The Wife Penitent.

DAPH

Sung by Mr. GAY.

I.

APHNIS stood penfive in the shade; With arms across, and head reclin'd; Pale looks accus'd the cruel maid,

And fighs reliev'd his love-fick mind;
His tuneful pipe all broken lay,

Looks, fighs, and actions feem'd to say,
My Chloe is unkind.

II.

Why ring the woods with warbling throats! Ye larks, ye linnets, cease your strains;

I faintly hear in your soft notes

My Chloe's voice, that wakes my pains. But why should you your fongs forbear? Your mates delight your fongs to hear, But Chloe mine difdains.

III.

As thus he melancholy stood
Dejected, as the lonely dove,

Sweet found broke gently thro' the wood.
I feel a found my heart-strings move :
'Twas not the nightingale that fung;
No, 'tis Chloe's sweeter tongue :

Hark! hark! what fays my love?

IV.

How fimple is the nymph, fhe cries,
Who trifles with her lover's pain?
Nature still speaks in women's eyes,
Our artful lips are made to feign.

Oh Daphnis ! Daphnis ! 'twas my pride, 'Twas not my heart thy love deny'd: Come back, dear youth, again.

V.

As t' other day my hand he feiz'd,
My blood with trickling motion flew,
Sudden I put on looks difpleas'd,

And hasty from his hold withdrew :
'Twas fear alone, thou fimple swain :
Then hadft thou prefs'd my hand again,
My heart had yielded too.

VI.

'Tis true, thy tuneful reed I blam'd, That fwell'd thy lip and rofy cheek; Think not thy fkill in fong defam'd,

Thy lip should other pleasures seek. Much, much thy music I approve, Yet break thy pipe, for more I love Much more to hear thee speak.

VII.

My heart forbodes that I'm betray'd;
Daphnis, I fear, is ever gone!
Laft night with Delia's dog he play'd;
Love by fuch trifles first comes on.
Now, now, dear fhepherd, come away,
My tongue would now my heart betray.
Ah Chloe! thou art won.

VIII.

The youth stept forth with hafty pace, And found where wishing Chloe lay; Shame fudden light'ned in her face,

Confused she knew not what to say: At laft, in broken words fhe cry'd, To-morrow you in vain had try'd, But I am loft to-day.

DEAR

Old DARBY.

An advice to CHLOE.

I.

EAR Chloe, while thus beyond measure You treat me with doubts and disdain, You rob all your youth of its pleasure, And hoard up an old age of pain ; Your maxim, that love is still founded On charms that will quickly decay, You'll find to be very ill grounded, When once you its dictates obey.

II.

The love that from beauty is drawn,
By kindness you ought to improve ;
Soft looks and gay fmiles are the dawn,
Fruition the sunshine of love.

And tho' the bright beams of your eyes
Should be clouded, that now are so gay,
And darkness obfcure all the skies,
You ne'er can forget it was day.

III.

Old Darby, with Joan by his fide,

You have often regarded with wonder,

He's dropfical, fhe is dim-ey'd,

Yet they're ever uneafy afunder:

Together they totter about,

Or fit in the fun at the door;

And at night when old Darby's pot's out,
His Joan will not smoke a whiff more.

IV.

No beauty nor wit they poffefs,

Their several failings to cover:

Then, what are the charms, can you guess, That make them fo fond of each other?

'Tis the pleasing remembrance of youth, The endearments that youth did bestow, The thoughts of past pleasure and truth, The best of our blessings below.

V.

Those traces for ever will last,

No fickness or time can remove : For when youth and beauty are past, And age brings the winter of love, A friendship infenfibly grows,

By reviews of fuch raptures as these ; The current of fondness still flows, Which decrepit old age cannot freeze.

The modern Marriage-question.

I.

HAPPY the world in that blefs'd age,

When beauty was not bought and sold,

When the fair mind was uninflam'd

With the mean thirst of baneful gold.
With the mean thirst, &c.

II.

Then the kind shepherd when he sigh'd,
The swain, whose dog was all his wealth,
Was not by cruel parents forc'd

To breathe the am'rous vow by stealth.
To breathe, &c.

III.

Now the first question fathers ask,
When for their girls fond lovers fue,
Is, What's the fettlement you'll make?
You're poor!-he flings the door at you.
You're poor, &c.

The Country-wake.

I.

I'LL fing you a dittay, and warrant it true,

Give but attention unto me a while,

Of transactions in court, and in country too,
Toilfome pleasure, and pleasing toil :
Accept it, I pray, as your help-mates you take,
To fome 'twill give joy,

And fome others annoy :
All's fair at a country-wake.
All's fair, &c.

II.

Many ladies at court are ftyl'd unpolite,
Because truly virtuous and prone to no ill;
Whilft others, who sparkle in diamonds bright,
Are stript of their pride at basset or quadrille,
Till their loffes at play do their lord's credit shake :
Then, their toys to recover,

They'll grant the last favour;
Strange news at a country-wake.
Strange news, &c.

III.

Here most of our gentlemen patriots are,

Tho' very bad statesmen, I freely confefs, They design harm to none, but a fox or a hare, And are always found loyal in war and in peace. The farmer's industry does earth fertile make; The husbandman's plowing,

His planting and sowing,

Gets health and good cheer at a country-wake.
Gets health, &c.

IV.

Our maids blooming fair, without washes and paints, From neighbouring villages hither resort,

They kiss sweet as roses, yet virtuous as faints; (Who can fay more for the ladies at court?)