With light united, day they give,
But different fates ere night fulfil :
How many by his warmth will live!
How many will her coldness kill!

SONG XLI.

Young Corydon and Phillis

Sat in a lovely grove,

Contriving crowns of lilies,
Repeating tales of love,

And fomething elfe, but what I dare not name.

But, as they were a playing,

She ogled fo the swain, It fav'd her plainly faying,

Let's kifs to eafe our pain, &c.

A thousand times he kifs'd her
Upon the flow'ry green:
But as he further prefs'd her,
A pretty leg was feen, &c.

So many beauties viewing,

His ardour ftill increas'd;

And, greater joys purfuing,

He wander'd o'er her breaft, &c.

A laft effort fhe trying,

His paffion to withstand,
Cry'd, (but 'twas faintly crying),
Pray take away your hand, &c.

Young Corydon grown bolder,

The minutes wou'd improve; This is the time, he told her,

To fhew how much I love, &c.

The nymph feem'd almoft dying,.
Diffolv'd in am'rous heat;
She kifs'd, and told him fighing,
My dear, your love is great, &c.

But

But Phillis did recover.

Much fooner than the fwain;
She blushing, afk'd her lover,
Shall we not kifs again? &c.

Thus love his revels keeping,
Till nature at a stand,

From talk they fell to fleeping,
Holding each other's hand, &c.

SONG XLII.

EE, fee, my Seraphina comes,
Adorn'd with every grace;

SEE

Look, gods, from your celeftial dome,
And view her charming face.

Then fearch, and fee, if you can find,
facred groves,

In all your

A nymph or goddefs fo divine,
As fhe whom Strephon loves.

PR

SONG XLIII.

SHE.

Ray now, John, let Jug prevail, Doff thy fword, and take a flail ; Wounds and blows, and fcorching heat, Will abroad be all you'll get.

HE.

Zounds! you are mad, ye fimple jade,
Begone, and don't prate.

SHE.

My fhare will be but small, I fear,

When bold dragoons have been pickering there,
And the flea-flints the Germans ftrip 'em bare.
HE..

Mind your spinning,.

Mend your linen,

Look to your cheese, you,

Your pigs and your geefe too.

SHE.

No, no, I'll ramble out with you.

HE.

Blood and fire, if you tire
Thus my patience,

With vexations and narrations,

Thumping, thumping, thumping,

Is the fatal word, Joan.

SHE.

Do, do, I'm good at thumping too.

Come, come, John, let's bufs and be friends,,

Thus ftill, thus love's quarrel ends

I my tongue fometimes let run,

But, alas! I foon have done.

SHE.

Grow great!

And want both drink and meat,

And coin, unless the pamper'd French you beat :

Ah John! take care, John!

Dare

And learn more wit.

HE.

you prate ftill,

At this rate fill,

And, like vermin,

Grudge my preferment?

SHE.

You'll beg, or get a wooden leg.

H E.

Nay, if bawling, catterwawling,
Tittle tattle, prittle prattle,
Still muft rattle ;

I'll be gone, and straight aboard.

SHE.

Do, do, and fo fhall Hob and Sue,
Jug too, and all the ragged crew.

SONG XLIV.

HE.

Ince times are fo bad, I must tell thee, fweet heart, I'm thinking to leave off my plough and my cart, And to the fair city a journey I'll go,

To better my fortune as other folks do,

Since fome have from ditches,

And coarfe leather breeches,

Been rais'd to be rulers,

And wallow'd in riches,

Pray thee, come, come, come, come from thy wheel

For if the gipfies don't lie,

I fhall be a governor too ere I die.

SHE.

Ah, Colin! by all thy late doings I find,

With forrow and trouble, the pride of thy mind

Our

Our sheep now at random disorderly run,

And now Sunday's jacket goes every day on;
Ah! what doft thou, what doft thou, what doft
thou mean!

H E.

To make my fhoes clean,

And foot it to court to the king and the

queen,

Where, fhewing my parts, I preferment fhall win.
SHE.

Fie! 'tis better for us to plough and to spin;
For, as to the court, when thou happen'ft to try,
Thou'lt find nothing got there, unless thou canst buy ;
For money, the devil and all's to be found,
But no good parts minded without the good pound.

H E.

Why, then I'll take arms, and follow alarms,
Hunt honour, that now-a-days plaguily charms.
SHE.

And fo lofe a limb by a fhot or a blow,

And curfe thyfelf after for leaving the plow.

Nice pimping howe'er yields profit for life;
I'll help fome fine lord to another's fine wife.
SHE.

That's dangerous too amongst the town-crew :
For fome of them will do the fame thing by you;
And then I to cuckold ye may be drawn in;
Faith, Colin, 'tis better I fit here and spin.

HE.

Will nothing prefer me, what think'st of the law?

SHE.

Oh! while you live, Colin, keep out of that paw.

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