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SONG XII.

(From Metastasio. *)

BY MR. HOOLE.

What frenzy must his soul possess,

Whose hopes on evil deeds depend ! For though the wicked meet success,

Yet peace can ne'er their steps attend.

For ev’n in life's serenest state,

Shall Vice receive her secret sting ; As Virtue, though depress’d by fate,

Herself her own reward shall bring.

SONG XIII,

BY THE REV. THOMAS WARTON.

To tinkling brooks, to twilight shades,

To desert prospects rough and rude, With youthful rapture first I ran,

Enamour'd of sweet solitude.

On beauty next I wond'ring gaz'd,

Too soon my supple heart was caught : An eye, a breast, a lip, a shape,

Was all I talk'd of, all I thought.

* In the opera of ' Hypsipile.'

Next, by the smiling Muses led,

On Pindus’ laureld top I dream,
Talk with old bards, and listening hear

The warbles of th' enchanting stream.

Then Harmony and Picture came,

Twin-nymphs, my sense to entertain;
By turns my eye, my ear was caught,

With Raphael's strokes and Handel's strain.

At last, such various pleasures prov'd

All cloying, vain, unmanly found;
Sweet for a time as morning dew,

Yet parents of some painful wound.

Humbly I ask'd great Wisdom's aid,

To true delight to lead my feet;
When thus the goddess whispering said, -

• Virtue alone is bliss complete.'

SONG XIV.

BY DAVID GARRICK, ESQ. *

Come, come, my good shepherds, our flocks we must

shear ;

In your holiday suits, with

your
lasses

appear : The happiest of folk are the guiltless and free, t And who are so guiltless, so happy as we ?

Sung by a sheplierdess, at the sheep-shearing in Florizel and Perdita ;' a farce taken from Shakspeare's • Winter's Tale.'

+ So the best copies. It is usually sung guileless, even at Drurylane theatre. The alteration was probably made by the composer.

We harbour no passions, by luxury taught,
We practise no arts, with hypocrisy fraught ;
What we think in our hearts, you may read in our eyes;
For knowing no falsehood, we need no disguise.

By mode and caprice are the city-dames led,
But we, as the children of nature are bred ;
By her hand alone, we are painted and dressid ;
For the roses will bloom, when there's peace in the breast.

That giant Ambition we never can dread,
Our roofs are too low for so lofty a head;
Content and sweet Cheerfulness open our door,
They smile with the simple, and feed with the poor.

When love has possess'd us, that love we reveal ;
Like the flocks that we feed are the passions we feel :
So harmless and simple we sport, and we play,
And leave to fine folks to deceive and betray.

SONG XV.

A COUNTRY LIFE.

BY MRS. KATHERINE PHILIPS.

(The matchless Orinda.'*)

How sacred and how innocent

A country life appears ;
How free from tumult, discontent,

From flattery or fears !

*

[This title preceded a posthumous edition of her poems.]

This was the first and happiest life,

When man enjoy'd himself;
Till pride exchanged peace for strife,

And happiness for pelf.

'Twas here the poets were inspir’d,

Here taught the multitude ;
The brave they here with honour fir’d,

And civiliz'd the rude.

That golden age did entertain

No passion but of love ;
The thoughts of ruling and of gain

Did ne'er their fancies move.

None then did envy neighbour's wealth,

Nor plot to wrong his bed : Happy in friendship and in health,

On roots, not beasts, they fed.

They knew no law nor physic then,

Nature was all their wit : And if there yet remain to men

Content, sure this is it.

What blessings doth this world afford

To tempt or bribe desire ?
Her courtship is all fire and sword ;

Who would not then retire ?

Then welcome, dearest solitude,

My great felicity; Though some are pleas’d to call three rude,

T'hou art no t so, but we.

Them that do covet only rest,

A cottage will suffice :
It is not brave to be possest

Of earth, but to despise.

Opinion is the rate of things,

From hence our peace doth flow; I have a better fate than kings,

Because I think it so.

When all the stormy world doth roar,

How unconcern’d am I?
I cannot fear to tumble lower,

Who never could be high.

Secure in these unenvied walls,

I think not on the state,
And pity no man's case that falls

From his ambitious height.

Silence and innocence are safe ;

A heart that's only true,
At all these little arts can laugh,

That do the world subdue.

While others revel it in state,

Here I'll contented sit,
And think I have as good a fate
As wealth and

pomp

admit.

Let some in courtship take delight,

And to th’ Exchange resort ;
Then revel out a winter's night,

Not making love but sport,
Vol. II:

I

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