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Pray let Platonics play fuch pranks,
Such follies I deride;

For love, at least, I will have thanks,
And fomething elfe befide.

Then open-hearted be with me,
As I fhall be with you,
And let our actions be as free,

As virtue will allow.

If you'll prove loving, I'll prove kind,
If true, I'll conftant be;

If fortune chance to change your mind,
I'll turn affoon as you.

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What's that to you?

To the tune of, The glancing of her apron.

Y

My feany and I have toil'd

The live-lang fimmer-day,

Till we almost were spoil'd
At making of the hay:
Her kurchy was of holland clear,
Ty'd on her bonny brow,
I whisper'd fomething in her ear;
But what's that to you?

Her ftockings were of Kersey green,
As tight as ony filk:

O fic a leg was never seen,

Her fkin was white as milk:

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Her hair was black as ane could wish,

And sweet, fweet was her mou,
Oh! Jeany daintilie can kifs;
But what's that to you?

The rofe and lily baith combine,
To make my Jeany fair,
There is nae bennison like mine,
I have amaist nae care;
Only I fear my Jeany's face
May cause mae men to rue,
And that may gar me say, alas?
But what's that to you?

Conceal thy beauties if thou can,
Hide that fweet face of thine,
That I may only be the man
Enjoys thefe looke divine.
O do not protitute, my dear,
Wonders to common view,
And I with faithful heart shall swear,
For ever to be true.

King Solomon had wives enow,
And mony a concubine;
But I enjoy a bliss mair true,
His joys were fhort of mine;
And Jeany's happier than they,
She feldom wants her due,
All debts of love to her I pay,
And what's that to you?

C

SONG.

To the abfent FLORINDA.

To the tune of, Queen of Sheba's march.

Ome, Florinda, lovely charmer,
Come and fix this wav'ring heart;

Let thofe eyes my foul rekindle,
Ere I feel fome foreign dart.

VOL. II.

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Come, and with thy fmiles fecure me, ou
If this heart be worth thy care, :
Favour'd by my dear Florinda,
I'll be true, as fhe is fair.

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Thousand beauties trip around me, t
And my yielding breaft affail;
Come and take me to thy bofom,

Ere my conftant paffion fail.

Come, and, like the radiant morning,
On my foul ferenely shine,

Then thofe glimmering stars shall vanish,
Loft in fplendor more divine,

Long this heart has been thy victim,

Long has felt the pleasing pain,

Come, and with an equal paffion
Make it ever thine remain,

Then, my charmer, I can promise,
If our fouls in love agree,
None in all the upper dwellings

Shall be happier than we.

C

A Bacchanal SONG.

o the tune of, A uld Sir Symon the King.

Ome here's to the nymph that I love!
Away, ye vain forrows away:

Far, far from me, forrows, begone,
All there fhall be pleafant and gay.

Far hence be the fad and the penfive,
Come fill up the glaffes around,
We'll drink till our faces be'ruddy,
And all our yain forrows are drown'd.

'Tis done, and my fancy's exulting,
With every gay blooming defire,
My blood with brifk ardour is glowing,
Soft pleafures my bofom infpire.

My

My foul now to love is diffolving, Oh fate! had I here my fair charmer, I'd clafp her, I'd clafp her fo eager, Of all her disdain I'd disarm her.

But hold, what has love to do here With his troops of vain cares in array y? Avaunt, idle penfive intruder,

He triumphs, he will not away.

I'll drown him, come, give me a bumper;
Young Cupid, here's to thy confufion.
Now, now he's departing, he's vanquish'd,
Adieu to his anxious delufion.

Come, jolly god Bacchus, here's to thee;
Huzza boys, huzza boys, huzza,
Sing Io, fing lo to Bacchus

Hence all ye dull thinkers, withdraw.

Come, what should we do but be jovial ?
Come tune up your voices and fing;
What foul is fo dull to be heavy,
When wine fets our fancies on wing?

Come, Pegafus lies in this bottle,
He'll mount us, he'll mount us on high,
Each of us a gallant young Perfeus,
Sublime we'll afcend to the sky.

Come mount, or adieu, I arife,
In feas of wide æther I'm drown'd,
The clouds far beneath me are failing,
I fee the spheres whirling around.

What darkness, what rattling is this?
Thro' Chaos' dark regions I'm hurl'd,
And now, oh my head it is knockt
Upon fome confounded new world.

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Now, now thefe dark fhades are retiring, See yonder bright blazes a ftar,

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Where am I! behold the Empyreum,"
With flaming light ftreaming from far.

I. W. Q

To Mrs A. C.

A SON G.

To the tune of, All in the downs.

WHen beauty blazes heavenly bright,

The mufe can no more ceafe to fing,

Than can the lark, with rifing light,

Her notes neglect with drooping wing.
The morning fhines, harmonious birds mount hie:
The dawning beauty fmiles, and poets fly.

Young Annie's budding graces claim
Th' infpired thought, and fofteft lays;
And kindle in the breaft a flame,

Which must be vented in her praife.
Tell us, ye gentle fhepherds, have you feen
E'er one fo like an angel tread the green?

Ye youth, be watchful of your hearts;
When the appears, take the alarm :
Love on her beauty points his darts,

And wings an arrow from each charm.
Around her eyes and fmiles the graces fport,
And to her fnowy neck and breaft refort.

But vain muft every caution prove:
When fuch inchanting fweetnefs fhines,
The wounded fwain muft yield to love,
And wonder, tho' he hopelefs pines.
Such flames the foppish butterfly fhou'd shun;
The eagle's only fit to view the fun.

She's as the op'ning lily fair;

Her lovely features are complete;
Whilft heaven indulgent makes her fhare
With angels all that's wife and fweet.

Thefe virtues which divinely deck her mind,
Exalt each other of th' inferior kind.

Whether

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