You put on your colours to pleasure her eye,
To be pluck'd by her hand, cn her bofom to die.

How flowly time creeps, till my Phebe return!
While amidst the foft Zephyrs cool breezes I burn;
Methinks, if I knew whereabout he would tread,

I could breathe on his wings, and 'twould melt down the lead.
Fly fwifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear,

And rest so much longer for't, when she is here.
Ah, Colin! old time is full of delay,

Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst say.

Will no pitying power that hears me complain,
Or cure my difquiet, or foften

my pain?

To be cur'd, thou muft, Colin, thy paffion remove;
But what fwain is fo filly to live without love?
No, deity, bid the dear nymph to return,

For ne'er was poor fhepherd fo fadly forlorn.
Ah! what fhall I do? I fhall die with despair!

Take heed, all ye fwains, how ye love one fo fair.

SONG LVI.

T°

O the brook and the willow that heard him complain,
Ah willow, willow.

Poor Colin fat weeping, and told them his pain.

Ah willow, willow; ah willow, willow.

Sweet ftream, he cry'd fadly, I'll teach thee to flow,
Ah willow, &c.

And the waters fhall rife to the brink with my woe.
Ah willow, &c.

All reftlefs and painful poor Amoret lies,
Ah willow, &c.

And counts the fad moments of time as it flies:
Ah willow, &c.

To the nymph, my heart loves, ye foft flumbers repair;
Ah willow, &c.

Spread your downy wings o'er her, and make her your care.
Ah willow, &c.

Dear brook, were thy chance near her pillow to creep,
Ah willow, &c.

Perhaps thy foft murmurs might lull her to sleep.
Ah willow, &c.

Let me be kept waking, my eyes never close,
Ah willow, &c.

So the fleep that I lofe brings my fair one repose.
Ah willow, &c.

But if I am doom'd to be wretched indeed;
Ah willow, &c.

And the lofs of my dear-one, my love, is decreed;
Ah willow, &c.

If no more my fad heart by those eyes fhall be chear'd;
Ah willow, &c.

If the voice of my warbler no more shall be heard;

Ah willow, &c.

E 3

Believe

Believe me, thou fair one; thou dear one, believe,
Ah willow, &c.

Few fighs to thy lofs, and few tears will I give.
Ah willow, &c.

One fate to thy Colin and thee shall betide,
Ah willow, &c.

And foon lay thy fhepherd down by thy cold fide.
Ah willow, &c.

Then glide, gentle brook, and to lose thyself hafte; Ah willow, willow.

Fade thou too my willow; this verse is my

laft:

Ah willow, willow; ah willow, willow.

SONG LVII.

BY D R. DALTON*.

RECITATIVE.

OW gentle was my Damons air!

Like funny beams his golden hair,
His voice was like the nightingales,

More sweet his breath than flowery vales.
How hard fuch beauties to refign!

And yet that cruel task is mine.

In the mafque of Comus.

AIR.

On every hill, in every grove,
Along the margin of each ftream,
Dear confcious fcenes of former love,

I mourn, and Damon is my theme.
The hills, the groves, the streams remain,
But Damon there I feek in vain.

Now to the moffy cave I fly,

Where to my fwain I oft have fung,
Well pleas'd the browfing goats to spy,
As o'er the airy steep they hung.
The moffy cave, the goats remain,
But Damon there I seek in vain.

Now through the winding vale I pass,

And figh to see the well known shade;
I weep and kiss the bended grass,

Where love and Damon fondly play'd.
The vale, the fhade, the grass remain,

But Damon there I feek in vain.

From hill, from dale, each charm is fled,

Groves, flocks, and fountains please no more,

Each flower in pity droops its head,

All nature does my lofs deplore.
All, all reproach the faithlefs fwain,
Yet Damon ftill I seek in vain.

E 4

SONG

1

YE

Whofe flocks never carelessly roam;
Should Corydons happen to ftray,
Oh! call the poor wanderers home.
Allow me to muse and to figh,

Nor talk of the change that ye find;
None once was fo watchful as I;

-I have left my dear Phyllis behind.

Now I know what it is to have ftrove
With the torture of doubt and defire;
What it is, to admire and to love,

And to leave her we love and admire.
Ah lead forth my flock in the morn,

And the damps of each evening repel;
Alas! I am faint and forlorn :

-I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell.

Since Phyllis vouchfaf'd me a look,

I never once dreamt of my vine;
May I lofe both my pipe and my crook,

If a knew of a kid that was mine.

I priz'd