E fportfmen draw near, and ye fportfwomen too,
Who delight in the joys of the field,

Mankind, tho' they blame, are all eager as you,
And no one the conteft will yield;

His Lordship, his Worship, his Honour, his Grace,
A hunting continually go,

All ranks and degrees are engag'd in the chace,
With hark forward, huzza, tallyho.

The lawyer will rife with the firft of the morn
To hunt for a mortgage or deed;

The huntsmen gets up at the found of the horn,
And rides to the commons full speed.

The patriot is thrown in purfuit of his game,
The poet too often lies low,

Who, mounted on Pegasus, flies after fame,
With hark forward, huzza, tallyho.

While fearless o'er hills and o'er woodlands we sweep,
Tho' prudes on our paftime may frown,
How oft do they decency's bounds overleap,
And the fences of virtue break down.
Thus public, or private, for penfion, for place,
For amufement, for paffion, for fhow,
All ranks and degrees are engag'd in the chace,
With hark forward, huzza, tallyho.

COM

NOME gentle God of foft repofe
And lull my tortur'd foul to reft,

In thy embraces me inclose,

And let me once again be bleft.

Come gentle flumbers, yet be kind,
Nor let me ever figh in vain,
Relieve my care, and cafe my mind,

Reftore my health, and banish pain.

For thee each night in vain I figh,
And daily I thy lofs deplore,
Thy friendly aid no more deny,

Nor let me mourn thy absence more.

LOTHAR I O. By Mr Arne.

VAINLY Alive to charm, me,

All ye fweets of blooming May,

How should empty sunshine warm me
While Lothario keeps away.

Go, ye warbling birds, go leave me,
Shade, ye clouds, the fmiling fky,
Sweeter notes her voice can give me,
Softer funshine fills her eye.

L

SONG

CCXXIX.

ADVICE TO THE LADIES.

ET an empty flattering spirit

Easy foolish hearts beguile,

Know, judicious fair, that merit
Only can deferve your fmile.

Scorn the wretch, whate'er his ftation,

Who, with wealth or titles bold,

Dead to each foft inclination,

Hopes to win your heart with gold.

With the youth each worth poffeffing,

Deign the nuptial joys to prove, Ne'er defpife fo great a bleffing,

But

repay him love for love.

SONG CCXXX.

HOW IMPERFECT IS EXPRESSION.

HOW

OW imperfect is expreffion
Some emotions to impart,

When we mean a foft confeffion,
And yet feek to hide the heart.

When our bofoms, all complying,
With delicious tumults fwell,

And beat-what broken, fault'ring, dying,
Language wou'd, but cannot tell.

Deep confufion's rofy terror

Quite expreffive paints my cheek;
Afk no more, behold your error,
Blushes eloquently speak :

What tho' filent is my anguish!
Or breath'd only to the air;
Mark my eyes, and as they languish,
Read what yours have written there.

O that

you could once conceive me,
Once my foul's ftrong feelings view;
Love has nought more fond, believe me,
Friendship nothing half fo true.

From you, I am wild, defpairing,
With you fpeechlefs as I touch,
This is all that bears declaring,
And perhaps declares too much.

CCXXXI.

SONG

WOW fweet is the woodland with fleet hound and

How horn,

To waken fhrill echo and tafte the fresh morn ;
But hard is the chace my fond heart muft pursue,
For Daphne, fair Daphne, is loft to my view.

Affift me, chafte Diana, the nymph to regain,
More wild than the roebuck, and wing'd with disfdain,
In pity o'ertake her who wounds as the flies,
Tho' Daphne's purfu'd, 'tis Myrtilla that dies.

SONG CCXXXII.

THE ROSE.

No flow'r that blows is like this rofe,

N%

Or fcatters perfume,

Upon my breaft, oh! gently reft,
And ever, ever bloom.

Dear pledge to prove a parent's love,

A pleafing gift thou art,

Come sweetest flow'r, and, from this hour,
Live henceforth in my heart.

A

SONG

CCXXXIII.

THE BANKS OF THE TWEED.

RECITATIVE.

S on the banks of Tweed I lay reclin'd
Beneath a verdant fhade,

I heard a found more fweet than pipe or flute,
Sure more enchanting was not Orpheus' lute

While lift'ning and amaz'd, I turn'd my eyes,
The more I heard the greater my surprise,
I rofe and follow'd, guided by my ear,
And in a thick fet grove I saw my dear;

Unfeen, unheard, the thought, thus fung the maid:

AIR.

To the foft murm'ring ftream I will fing of my love, Delighted am I when abroad I can rove,

To indulge a fond paffion for Jockey my dear,

When he's abfent I figh, but how blithe when he's near,
'Tis these rural amusements delight my fad heart,
Come away to my arms love and never depart,
To his pipe I could fing, for he's bonny and gay,
Did he know how I lov'd him no longer he'd stay.

Neither linnet nor nightingale fing half so sweet, And the foft melting ftrain did kind echo repeat, It fo ravish'd my heart and delighted my ear, Swift as light'ning I flew to the arms of my dear; She, furpris'd and detected, fome moments did stand, Like the rofe was her cheek, and the lily her hand, Which fhe plac'd on her breast, and said, Jocky, I fear I have been too imprudent, pray, how came you here?

For to vifit my ewes, and to fee my lambs play, By the banks of the Tweed, and the groves, I did ftray, But my Jeany, dear Jeany, how oft have I figh'd, And have vow'd endless love if you would be my bride, To the altar of Hymen, my fair one, repair, Where the knot of affection fhall tie the fond pair; To the pipe's fprightly notes the gay dance we will lead And will bless the dear grove by the banks of the Tweed.

W

HEN firft by fond Damon Flavilla was feen,
He flightly regarded her air and her mien,
S