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Then, Molly, for what should 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,

THOUGH winter its desolate train

HOUGH winter its desolate train

Of frost and of tempeft may bring, Yét Flora fteps forward again,

And nature rejoices in spring.

Though the sun in his glories decreaft,

Of his beams in the evening is shorn, Yet he rises with joy from the east,

And repairs them again in the morn.

But what can youths sunshine recall,

Or the blossoms of beauty restore? When its leaves are beginning to fall,

It dies, and is heard of no more.

The spring time of love then employ,

'Tis a lesson that's easy to learn, For Cupid's a vagrant, a boy,

And his seasons will never return.

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SONG LX.

BY MR. CHARLES CHURCHILL.

HEN youth, my Celia, 's in the prime,

With rapture seize the joyous time;
"Tis Nature di&tates; sport and play,
For youth is Natures holiday;
How sweet to feel loves soft alarms,
When warm in blood, and full of charms!

Dull winter comes with dreary frost,
Creation droops, her beauty's loft ;
But Spring renews the jocund scene,
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 sweet delight,
One dreary, tafteless winters night.
How sweet to feel loves soft alarms,
When warm in blood, and full of charms.

The sun 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 so with man, when once he dies,
His fun is fet, no more to rise;
Dull pris'ner of eternal night,
No more he sees the chearful light.

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Then take the boon kind Heav'n bestows,
In bloom of youth, when beauty glows;
Be bless’d to-day, perhaps to-morrow
May clouded rise, and teem with sorrow.
Lifes morning past, the shadowy noon
Brings on the dismal night too soon.
How sweet to feel loves soft alarms,
When warm in blood, and full of charms.

SONG LXI.

THE WIN T E R S WAL K.

BY DR. JOHNSON

B

,

EHOLD, my fair, wheree'er we rove,

What dreary prospects round us rise; The naked hill, the leafless grove,

The hoary ground, the frowning skies !

Not only through the wasted plain,

Stern Winter is thy force confefs’d; Still wider spreads thy horrid reign,

I feel thy power usurp my breast.

Enlivening Hope and fond Desire

Resign the heart to Spleen and Care ; Scarce frighted Love maintains her fire,

And Rapture saddens to despair.

In groundless hope, and causeless fear,

Unhappy man! behold thy doom;
Still changing with the changeful year,

The slave of sunshine and of gloom,

Tir'd with vain joys, and false 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?

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T is not, Celia, in our power

To say how long our love will last ;
It may be, we, within this hour,

May lose the joys we now do taste :
The blessed, that immortal be,
From change in love are only free.

Then, since we mortal lovers are,

As 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
To live, because we're sure to die?

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Fear not, though love and beauty fail,

My reason shall my heart direct; Your kindness now shall then prevail,

And passion turn into respect : Celia, at worst, you'll, in the end, But change a lover for a friend.

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SONG LXIII.

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EAR Chloe, while thus, beyond measure,

You treat me with doubts and disdain, You rob all your youth of its pleasure,

And hoard up an old age of pain. Your maxim, that love is still founded

On charms that will quickly decay, 1 You'll find to be very ill grounded,

When once you its dictates obey. The passion from beauty first drawn,

Your kindness will vastly improve;
Soft looks, and gay smiles are the dawn,

Fruition's the sunshine of love :
And though the bright beams of your eyes

Should be clouded, that now are so gay,
And darkness obscure all the skies,

We ne'er can forget it was day.
Old Darby, with Joan by his side,

You have often regarded with wonder ;
Hle's dropsical, she is fore-ey'd,
Yet they're ever uneasy afunder:
3

Together

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