With goodness and wifdom your theory back'd is, Whoever you are, I'll be fworn you're no faint: Wouldyoumend-then yourself with yourfailings acquaint; Thefe conquer, and then give advice, if you chufe, For who'd give you thanks for a thing you can't use. Derry down, &c. SONG CCCIX. LIGHT OF THE MOON. W grove, HEN fairies dance late in the Say, will But fay, will you never deceive The lafs you have conquer'd fo foon, That planet shall start from its sphere I fwear by the light of the moon. Sweet, fweet is the jeffamine grove, Slow rolls the channels of day Unwilling to grant me my boon; Away, dearest sunshine, away, Give place to the light of the moon. The nightingale warbles her lay, SONG CCCX. THE OYSTER GIRL. 1 HERE was a clever comely girl, Tjuft come to town from Glo fter, And she did get her livelihood And he did get her livelihood, &c. She carried a basket under her arm, It happened on a certain day, At length fhe refolv'd with him to go, And now fhe is a lady gay, SONG CCCXI. TWINE WEEL THE PLAIDEN. A Favourite Scots Song. I ha'e loft my filken fnood, O That tied my hair fae yellow; I've gi'en my heart to a lad I loo'd, And twine it weel, my bonny dow, He prais'd my een, fae bonny blue, But he has left the lass he loo'd, And twine it weel, &c. SONG CCCXII. IN AIRY DREAM S. N airy dreams foft fancy flies, And with the early dawn I rife, How swiftly flew the rofy hours, Sweet as the breath of op'ning flow'rs, THE PARTING LOVER S. SINCE glory calls, I meet away' Dear Nancy, why these tears? Thy William's duty is to fway With gallant Rodney on the main, What if a ball fhould end my cares, Believe the heart which fcorn'd all fears, SONG CCCXIV. CANTATA BY MRS. WEISCHELL. You RECITATIVE. OUNG Damon long had lov'd, and long had woo'd, The nymph he lov'd, lov'd him, but was a prude; At length, refolv'd no longer to endure Thofe cruel frowns, those frowns that work'd his cure ; He left the maid, and fought a kinder fair : Now Daphne mourns her folly in defpair. Ye nymphs, be warn'd, and make your lovers fure; AIR. Nymphs be kind, and you fhall find Your graces will improve; Gentle fmiles, foft pleafing wiles, Are all the arms of love! Scorn to teaze the heart you've won, When fmiles might footh their pain. Da Capo. A favourite Cantata. LOVE'S the tyrant of the heart, Full of Mifchief, full of woe, All his joys are full of smart, RECITATIVE. Thus fung a poor forfaken maid, AIR. How fweet is love, when virtue's guide, As fmooth as fummer's peaceful tide, M Y pride is to hold all mankind in my chain, |