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SONG XXXIII.

FAdmit my humble tale ;

AIREST of thy sex and best,

humble tale ; "Twill ease the torment of my breast,

Though I shall ne'er prevail.

No fond ambition me does move

Your favour to implore, I ask not for return of love,

But freedom to adore.

o.

SONG XXXIV.

FROM THE FRENCH.

BY MICHAEL WODHULL ES l.

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OULD you guess, for I ill can repeat

The sensation I'm destin’d to prove ; 'Tis something than friendship more sweet,

More passionate even than love.

For ever, when absent from you,

Pale Echo returns my fond sighs ; But when haply your beauties I view,

On my lips the faint utterance dies.

This the secret I had to betray;

And the fate of my passion is such, That in what I was prompted to say,

Methinks I have utter'd too much.

SONG

.

SONG XXXV.

L’AM OUR TIM ID E.

FROM THE FRENCH.

BY SIR JOHN MOOR E.

IF
F in that breaft, so good, so pure,

Compaffion ever lov'd to dwell,
Pity the sorrows I endure,

The cause I must not-dare not tell.

The grief that on my quiet preys

That rends my heart—that checks my tongueI fear will last me all my days,

But feel it will not last me long.

SONG XXXVI.

BY.

T!

,

HE filver rain, the pearly dew,

The gales that sweep along the mead,
The soften'd rocks ' once' forrow knew,

And marbles have found tears to shed :
The fighing trees, in every grove,
Have pity, if they have not love.

In mrs, Clives (two act) comedy of the Rehearsal, or Bayes in petticoats,

Shall

Shall things inanimate be kind,

And every soft sensation know;
The weeping rain, and sighing wind,

All, all, but thee, some mercy show.
Ah pity, if you scorn t'approve,
Have pity, if thou haft not love.

SONG XXXVII.

BY MATHEW PRIOR ESQ.

WHILST I am fcorch?d with hot desire,

HILST I am scorch'd with hut desire,

In vain cold friendship you return; Your drops of pity on my fire

Alas! but make it fiercer burn.

Ah! would you have the flame fupprest

That kills the heart it heats too fast, Take half my passion to your breast,

The rest in mine shall ever last.

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IS not your saying that you love,

Can ease me of my smart :
Your actions muft

your
words

approve, Or else break

my

heart.

you

In vain you bid my passions cease,

And ease my troubled breaft,
Your love alone must give me peace,

Restore my wonted rest.

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O tell Amynta, gentle swain,

I would not die, nor dare complain :
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,
Thy words will more prevail than mine.
For souls oppress’d, and dumb with grief,
The gods ordaind this kind relief,
That music should in sounds convey
What dying lovers dare not say.

A figh or tear perhaps she'll give,
But love on pity cannot live;
Tell her that hearts for hearts were made,
And love with love is only paid,
Tell her my pains so fast increase,
That soon they will be past redress :
For ah ! the wretch, that speechless lies,
Attends but Death to close his eyes.

SONG

SONG XL.

BY AARON HILL ESQ.
ENTLE Love, this hour befriend me,

To my eyes resign thy dart;
Notes of melting music lend me,

To disolve a frozen heart.

,

Chill, as mountain snow, her bofom;

Though I tender language use, "Tis by cold indifference frozen,

To my arms, and to my muse.

Sce! my dying eyes are pleading,

Where a breaking heart appears : For thy pity interceding,

With the eloquence of tears.

While the lamp of life is fading,

And beneath thy coldness dies, Death my ebbing soul invading,

Take my foul into thy eyes.

SONG XLI.

CO N S T A N C Y.

BY THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

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Cannot change, as others do,

Though you unjustly scorn:
Since that poor swain that fighs for you,

For you alone was born.

No,

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