SONG XLIV.

BY LORD LYTTELTON.

TH

HE heavy hours are almost past That part my love and me: My longing eyes may hope at last, Their only wish to see.

But how, my Delia, will you meet
The man you've loft fo long?
Will love in all your pulfes beat,
And tremble on your tongue?

Will you in every look declare,
Your heart is ftill the fame;
And heal each idly-anxious care,
Our fears in abfence frame?

Thus, Delia, thus I paint the fcene,
When shortly we shall meet;
And try what yet remains between
Of loitering time to cheat.

But if the dream that fooths my mind
Shall falfe and groundless prove;

If I am doom'd at length to find
You have forgot to love :

* " Written in the year 1733."

D 3

All

All I of Venus afk, is this;

No more to let us join :

But grant me here the flattering blifs,
To die, and think you mine.

SONG XLV.

BY WILLIAM WALSH, ESQ

F all the torments, all the cares,

OF

With which our lives are curft; Of all the plagues a lover bears,

Sure rivals are the worst!

By partners in each other kind,
Afflictions eafier grow;
In love alone we hate to find
Companions of our woe.

Sylvia, for all the pangs you fee
Are lab'ring in my breaft;
I beg not you would favour me,
Would you but flight the reft!
How great foe'er your rigours are,
With them alone I'll cope;
I can endure my own despair,
But not anothers hope.

SONG

TO

SONG XLVI.

CHLOE

JEALOUS.

BY MATHEW PRIOR ESQ

Y

("THE AUTHOR SICK.")

ES, faireft proof of beautys pow'r,
Dear idol of my panting heart,
Nature points this my fatal hour:
And I have liv'd; and we must part.

While now I take my last adieu,
Heave thou no figh nor shed a tear;
Left yet my
half-clos'd eye may view

On earth an object worth its care.

From jealousys tormenting ftrife
For ever be thy bofom freed:
That nothing may disturb thy life,
Content I haften to the dead.

Yet when some better-fated youth

Shall with his am'rous parly move thee; Reflect one moment on his truth

Who dying thus, perfifts to love thee.

BY MR. HENRY CAREY.

HOUGH cruel you seem to my pain,
And hate me because I am true,

THO

Yet Phillis! you love a false swain,
Who has other nymphs in his view:

ε

Enjoyment's a trifle to him,

To me what a heav'n would it be !
To him but a woman you seem;
But ah, you're an angel to me.

Thofe lips which he touches in hafte,
To them I for ever could grow;
Still clinging around that dear waist,
Which he spans as befide him you go.
That arm, like a lily fo white,

Which over his shoulders you lay,
My bofom could warm it all night,
My lips they could prefs it all day.

Were I like a monarch to reign,
Were graces my fubjects to be,
I'd leave them and fly to the plain
To dwell in a cottage with thee.
But if I must feel your disdain,
If tears cannot cruelty drown,
Oh let me not live in this pain;
But give me my death in a frown!

W

SONG XLVIII.

HAT fury does difturb my reft?

What hell is this within my breast?

Now I abhor, and now I love;

And each an equal torment prove.

I fee Celindas cruelty,

I fee fhe loves all men but me;
I fee her falfehood, fee her pride,
I fee ten thousand faults befide;
I see she flicks at nought that's ill;
Yet, oh ye powers! I love her still.
Others on precipices run,

Which, blind with love, they cannot shun,

I see my danger, fee my ruin,

Yet feek, yet court my own undoing:
And each new reafon I explore

To hate her, makes me love her more.

Two fouls in one; the fame defire

To grant the blifs and to require :
But if in heaven a hell we find,

'Tis all from thee,

O Jealoufy!

'Tis all from thee,
O Jealousy!

Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy,
Thou tyrant of the mind.

* In the tragi-comedy of Love triumphant.

All