RONDELAY.

CHLO

I.

HLOE found Amyntas lying,
All in tears upon the plain;
Sighing to himself, and crying,
Wretched I, to love in vain!
Kifs me, dear, before my dying;
Kifs me once, and ease my pain!
II.

Sighing to himself, and crying,
Wretched I, to love in vain !
Ever fcorning and denying

To reward your faithful swain:

Kifs me, dear, before my dying;
Kiss me once, and ease my pain!
III.

Ever fcorning, and denying

To reward your faithful swain: Chloe, laughing at his crying,

Told him, that he lov'd in vain:
Kifs me, dear, before my dying;
Kifs me once, and ease my pain!
IV.

Chloe, laughing at his crying,
Told him, that he lov'd in vain ;
But repenting, and complying,
When he kiss'd, fhe kifs'd again :
Kifs'd him up before his dying;
Kifs'd him up, and eas'd his pain.

A S O N G.
SONG.

G

I.

O tell Amynta, gentle swain,

I would not die, nor dare complain :
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,
Thy words will more prevail than mine.
To fouls opprefs'd, and dumb with grief,
The gods ordain this kind relief;
That mufic fhould in founds convey,
What dying lovers dare not say.

II.

A figh or tear, perhaps, the'll give,

But love on pity cannot live.

Tell her that hearts for hearts were made,

And love with love is only paid.

Tell her my pains fo faft increase,

That foon they will be paft red refs;
But ah! the wretch, that speechlefs lies,
Attends but death to close his eyes.

A

A SONG to a Fair Young Lady, going out of Town in the Spring.

A

I.

SK not the caufe, why fullen Spring
So long delays her flowers to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to fing,
And winter storms invert the year :
Chloris is gone, and fate provides
To make it Spring, where the refides.

II.

Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;
She caft not back a pitying eye:
But left her lover in despair,

To figh, to languish, and to die :
Ah, how can thofe fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!

III.

Great god of love, why haft thou made
A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invade,

And change the laws of ev'ry land?
Where thou hadft plac'd fuch power before,
Thou shouldft have made her mercy more.

IV.

When Chloris to the temple comes,
Adoring crowds before her fall;
She can reftore the dead from tombs,

And every life but mine recall.

I only am by Love defign'd
To be the victim for mankind.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST:

OR, THE

POWER of MUSIC,

An ODE, in Honour of St. CECILIA'S Day.

'T'

I.

WAS at the royal feast, for Perfia won

By Philip's warlike fon :

Aloft in awful ftate

The godlike hero fate

On his imperial throne:

His valiant peers were plac'd around; Their brows with rofes and with myrtles bound. (So fhould defert in arms be crown'd:)

The lovely Thais, by his fide,

Sate like a blooming Eaftern bride

In flower of youth and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair!
None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deferves the fair.

CHORUS.

Happy, happy, happy pair!

None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deferves the fair.

Timotheus,

II.

Timotheus, plac'd on high
Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:

The trembling notes afcend the fky,

And heavenly joys inspire.

The fong began from Jove,

Who left his blifsful feats above,
(Such is the power of mighty love.)
A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god:
Sublime on radiant fpires he rode,

When he to fair Olympia prefs'd:

And while he fought her fnowy breaft: Then, round her flender waist he curl'd,

And ftamp'd an image of himfelf, a fov'reign of the world. The lift'ning croud admire the lofty found,

A prefent deity, they fhout around:

A prefent deity the vaulted roofs rebound:
With ravish'd ears

The monarch hears,
Affumes the god

Affects to nod,

And feems to shake the spheres.

CHORU S.

With ravish'd ears

The monarch bears,

Affumes the god,

Affects to nod,

And feems to fake the fpheres.

III.

The praise of Bacchus then, the fweet musician fung;
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young:
The jolly god in triumph comes;
Sound the trumpets; beat the drums;
Flufh'd with a purple grace

He fhews his honeft face:

Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes.

Bacchus