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A Pavilion in the middle of the Bower.
HU S let my weary soul forget
Restless glory, martial ftrife,
Anxious pleasures of the great,
And gilded cares of life.
ROSA MO N D. Thus let me lose, in rifing joys,
Fierce impatience, fond desires,
Absence that flatering hopes destroys,
And life-consuming fires.
Not the loud British shout that warms
The warrior's heart, nor clashing arms,
Nor fields with hostile banners strow'd,
Nor life on proftrate Gauls bestow'd,
Give half the joys that fill my breast,
While with my Rofamond I'ın bleft.
ROS A MON D.
My Henry is my soul's delight,
My wish by day, my dream by night.
'Tis not in language to impart
The secret meltings of my heart,
While I my conqueror survey,
And look my very soul away.
O may the present blifs endure,
From fortune, time, and death secure!
O may the present bliss endure !
My eye could ever gaze, nay ear
Those gentle sounds could ever hear:
But oh! with noon-day heats oppreft,
My aking temples call for rest!
In yon cool grotto's artful night
Refreshing slumbers I'll invite,
Then seek again my absent fair,
With all the love a heart can bear.
ROS AMOND fola.
From whence this fad presaging fear,
This sudden figh, this falling tear?
Oft in my filent dreams by night
With such a look I've seen him fly,
Wafted by angels to the sky, And loft in endless tracts of light;
While I, abandon'd and forlorn,
To dark and dismal deserts borne,
Through lonely wilds have seem'd to stray,
A long, uncomfortable way.
They're fantoms all; Pll think no more :
My life has endless joys in fiore.
Farewel forrotu, farewet fear,
They're fantoms all! my Henry's here.
A Poftern Gate of the Bewer.
My stomach swells with secret spite,
To see my fickle, faithless Knight,
With upright gesture, goodly mien,
Face of olive, coat of green,
That charm'd the Ladies long ago,
So little his own worth to know,
On a mere girl his thoughts to place,
With dimpled cheeks, and baby face;
A child! a chit! that was not born,
When I did town and court adorn,
P A G E.
Can any man prefer fifteen
To venerable Grideline ?
GRID ELI N E.
He does, my child; or tell me why
With weeping eye so oft I spy
His whiskers curld, and shoe-strings ty’d,
A new toledo by his side,
In fhoulder-belt fo trimly plac'd,
With band so nicely smooth'd and lacid.
P A G E.
If Roamond his garb has view'd,
The Knight is false, the nymph subdu’de
GRID E L I N E.
My anxious boding heart divines
His falshood by a thousand signs:
Oft o'er the lonely rocks he walks,
And to the foolish echo talks :
Oft in the glass he rolls his eye,
But turns and frowns if I am by ;
Then my fond eafy heart beguiles,
And thinks of Rifamond and smiles.
PA, G E.
Well may you feel these soft alarms,
She has a heart-
GRID E L I N E.
And he has charins.
P A G E. Your fears are too juft
GRID ELIN E. - Too plainly I've prov'd.
В ОТН. He loves and is lov’d.
GRIDELINE. O merciless fate!
P A G E. Deplorable fate!
GRID ELIN E. To die
-To be flain
GRID E L I N E. By a barbarous fwain,
BOTH. That laughs at your pain.
GRID ELIN E. How shou'd I act: canst thou advise?
if 1, in an unsuspected hour, May catch 'em dallying in the bower, Perhaps their loose amours prevent, And keep Sir Trusty innocent.
Thou art in truth
A forward youth,