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Scorn to teaze the heart you're won,

Quick take the favour'd fwain ;
Nor frown on those by love undone,

When smiles might footh their pain. Da Capo.

S O N G

CCCXV.

LOVE'S THE TYRANT OF THE HEART.

A favourite Cantata.

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OVÉ'S the tyrant of the heart,

Full of Mischief, full of woe,
All his joys are full of smart,
Thorns beneath his roses

grow.

a

RECITATIVE.
Thus fung a poor forsaken maid,
By folly, not by love betray'd ;
Ye fair, while virtue fteels your breast,
Fond love can ne'er disturb

your

rest.

اشهر ملایر با

Air.
How sweet is love, when virtue's guide,

How tranquil is the mind,
As smooth as fummer's peaceful tide,

As grateful and as kind.
The morning breaks ferenely clear,

To welcome in the day,
Che ev’ning comes without a fear,

And love our toils repay.

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Y pride is to hold all mankind in my chain,

The conquest I prize, tho' the slaves I disdain.

I'll teaze them and vex them,

I'll plague and perplex them,
Since men try all arts our weak sex to betray,
I'll show them a woman as artful as they.

Young Damon pursu'd me, and Strephon, vain youth, They meant to deceive, yet they boasted of truth;

They kneeld and they trembld,

I smil'd and dissembl'd ;
I saw all their arts were but meant to betray,
And prov'd there were women as artful as they.

Then hear me, ye nymphs, and my counsel believe,
Refift all their wiles, the deceivers deceive ;

Their chanting and whining,

Their fighing and pining,
Are all meant as baits our weak sex to betray ;
Then prove there are women as artful as they.

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And patient fall in with life's rubbers,

With nothing but water to drink :
A cann of good stuff had they twigg'd it,
Would have set them for pleasure a-gog.

And spite of the rules,

And spite of the rules of the schools,
The old fools would have all of them swigg'd it,

And swore there was nothing like grog.

My father, when last I from Guinea

Return'd with abundance of wealth, Cry'd-Jack, never be such a niony

To drink--Says I --father, your health.

So I pafs'd round the Auff-foon he twigg'd it,
And it set the old codger a-gog,

And he fwigg'd, and mother,

And fifter, and brother,
And I swigg'd, and all of us swigg'd it,

And fwore there was nothing like grog.
One day, when the Chaplain was preaching,

Behind him I curiously funk,
And, while he our duty was teaching,

As how we should never get drunk,
I tipt him the ftuff, and he twigg'd it,
Which foon set his rey’rence a-gog.

And he swigg'd, and Niek fwigy'd,

And Ben swigg'd, and Dick swigg'd, And I swigg'd, and all of us swigg'd it,

And swore there was nothing like grog. Then trust me there's nothing as drinking,

So pleasant on this fide the grave; It keeps the unhappy from thinking,

And makes e'en more valiant the brave. For me,

from the moment I twigg'd it, The good stuff has fo fet me a-gog,

Sick or well, late or early,
Wind foully or fairly,

I've constantly fwigg'd it,
And dam’me there's nothing like grog.

S O N G CCCXVIII.

POOR JACK.
O patter to lubbers and swabs, d'ye fee,

'Bout danger, and fear, and the like;
A water-tight boat, and good sea-room give me,
And it a'ent to a little I'll ftrike:

(smite, Tho' the tempest top-gallant-mafts smack smooth should

And shiver each splinter of wood, Clear the wreck, stow theyards, and howfe ev'rything tight,

And, under reef'd foresail, we'll scud :

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A a

Avait--nor don't think me a milk-sop so soft,

To be taken for trifles a.-back, For they say there's a Providence fits

up

alost, To keep watch-for the life of Poor Jack. Why I heard the good Chaplain palaver one day

About souls, heaven, mercy, and such ;
And, my timbers—what lingo!--he'd coil and belay,

Why 'twas just all one as High Dutch.
But he said how a sparrow can't founder, d’ye fee,

Without orders that comes down below,
And many fine things, that prov'd clearly to me,

That Providence takes us in tow.
For, says he, do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft

Take the top-lails of sailors a-back,
There's a sweet little Cherub fits perch?d up aloft,

To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.
I said to our Poll, for you see she would cry,

When last we weighed anchor for sea, What argufies sniv'ling and piping your eye?

Why what a damn'd fool you must be ! Can't

you

see the world's wide and there's room for us all, Both for seamen and lubbers ashore; And if to old Davy I should go my dear Poll,

Why you never will hear of me more.
What then ?-all's a hazard, come don't be so foft,

Perhaps I may laughing come back,
For, d'ye see, there's a Cherub fits smiling aloft,

To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.
D'ye mind me, a failor should be every inch

All one as a piece of his ship, And with her brave the world, without offering to finch,

From the moment the anchor's a-trip: As for me, in all weathers, all times, fides, and ends,

Nought's a trouble from duty that springs, My heart is my Pall's, and my

rhino my friend's,
And as for my life 'tis the King's.
E’en when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft,

As with grief to be taken a-back,
That same little. Cherub that fits aloft,

Will look oitoa good birth for Poor Jack.

up

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Love bustle, crouds, and rattles

Sound of trumpets, coaches, battle.
I hate noise, roar, and riot;
Storms and tempests break my quiet.-
Snug, yet active, be my station :
I'm in love with moderation.

CA TCH. For three Voices.

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VINCE my

Phillis has fallen to my share,
In a bumper I'll drink, I'll drink to the fair ;
And the man here who envies me moit.
Let him bid me say more, fay'more, say more, to the toast.
For a larger I'll soon, foon change my cup:
To the brim full, to the brim full, fill the constable,

To the brim fill the constable,
To the brim fill the constable up.

CATCH. For four Voices. INTRODUCTION OF THE BO W L.

E E my boys, the fuming bowl,

,

Rapture seize on every soul,
Till loud each chearful voice resound,
Power and wealth, beauty, health,

Wit and mirth in wine are crown'd,
Joys abound, pleasure's found,

Only when the glafs goes round.

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