia_, or dear _Liberia_ love me more!
Like Stars all other Female Charms,
Ne'er touch my Heart, but Feast my Eyes;
For she's the only Sun that Warms,
With her alone I'd live and dye:
Immortal Pow'rs whose Work Divine,
Inspires my Soul with so much Love;
Grant your _Liberia_ may be mine,
And then, then, then, then, and then, then I
share your Joys above.
_Coy_ BELINDA, _and False_ AMINDOR.
[Music]
Coy _Belinda_ may discover,
Love is nothing but a Name;
'Tis not Beauty warms the Lover,
When he tells her of his Flame:
But she keeps a greater Treasure,
Binds and Bonds inflame his Heart;
Charms that flow with tides of Pleasure,
More obey'd than _Cupid's_ Dart.
False _Amintor_ leave Dissembling,
Tell her plainly you are Poor;
Hence are all your Sighs and Tremblings,
When you talk of your Amour:
Tho' you Sigh, and tho' you Languish,
'Till she gives herself away;
Then you soon forget your Anguish,
And _Belinda_ must obey.
_An Amorous Address to the charming_ CORINNA.
[Music]
_Corinna_ 'tis you that I Love,
And love with a Passion, a Passion so great;
That death a less Torment would prove,
Than either your Frown or your hate:
So soft and prevailing your Charms,
In vain I should strive to retreat;
Oh! then let me live in your Arms,
Or dye in Despair at your Feet.
In vain I may pray to Love's Powers,
To ease me and pity my Pain;
Since the Heart that I sue for is yours,
Who all other Powers disdain:
Like a _Goddess_ you Absolute reign,
You alone 'tis can save or kill;
To whom else then should I complain,
Since my fate must depend on your will.
_The Coy Lass dress'd up in her best Commode and Top-knot._
[Music]
Do not rumple my Top-knot,
I'll not be kiss'd to Day;
I'll not be hawl'd and pull'd about,
Thus on a Holy-day:
Then if your Rudeness you don't leave,
No more is to be said;
See this long Pin upon my Sleeve,
I'll run up to the Head:
And if you rumple my head Gear,
I'll give you a good flurt on the Ear.
Come upon a Worky-day,
When I have my old Cloaths on;
I shall not be so nice nor Coy,
Nor stand so much upon:
Then hawl and pull, and do your best,
Yet I shall gentle be:
Kiss hand, and Mouth, and feel my Breast,
And tickle to my Knee:
I won't be put out of my rode,
You shall not rumple my Commode.
_A_ SONG _in the Dramatick_ OPERA _of_ KING ARTHUR. _Written by Mr._
DRYDEN.
[Music]
Fairest Isle, all Isles excelling,
Seat of pleasures, and of Love;
_Venus_ here, will chuse her dwelling,
And forsake her _Cyprian Grove_.
_Cupid_ from his fav'rite Nation,
Care and Envy will remove;
Jealousy that poisons Passion,
And Despair that dies for Love.
Gentle murmurs sweet complaining,
Sighs that blow the fire of Love;
Soft Repulses, kind Disdaining,
Shall be all the Pains you prove.
Every Swain shall pay his Duty,
Grateful every Nymph shall prove;
And as these excel in Beauty,
Those shall be renown'd for Love.
_A_ SONG _in the Comedy call'd the_ (Wives Excuse: _Or_, Cuckolds make
themselves.) _Sung by Mrs._ BUTLER.
[Music]
Hang this whining way of Wooing,
Loving was design'd a sport;
Sighing, talking without doing,
Makes a sily Idol court:
Don't believe that Words can move her,
If she be not well inclin'd;
She herself must be the Lover,
To perswade her to be kind:
If at last she grants the Favour,
And consents to be undone;
Never think your Passion gave her,
To your wishes, but her own.
_A_ SONG _in the Opera call'd the_ (Fairy Queen,) _Sung by Mr._ PATE.
[Music]
Here's the Summer sprightly, gay,
Smiling, wanton, fresh and fair:
Adorn'd with all the Flowers of _May_,
Whose various sweets perfume the Air,
Adorn'd with all the Flowers of _May_,
Whose various sweets perfume the Air.
_A_ DOG _of_ WAR:
_Or, The Travels of _DRUNKARD, _the famous Curr of the Round
_WOOLSTAPLE _in_ WESTMINSTER. _His Services in the_ NETHERLANDS, _and
lately in _FRANCE, _with his return home._
_The_ ARGUMENT.
_An Honest, Well-knowing, and well-known Souldier, (whose Name for
some Reasons I conceal) dwelt lately in _Westminster, _in the round
Woolstaple, he was a Man only for Action, but such Actions as Loyalty
did always justifie, either for his Prince, Country, or their dear and
near Friends or Allies, in such noble designs he would and did often
with Courage and good Approvement employ himself in the Low-countries,
having always with him a little black Dog, whom he called_ Drunkard;
_which Curr would (by no means) ever forsake or leave him. But lately
in these French Wars, the Dog being in the Isle of_ RHEA, _where his
Master (valiantly fighting) was Unfortunately slain, whose death was
griev'd for by as many as knew him; and as the Corps lay dead, the
poor loving Masterless Dog would not forsake it, until an English
Souldier pull'd off his Masters Coat, whom the Dog followed to a Boat,
by which means he came back to_ Westminster, _where he now remains.
Upon whose Fidelity, (for the love I owed his deceased Master) I have
writ these following Lines, to express my Addiction to the Proverb,_
Love me and Love my Dog.
To the Reader.
_Reader if you expect_
_from hence_,
_An overplus of Wit_
_or Sence_,
_I deal with no such_
_Traffique:_
Heroicks _and_
Iambicks _I_,
_My Buskinde Muse hath_
_laid them by_,
_Pray be content with_
Saphicke.
Drunkard _the Dog my_
_Patron is_,
_And he doth love me_
_well for this_,
_Whose Love I take for_
_Guerdon_;
_And he's a Dog of_ Mars
_his Train_
_Who hath seen Men and_
_Horses slain_,
_The like was never_
_heard on._