Such fondness with impatience join'd
My faithful bosom fires;

Now forc'd to leave my fair behind,

The queen of my defires!

The powers of verfe too languid prove,

All fimiles are vain,

To show how ardently I love,
Or to relieve my pain.

The faint with fervent zeal infpir'd
For heav'n and joys divine,
The faint is not with raptures fir'd
More pure, more warm than mine.
I take what liberty I dare;

"Twere impious to fay more :
Convey my longings to the fair,
The goddess I adore.

SONG XXIII.

BY THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.

F

ROM all uneafy paffions free,
Revenge, ambition, jealousy,
Contented, I had been too bleft,
If love and you had let me reft:
Yet that dull life I now despife;

Safe from your eyes

I fear'd no griefs, but then I found no joys.

Amidst a thousand kind defires,

Which Beauty moves, and Love inspires,
Such pangs I feel of tender fear,

No heart fo foft as mine can bear.
Yet I'll defy the worst of harms;
Such are your charms,

"Tis worth a life to die within your arms.

Ο

NCE more I'll tune the vocal shell,
To hills and dales my paffion tell;
A flame which time can never quell,
That burns for lovely Peggy.
Yet greater bards the lyre should hit;
For
pray what fubject is more fit,
Than to record the facred wit,

And bloom of lovely Peggy.

The fun first rifing in the morn,
That paints the dew-befpangled thorn,
Does not so much the day adorn
As does my lovely Peggy.
And when in Thetis' lap to rest,
He ftreaks with gold the ruddy West,
He's not fo beauteous as, undrefs'd,
Appears my lovely Peggy.

YOL. I.

Were

Were she array'd in rustic weed,
With her the bleating flocks I'd feed,
And pipe upon my oaten reed,
To please my lovely Peggy.
With her a cottage would delight,
All pleafes when he's in my fight;
But when he's gone 'tis endless night,
All's dark without my Peggy.

When Zephyr on the violet blows,
Or breathes upon the damask rofe,
He does not half the sweets disclose,
That does my lovely Peggy.

I ftole a kifs the other day,

And, truft me, nought but truth I fay,
The fragrant breath of blooming May
Was not fo fweet as Peggy.

While bees from flow'r to flow'r do rove,
And linnets warble through the grove,
Or flately fwans the waters love,

So long fhall I love Peggy.

And when death, with his pointed dart,
Shall ftrike the blow that rives my heart,
My words fhall be, when I depart,
Adieu, my lovely Peggy.

SONG

SONG XXV.

MAY-EVE: OR, KATE OF ABERDEEN.

BY MR. JOHN CUNNINGHAM.

HE filver moons enamour'd beam,

Steals foftly through the night,

To wanton with the winding ftream,

And kiss reflected light.

To beds of state go balmy fleep,

('Tis where you've feldom been) Mays vigil while the fhepherds keep With Kate of Aberdeen.

Upon the green the virgins wait,
In rofy chaplets gay,

"Till morn unbar her golden gate,
And give the promis'd May.
Methinks I hear the maids declare,
The promis'd May, when feen,
Not half fo fragrant, half so fair,
As Kate of Aberdeen.

Strike up the tabors boldest notes,

We'll roufe the nodding grove;
The nested birds shall raise their throats,

And hail the maid I love:

And fee-the matin lark mistakes,

He quits the tufted green:

Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks,

"Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

Now lightfome o'er the level mead,
Where midnight Fairies rove,

Like them, the jocund dance we'll lead,

Or tune the reed to love:

For fee the rofy May draws nigh;

She claims a virgin Queen;

And hark, the happy fhepherds cry, 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen !

When from an hazles artlefs bow'r

Soft warbled Strephons tongue; He bleft the fcene, he bleft the hour, While Nancys praise he fung.

Let fops with fickle falfehood range

The paths of wanton love,

While weeping maids lament their change,

And fadden every grove:

But