Avaunt! thou fiend, pale melancholy! We are mortals free and jolly, Wine can dulleft mortals raife, Floods, Floods of mufic, all divine, Pour along in every line; And the wild Dithyrambic ftrain, Warbled best when half-feas gone. SONG. I. EXTEMPORE. HE fprightly eye, the rofy cheek, TH The dimpled chin, and look fo meek, The nameless grace and air; The ruby lip in fweetnefs dreft, The foftly-fwelling angel breast All these adorn my fair! II. See what unnumber'd beauties rove Around each feature of my love, And fire my rapt'rous foul! Ten theufand fweets her looks disclose; At ev'ry look my bofom glows, And yields to love's control. III. Juft heav'ns! why gave ye charms like these, With ev'ry graceful art to please, To her whom rigid fate, Permits me not my pain to tell, And makes me facred truth conceal . From one I wish my mate. IV. Curfe on the fordid thirft of gold! SONG. TO SYLVIA. A SON G, After her recovery from a fit of fickness. WHE I. HEN at bleak WINTER'S ftern command, And the fad groves all leafless stand, And wither'd is each pleasing shade; II. No nightingale, or linnet gay, Is heard to wake the sprightly strain, No turtle pours her love-lorn lay, To footh the foul of am'rous swain. III. But when the jovial hours appear, When young-ey'd fpring bedecks the year, IV. The IV. The feather'd chorifters prepare V. So when my Sylvia, lovely maid! And with pale white her lips are ftain'd VI. Oh then! my heart, oppreff'd with woe VII. But if the charming nymph renews The lively look, and health's foft bloom; Into my breaft it does infuse New life, and diffipates my gloom. VIII. Soon |