Confenting makes it colder; And dangers make it fweet. L SONG XV. OVE's a dream of mighty treafure, Which in fancy we poffefs; In the folly lies the pleasure, Wisdom ever makes it lefs, For who thinks, by paffion heated, Only happy is the lover, Whom his mistress well deceives; Seeking nothing to discover, He contented lives at ease. But the wretch who will be knowing, 0. SONG SONG XVI. BY ROBERT WOLSELEY ESQ. F REEDOM is a real treasure, Love a dream, all falfe and vain Short, uncertain, is the pleasure, Sure and lafting is the pain. A fincere and tender paffion ; SONG XVII. BY SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE. E happy fwains, whofe hearts are free Take warning, and be taught by me, Fly the fair fex, if bliss you prize; The fnake's beneath the flower: That tasted quiet more ? How How faithlefs is the lovers joy! The kind with falfehood do destroy, F ROM fweet bewitching tricks of love Young men your hearts fecure, Left from the paths of fenfe you rove, In dotage premature. Look at each lafs through wifdoms glafs, Gallants beware, look fharp, take care, Not only on their hands and necks Their very tears can lie: Gallants beware, look fharp, take care, The blind eat many a fly. There's not a fpinfter in the realm With lovely looks, and golden hooks, Gallants beware, look fharp, take care, Could we with ink the ocean fill, Was earth of parchment made; Was every fingle flick a quill, Gallants beware, look sharp, take care, SONG XIX. CHAUCERS RECANTATION. A PANEGYRIC ON THE LADIES. BY MR, CHRISTOPHER SMART. RECITATIVE. LD Chaucer once to this re-echoing grove * Sung of "The sweet bewitching tricks of love;" But foon he found he'd fullied his renown, And arm'd each charming hearer with a frown: * Spring-gardens, Vauxhall, where the foregoing ballad was fung. Then felf-condemn'd anew his lyre he ftrung, AIR. Long fince unto her native sky And ev'ry witty, pretty dame Bears for her motto - STILL THE SAME. The flowers that in the vale are seen, In brief complexion idly gay Still fet with every setting day, Difpers'd by wind, or chill'd by froft, - The Wife Man faid that all was vain, This ་ ་ |