The joys they want fpirits to tafte; Let us feize old Time as he flies,

And the bleffings of life while they last.

Dull wifdom but adds to our cares;

Brifk love will improve every joy;

Too foon we may meet with grey hairs,
Too late may repent being coy.

Then,

Then, Molly, for what fhould we stay,
Till our best blood begins to run cold?
Our youth we can have but to-day,
We may always find time to grow old.

SONG LIX.

BY MR. ROBERT LLOYD,

Τ

HOUGH winter its defolate train
Of froft and of tempest may bring,

Yét Flora fteps forward again,

And nature rejoices in fpring.

Though the fun in his glories decreast,
Of his beams in the evening is fhorn,
Yet he rises with joy from the east,

And repairs them again in the morn.

But what can youths funshine recall,

Or the bloffoms of beauty restore? When its leaves are beginning to fall, It dies, and is heard of no more.

The fpring-time of love then employ, 'Tis a leffon that's easy to learn,

For Cupid's a vagrant, a boy,

And his feafons will never return.

SONG

SONG LX.

BY MR. CHARLES CHURCHILL.

W

HEN youth, my Celia, 's in the prime,
With rapture feize the joyous time;

"Tis Nature dictates; sport and play,
For youth is Natures holiday;

How fweet to feel loves foft alarms,
When warm in blood, and full of charms!

Dull winter comes with dreary froft,
Creation droops, her beauty's loft;
But Spring renews the jocund fcene,
And wakes to life the new-born green.
When mens gay fummer once is o'er,
The genial spring returns no more;
All then is void of fweet delight,
One dreary, taftelefs winters night.
How sweet to feel loves foft alarms,
When warm in blood, and full of charms.

The fun declines, and yields to night,
But shines next morn with orient light,
Well pleas'd to run his golden race,
He traverses th' immense of space.
Not fo with man, when once he dies,
His fun is set, no more to rise;
Dull pris'ner of eternal night,
No more he fees the chearful light.

Then

Then take the boon kind Heav'n beftows,
In bloom of youth, when beauty glows;
Be blefs'd to-day, perhaps to-morrow
May clouded rife, and teem with forrow.
Lifes morning paft, the shadowy noon
Brings on the dismal night too soon.
How fweet to feel loves foft alarms,
When warm in blood, and full of charms.

SONG LXI.

THE WINTERS

B

WALK.

BY DR. JOHNSON.

EHOLD, my fair, wheree'er we rove,
What dreary profpects round us rife ;

The naked hill, the leaflefs grove,
The hoary ground, the frowning skies!

Not only through the wafted plain,
Stern Winter is thy force confefs'd;
Still wider fpreads thy horrid reign,
I feel thy power ufurp my breaft.

Enlivening Hope and fond Defire

Refign the heart to Spleen and Care; Scarce frighted Love maintains her fire, And Rapture faddens to despair.

In groundless hope, and caufelefs fear,
Unhappy man! behold thy doom;
Still changing with the changeful year,
The flave of funshine and of gloom.

Tir'd with vain joys, and falfe alarms,
With mental and corporeal ftrife,
Snatch me, my Stella, to thy arms,
And screen me from the ills of life.

SONG LXII.

TO A LADY ASKING HIM HOW LONG HE WOULD LOVE HER.

BY SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE?

T is not, Celia, in our power

our will laft;

It may be, we, within this hour,
May lose the joys we now do taste :

The bleffed, that immortal be,
From change in love are only free.

Then, fince we mortal lovers are,

Ask not how long our love will last;
But, while it does, let us take care
Each minute be with pleasure pass'd:
Were it not madness to deny

VOL, I.

To live, becaufe we're fure to die?

R

Fear