Whene'er we meet, my looks confefs
The joys that all my foul poffefs,
And every care remove;
Still, ftill too fhort appears his ftay,
The moments fly too fast away,
Too faft for my fond love.

But ah! what tortures tear my heart,
When I fufpect his looks impart
The leaft defire to rove!

I hate the maid that gives me pain,
Yet him to hate I strive in vain,

For ah! that hate is love.

Then afk not words, but read mine eyes,
Believe my blushes, truft my fighs,

My paffion these will prove;
Words oft deceive and spring from art,

The true expreffions of my heart

To Damon, must be love.

SONG

No forrow then can make me grieve,

No lofs can make me poor.

In the entertainment of The Rehearfal, or Bayes in petticoats. See

p. 29.

M 2

SONG

SONG VIII.

BY MRS. WHARTON*.

WOW hardly I conceal'd my tears,
How oft did I complain,

When many tedious days my fears
Told me I lov'd in vain.

But now my joys as wild are grown,
And hard to be conceal'd;
Sorrow may make a filent moan,
But joy will be reveal'd.

I tell it to the bleating flocks,
To every ftream and tree,

And blefs the hollow murmuring rocks
For echoing back to me.

Thus

you may fee with how much joy

We want, we wish, believe;

"Tis hard fuch paffion to deftroy,

But eafy to deceive.

*First wife of that notorious Machiavelian, Thomas (afterwards) mar

quis of Wharton.

SONG

B

SONG IX.

OAST not, mistaken fwain, thy art
To please my partial eyes ;

The charms that have fubdued my heart
Another may despise.

Thy face is to my humour made,

Another it may fright;

Perhaps by fome fond whim betray'd

In oddness I delight.

Vain youth, to your confufion know,
"Tis to my loves excess

You all your fancied beauties owe,
Which fade as that grows lefs.

For your own fake, if not for mine,
You should preferve my fire,

Since you, my fwain, no more will shine,
When I no more admire.

By me indeed you are allow'd
The wonder of your kind ;

But be not of my judgement proud
Whom love has render'd blind.

SONG

M 3

SONG X.

CHLOE TO STREP HON.

BY SOAME JENYNS ESQ

00 plain, dear youth, thefe tell-tale eyes My heart your own declare;

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