Leave fmoke and noise,
And fly to joys,

That court my Chloe fair!
Whilst hay perfumes,

And hedge-row blooms,
With fragrance fill the air!

The cherry-cheek'd lass is milking her cow,
And ruddy-fac'd fwains are driving the plow;
To the pipe and the tabor at night they are seen
In hands round the may-pole, to dance on the green!
Roger with some artless tale

Does the heart of Nell affail,
And she finirking, void of guile
Still approves it, with a smile.

Health and pleasure, both invite thee,
Both confpire to delight thee;
All these bleffings we will prove,
With that greater joy of love!

The Coquet.

I.

WHEN Myra, fweet maid, firft bleft my fond fight,
My bofom ftrait thrill'd, with pain and delight;

A fomething so strange, I felt in my breast,
But fighing foon told, that love was the guest.

II.

Long mute was my tongue, I fear'd to disclose,
And tell the bright maid, the cause of my woes,
But fhe, a coquet, her conqueft had found,
And smiling gave hopes to neal up my wound.

III. En

III.

Encourag'd I speak, then angry fhe flies,
Yet that hour returns with joy in her eyes;
One day by her looks, I think her my own,
But next when we've met, a ftranger I'm grown..
IV.

My heart was diftracted 'twixt hope and despair,
And I was refolv'd on quitting this fair:

As means to fucceed, her faults I would note,
Repeated them oft, and got them by rote.

V.

Oh fatal mistake! her foibles were grown
So familiar to me, I thought them my own.
That love has no cure, is certain, I find.
For women are faultlefs---or lovers are blind.

The Complaint.

PENSIVE, beneath a gloomy grove,
Young Damon fat, and fung of love.
The birds their warbling notes delay,
And liften from the rocking fpray.

Ye rills that flow bubbling along,

Ye ofiers that fhade the clear ftream,

All nature attend to my fong!

For Chloe, the falfe, is my theme.

That Chloe which often you've heard,
(As bleft we have fat on the ground,)
That Damon to all the preferr'd,

And echo return'd the sweet found!

How

How oft has fhe faid, that no time,
No titles, no pomp of the great!
Tho' riches and grandeur fhould join,
Could make her, her Damon forget!

Those vows fure are written above!
Oh Chloe, confider in time,
And know that the perjur'd in love

Feel the wrath of the pow'r divine!

Oh Chloe! what crime have I done

That thou art fo fuddenly chang'd?
What falfhood have I ever fhewn?

To what other beauty have rang'd?

The needle, that points to the pole,
Is, fure, a true emblem of me!
So fix'd is my love, that my foul
Is conftant and steady to thee!

If ever I wish'd for a joy,

That was not to Chloe confin'd,
Let heaven my being destroy!

My name be abhor'd by mankind!

Song.

On the Conftituting of the Lodge, No. 238,

WH

at Wakefield.

I.

HAT joy fills our hearts, what transports we share ! When thus my dear brethren we meet on the square! Our light now shines forth, where darkness appear'd, For a lodge we at length in Wakefield have rear'd!

II.

With hearts thus united, cemented by love,
An emblem of that happy station above!
No back-biting, malice, no envy, have we!
Our motto is filence, love, charity!

III.

The town's in an uproar, as plainly is seen :

Derry down.

Free-mafons cry they, pray what do they mean?

They're eunuchs, one answer'd; I'm told by a neighbour, That a Free-mafon's wife, was never in labour !

IV.

Derry down.

With a hot falamander, their bodies are fear'd,

That they are haters of women, I also have heard,
And that it is fo, I moft firmly believe,

For their lodge they have barr'd 'gainst the daughters of Eve.

V.

Derry down.

They are fools cry'd another: their fecrets they boast When by books that are publish'd, thofe fecrets are lost. There's Jack King, and Buz, and three proper knocks, All the mift'ry of Mafons, moft fully unlocks.

VI.

Derry drun.

Then replied a wifeacre, I know very well
No fecrets they have, fo none can they tell!
And thofe books of free mafons, I ftrongly believe
Are only rank nonfenfe, the world to deceive.

Derry down.

VII. A

VII.

A lady then spoke, as fhe tea poured out,
About these free masons what a din and a rout;
They're disciples of Rome, his holyness knows,
Sent out to alure by their tricks and their fhews.

VIII.

The wife of a mafon, who heard all this stuff

Derry down.

Cry'd peace, my good friends, you've fhewn envy enough; 'Tis pity some folks, their folly should shew, By railing at matters, they own they don't know.

IX.

Derry down.

God bless! these poor people, pray let them rail on,
And let us dear brethren, each strive to mend one!
That by our example, the world may all fee,
To be good and virtuous, is free-masonry !

X.

Derry down.

Come charge my dear breth'ren, come fill the glass high,
To the King, our grand master, and free-masonry!
To our wives, barns and fweethearts, let it go round,
And may this our new lodge, with bleffings be crown'd!
Derry down.

XI.

Replenish once more, I've a toast to propose,

As the hearts of each mafon, with gratitude glows,
To the good lodge of — those brothers so true!
Let us drink with all honours, to masonry due.