A

SONG.

FROM DRYDEN'S COLLECTION.

SILLY fhepherd woo'd, but wift not How he might his mistress' favour gain. On a time they met, but kifs'd not;

Ever after that he fued in vain : Blame her not, alas, though she said nay To him that might, but fled away.

Time perpetually is changing;
Every moment alteration brings;
Love and beauty ftill eftranging;
Women are, alas! but wanton things!
He that will his mistress' favour gain,
Muft take her in a merry vein.

A woman's fancy 's like a fever,

Or an ague, that doth come by fits;
Hot, and cold, but conftant never,
Even as the pleasant humour hits.
Sick, and well again, and well, and fick,
In love it is a woman's trick.

Now the will, and now she will not,

Put her to the trial, if once she smile; Silly youth, thy fortune spill not, Ling'ring labours oft themselves beguile. He that knocks, and can't get in, His pick-lock is not worth a pin.

A woman's nay is no denial,
Silly youths in love are ferv'd fo.
Put her to a farther trial,

Haply she'll take it, and say no.
For 'tis a trick which women use,
What they love they will refufe.

Silly youth, why doft thou dally?

Having got time and season fit;

Then never stand "Sweet, fhall I? fhall I?"
Nor too much commend an after wit;
For he that will not when he may,

When he will he shall have nay.

WRITTEN IN THE LEAVES OF A FAN.

SAME COLLECTION.

FLAVIA the leaft and slightest toy
Can, with refiftless art, employ.
This fan, in meaner hands, would prove
An engine of small force in love.

Yet fhe, with graceful air and mien,

(Not to be told or fafely feen)

Directs its wanton motion fo,

That it wounds more than Cupid's bow ;
Gives coolness to the matchless dame,

To ev'ry other breast a flame.

SONG.

SAME COLLECTION.

AT dead of night, when wrapp'd in fleep
The peaceful cottage lay;
Paftora left her folded sheep,

Her garland, crook, and useless fcrip;

Love led the nymph astray.

Loose and undrefs'd, she takes her flight To a near myrtle shade;

The confcious moon gave all her light,

To blefs her ravish'd lover's fight,
And guide the loving maid.

His eager arms the nymph embrace:
And, to affuage his pain,

His restless paffion he obeys.

At fuch an hour, in such a place,
What lover could contain?

In vain she call'd the confcious moon,
The moon no fuccour gave;
The cruel ftars unmov'd look'd on,

And feem'd to smile at what was done,
Nor would her honour fave.

Vanquish'd at last by powerful love,
The nymph expiring lay.

No more fhe figh'd, no more she strove;
Since no kind ftars were found above,
She blush'd and died away.

Yet blefs'd the grove, her conscious flight,
And youth that did betray;
And panting, dying with delight,
She bleft the kind transporting night,
And curft th' approaching day.

ON MUSIC.

FROM THE SAME COLLECTION.

WHEN whispering ftrains, with creeping wind,
Diftil foft paffion through the heart,
And whilft at every touch we find

Our pulfes beat, and bear a part,
When threads can make
Our heart-ftrings shake;
Philofophy can scarce deny,
Our fouls confift in harmony.

Oh, lull me, lull me, charming air,

My fenfes each with wonder sweet; Like fnow on wool thy fallings are,

Soft like fpirits' are thy feet.

Grief who needs fear

That hath an ear?

Down let him lie,

And flumb'ring die,

And change his foul for harmony.

SONG.

SAME COLLECTION. BY MR. J. H.

IN Chloris all foft charms agree :
Inchanting humour, powerful wit;

Beauty, from affectation free,

And for eternal empire fit.
Where'er she goes, love waits her eyes,
The women envy, men adore;
But, did she less the triumph prize,
She would deferve the conquest more.

The

pomp

of love fo much prevails, She begs what none else would deny her,

Makes fuch advances with her

eyes,

The hope fhe gives prevents defire.

Catches at every trifling heart,

Seems warm with every glimmering flame;

The common prey so deads the dart,

It scarce can pierce a noble game.