Though I a thousand times had fworn
My paffion fhould tranfcend your fcorn;
And that your bright triumphant eyes
Create a flame that never dies;
Yet, if to me you prov'd untrue,
Thofe oaths fhould prove as falfe to you.

If love I vow'd to pay for hate,
'Twas, I confefs, a mere deceit ;
Or that my flame fhould deathlefs prove,
'Twas but to render fo your love :
I bragg'd as cowards ufe to do,
Of dangers they'll ne'er run into.

And now my tenets I have show'd,
If you think them too great a load;
T'attempt your change were but in vain,
The conqueft not being worth the pain :
With them I'll other nymphs fubdue;
'Tis too much to lofe time and you.

F

SONG XVII.

BY MR. DRYDEN *.

AIR Iris I love, and hourly I die,

But not for a lip, nor a languishing eye;
She's fickle and falfe, and there we agree,
For I am as falfe and as fickle as fhe ;

In the comedy of Amphitryon.

We

I

We neither believe what either can say,
And neither believing, we neither betray.

"Tis civil to fwear, and fay things of course;
We mean not the taking for better for worse:
When present we love; when absent agree;
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me:

The legend of Love no couple can find,
So eafy to part, or fo equally join'd.

SONG XVIII.

BY MR. MATHEW CONCANEN.

Love thee, by heavens, I cannot fay more ;

Then fet not my paffion a cooling;

If thou yield'ft not at once I must e'en give thee o'er,
For I'm but a novice at fooling.

What my love wants in words, it shall make up in deeds:
Then why fhould we wafte time in ftuff, child?
A performance, you wot well, a promise exceeds,
And a word to the wife is enough, child.

I know how to love, and to make that love known,
But I hate all protesting and arguing:

Had a goddess my heart, fhe fhould e'en lie alone,
If the made many words to a bargain.

I'm a quaker in love, and but barely affirm

Whate'er my fond eyes have been saying: Prithee, be thou fo too; feek for no better term, But e'en throw thy yea or thy nay in.

I cannot

I cannot bear love, like a chancery fuit,
The age of a patriarch depending;
Then pluck up a fpirit, no longer be mute,
Give it, one way or other, an ending.

Long courtship's the vice of a phlegmatic fool, grace of fanatical finners,

Like the

Where the ftomachs are loft, and the victuals grow cool, Before men fit down to their dinners.

SONG XIX.

BY EUSTACE BUDGELL ESQ.

"'M not one of your fops, who to please a coy lass,

Life is dull without love, and not worth the poffeffing; But fools make a curfe what was meant for a bleffing. While his godfhip's not rude, I'll allow him my breaft; But, by Jove, out he goes, fhould he once break my rest. I can toy with a girl for an hour, to allay

The flufter of youth, or the ferment of May;

But must beg her excufe, not to bear pain or anguish;
For that's not to love, by her leave, but to languish.

SONG

G

IVE me more love, or more disdain;

The torrid, or the frozen zone
Brings equal cafe unto my pain;
The temperate affords me none:
Either extreme, of love, or hate,
Is fweeter than a calm eftate.

Give me a storm; if it be love,
Like Danae in a golden fhow'r
I swim in pleasure; if it prove
Difdain, that torrent will devour

* In the comedy of The Funeral.

My

My vulture hopes; and he's poffefs'd
Of Heav'n, that's but from hell releas'd:
Then crown my joys, or cure my pain ;
Give me more love, or more difdain.

SONG XXII.

DISPRAISE OF LOVE, AND LOVERS FOLLIES.

I'

BY FRANCIS DAVISON*.

F love be life, I long to die,

Live they that lift for me:

And he that gains the most thereby,

A fool, at least shall be.

But he that feels the forest fits,

Scapes with no less than lofs of wits:

Unhappy life they gain,

Which love do entertain.

In day by fained looks they live,

By lying dreams by night,

Each frown a deadly wound doth give,

Each smile a false delight,

Son of William Davifon, fecretary to Queen Elizabeth, who fuffered

so much through that princesses caprice and cruelty in the tragical affair of Mary Queen of Scots.