Wit and Mirth: or Pills to Purge Melancholy Volume V Part 21

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Fishburn.

[Music]

Tho' Fortune and Love may be Deities still, To those they Oblige by their Pow'r; For my Part, they ever have us'd me so ill, They cannot expect I'll adore: Hereafter a Temple to Friends.h.i.+p I'll raise, And dedicate there all the rest of my Days, To the G.o.ddess accepted my Vows, _To the G.o.ddess accepted my Vows_.

Thou perfectest Image of all things Divine, Bright Center of endless Desires, May the Glory be yours, and the Services mine, When I light at your Altars the Fires.

I offer a Heart has Devotion so pure, It would for your Service all Torments endure, Might you but have all things you wish, _Might you_, &c.

But yet the G.o.ddess of Fools to despise, I find I'm too much in her Power; She makes me go where 'tis in vain to be wise, In absence of her I adore: If Love then undoes me before I get back, I still with resignment receive the Attack, Or languish away in Despair, _Or languish_, &c.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ Henry Purcell.

[Music]

He himself courts his own Ruin, That with too great Pa.s.sion sues 'em: When Men Whine too much in Wooing, Women with like Coquets use 'em: Some by this way of addressing Have the s.e.x so far transported, That they'll fool away the Blessing For the Pride of being Courted.

Jilt and smile when we adore 'em, While some Blockhead buys the Favour; Presents have more Power o'er 'em Than all our soft Love and Labour, Thus, like Zealots, with screw'd Faces, We our fooling make the greater, While we cant long winded Graces, Others they fall to the Creature.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ DAMASENE.

[Music]

Cease lovely _Strephon_, cease to charm; Useless, alas! is all this Art; It's needless you should strongly arm, To take a too, too willing Heart: I hid my weakness all I could, And chid my pratling tell-tale Eyes, For fear the easie Conquest should Take from the value of the Prize.

But oh! th' unruly Pa.s.sion grew So fast, it could not be conceal'd, And soon, alas! I found to you I must without Conditions yield, Tho' you have thus surpriz'd my Heart, Yet use it kindly, for you know, It's not a gallant Victor's part To insult o'er a vanquish'd Foe.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ DAMASENE.

[Music]

You happy Youths, whose Hearts are free From Love's Imperial Chain, Henceforth be warn'd and taught by me, And taught by me to avoid inchanting Pain, Fatal the Wolves to trembling Flocks, Sharp Winds to Blossoms prove: To careless Seamen, hidden Rocks; To human quiet Love.

Fly the Fair-s.e.x, if Bliss you prize, The Snake's beneath the Flow'r: Whoever gaz'd on Beauties Eyes, That tasted Quiet more?

The Kind with restless Jealousie, The Cruel fill with Care; With baser Falshood those betray, These kill us with Despair.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Dr._ STAGGINS.

[Music]

When first _Amyntas_ charm'd my Heart, The heedless Sheep began to stray; The Wolves soon stole the greatest part, And all will now be made a Prey: Ah! let not Love your Thoughts possess, 'Tis fatal to a Shepherdess; The dangerous Pa.s.sion you must shun, Or else like me, be quite undone.

A SONG.

_Set by Mr._ RICHARD CROONE.

[Music]

How happy and free is the resolute Swain, That denies to submit to the Yoak of the Fair; Free from Excesses of Pleasure and Pain, Neither dazl'd with Hope, nor deprest with Despair.

He's safe from Disturbance, and calmly enjoys All the Pleasures of Love, without Clamour and Noise.

Poor Shepherds in vain their Affections reveal, To a Nymph that is peevish, proud sullen and coy; Vainly do Virgins their Pa.s.sions conceal, For they boil in their Grief, 'till themselves they destroy, And thus the poor Darling lies under a Curse: To be check'd in the Womb, or o'erlaid by the Nurse.

_A_ SONG.

_Sung by Mrs._ Cross _in the_ Mock-Astrologer, _Set by Mr._ RAMONDON.

[Music]

Why so pale and wan fond Lover?

Prithee, prithee, Prithee why so pale: Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking Ill, looking ill prevail?

Why so dull and mute young Sinner?

Prithee, prithee why so mute; Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing, nothing do't?

Quit, quit for shame, this will not move, This cannot, cannot, cannot, cannot take her; If of her self she will not love, Nothing can, nothing can make her, The Devil, the Devil, the Devil, the Devil take her.

_A_ SONG _occasioned by a Lady's wearing a Patch upon a becoming place on her Face. Set by Mr._ John Weldon.