He pushes for Crowns, And slays my Commanders, And Forces in _Flanders_; Great Capital Towns, For _CHARLES_ has declar'd: These things like a Dart, Has pierced my Heart, And threatens my Death; Here do I lye sighing, Here do I lye sighing, And Panting for Breath.

This pa.s.sionate Grief, Draws on my Diseases, Which fatally ceases My Spirits in chief, A fit of the Gout, The Gravel and Stone, I have 'tis well known, At this horrid News, Of _Marlborough's_ Triumph, Of _Marlborough's_ Triumph, All Battles I lose.

Wherever he comes, He is bold and Victorious, Successful and glorious, My two Royal Thumbs With anguish I bite: To hear his Success; Yet nevertheless, My pa.s.sion's in vain: I pity my Darling, I pity my Darling, Young _Philip_ in _Spain_.

I am out of my Wits, If e'er I had any; My Foes they are many, Which plagues me by fits, In _Flanders_ and _Spain_: I'm sick at my Heart, To think we must part, With what we enjoy'd, Towns, Castles, are taken, Towns, Castles, are taken, My Troops are destroy'd.

I am I declare, In a weak Condition, Go call my Physician, And let him prepare Some comfort with speed, Without all delay, a.s.sist me I pray, And hear my Complaint, A Dram of the Bottle, A Dram of the Bottle, Or else I shall faint.

Should I slip my Breath, At this dreadful Season, I think it but Reason, I should lay my Death, To the daring Foes, Whose Fire and Smoak, Has certainly broke, The Heart in my Breast: Oh! bring me a Cordial, Oh! bring me a Cordial, And lay me to Rest.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Captain_ PACK.

[Music]

Would you be a Man in Fashion?

Would you lead a Life Divine?

Take a little Dram of Pa.s.sion, (a little dram of Pa.s.sion) In a l.u.s.ty Dose of Wine If the Nymph has no Compa.s.sion, Vain it is to sigh and groan: Love was but put in for Fashion, Wine will do the Work alone.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ THO. FARMER.

[Music]

Though the Pride of my Pa.s.sion fair _Sylvia_ betrays, And frowns at the Love I impart; Though kindly her Eyes twist amorous Rays, To tye a more fortunate Heart: Yet her Charms are so great, I'll be bold in my Pain, His Heart is too tender, Too tender, that's struck with Disdain.

Still my Heart is so just to my Pa.s.sionate Eyes, It dissolves with Delight while I gaze: And he that loves on, though _Sylvia_ denies, His Love but his Duty obeys: I no more can refrain her neglects to pursue, Than the force, the force Of her Beauty can cease to subdue.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

When first I fair _Celinda_ knew, Her Kindness then was great: Her Eyes I cou'd with Pleasure view, And friendly Rays did meet: In all Delights we past the time, That could Diversion move; She oft would kindly hear me Rhime Upon some others Love: _She oft would kindly hear me Rhime,_ _Upon some others Love._

But ah! at last I grew too bold, Prest by my growing Flame; For when my Pa.s.sion I had told, She hated ev'n my Name: Thus I that cou'd her Friendship boast, And did her Love pursue; And taught Contentment at the cost, Of Love and Friendship too.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ FISHBURNE.

[Music]

Long had _Damon_ been admir'd, By the Beauties of the Plain; Ev'ry Breast warm Love inspir'd, For the proper handsome Swain: The choicest Nymph _Sicilia_ bred, Was won by his resistless Charms: Soft Looks, and Verse as smooth, had led And left the Captive in his Arms.

But our _Damon's_ Soul aspires, To a G.o.ddess of his Race; Though he sues with chaster Fires, This his Glories does deface: The fatal News no sooner blown In Whispers up the Chesnut Row; The G.o.d _Sylva.n.u.s_ with a Frown, Blasts all the Lawrels on his Brow.

Swains be wise, and check desire In it's soaring, when you'll woe: _Damon_ may in Love require _Thestyles_ and _Laura_ too: When Shepherds too ambitious are, And Court _Astrea_ on a Throne; Like to the shooting of a Star, They fall, and thus their shining's gone.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ FISHBURN.

[Music]

Pretty _Floramel_, no Tongue can ever tell, The Charms that in thee dwell; Those Soul-melting Pleasures, Shou'd the mighty _Jove_ once view, he'd be in Love, And plunder all above, To rain down his Treasure: Ah! said the Nymph in the Shepherd's Arms, Had you half so much Love as you say I have Charms; There's not a Soul, created for Man and Love, More true than _Floramel_ wou'd prove, I'd o'er the World with thee rove.

Love that's truly free, had never Jealousie, But artful Love may be Both doubtful and wooing; Ah! dear Shepherdess, ne'er doubt, for you may guess, My Heart will prove no less, Than ever endless loving: Then cries the Nymph, like the Sun thou shalt be, And I, like kind Earth, will produce all to thee; Of ev'ry Flower in Love's Garden I'll Off'rings pay To my Saint. Nay then pray Take not those dear Eyes away.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ ROBERT KING.

[Music]

By shady Woods and purling Streams, I spend my Life in pleasing Dreams; And would not for the World be thought To change my false delightful Thought: For who, alas! can happy be, That does the Truth of all things see?

_For who, alas! can happy be,_ _That does the Truth of all things see._

_A_ SONG. _Sett by Mr._ HENRY PURCELL.

[Music]