_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

Fickle Bliss, fantastick Treasure, Love how soon, how soon, How soon thy Joys, are past?

Since we soon must lose the Pleasure, Oh! 'twere better ne'er to tast: G.o.ds! How sweet would be possessing, Did not Time its Charms destroy; Or could Lovers with the Blessing, Lose the Thoughts of _Cupid's_ Joy: Lose the Thoughts, the Thoughts, The Thoughts of _Cupid's_ Joy.

Cruel Thoughts, that pain yet please me, Ah! no more my rest destroy; Shew me still if you would ease me, Love's Deceits, but not it's Joy: G.o.ds what kind, yet cruel Powers, Force my Will to rack my Mind!

Ah! too long we wait for Flowers, Too, too soon, to fade design'd.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ Akeroyde.

[Music]

That scornful _Sylvia's_ Chains I wear, The Groves and Streams can tell; Those blasted with my Sighs appear, These with my Tears my Tears, o're swell.

But Sighs and Tears bring no redress, And Love that sees, that sees me grieve; Conspires with _Sylvia_ to oppress, The Heart he should relieve.

The G.o.d that should reward my Pain, Makes _Sylvia_ more my Foe: As She encreases in Disdain, He makes my Pa.s.sion grow: And must I, must I still admire, Those Eyes that cause my Grief?

'Tis just, since I my self conspire Against my own Relief.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ ROBERT KING.

All own the Young _Sylvia_ is fatally Fair; All own the Young _Sylvia_ is pretty; Confess her good Nature, and easie soft Air, Nay more, that's She's wanton and witty.

Yet all the keen Arrows at _Damon_ still cast, Cou'd never, cou'd never, his quiet destroy, 'Till the cunning _Coquett_, shot me flying at last; _By a Jene say, Jene say, quoy_, _By a Jene say, Jene say, quoy._

So tho' the young _Sylvia_ were not very Fair, Tho' she were but indifferently pretty; Much wanting _Aurelia's_, or _Caelia's_ soft Air, But not the dull sence of the City: Yet still the dear Creature wou'd please without doubt, And give me abundance of Joy; Since all that is missing is plainly made out, _By a Jene say, Jene say quoy._

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

[Music]

A Swain in despair, Cryed Women ne'er trust, Ala.s.s they are all Unkind or unjust.

A Nymph who was by, Soon thus did reply; The Men we all find More false and unkind.

Except me he cryed, And me She replyed, Then try me said he, I dare not said she: The Swain did pursue, Each alter'd their Mind: She vow'd He was true, He swore She was kind.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ AKEROYDE.

[Music]

Wo'as me poor La.s.s! what mun I do?

Gin I did my bonny _Sawney_ slight, He now gangs a blither La.s.s to woo, And I alene poor La.s.s ligs ev'ry Night.

Curse on Fickleness and Pride, By which we silly Women are undone: What my _Sawney_ begg'd and I deny'd Ala.s.s! I long to grant, but now he's gone.

When he was kind I made a Strife, Yet I then deny'd with mickle Woe; For he su'd as gin, he begg'd for Life, And almost dy'd poor Lad! when I said no: Well I keen'd, he woo'd to wed, Yet fear'd to own, I lov'd the canny Loon; Ah would he have stay'd he might have sped, Waa's me! why would my _Sawney_ gang so soon.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Richest Gift of lavish Nature, Matchless darling of my Heart; Ah! too dear, too charming Creature, You on Earth a Heav'n impart.

Rapt in Pleasure past expressing, I with Bliss almost expire; Cou'd we still be thus possessing, G.o.d's who would your State desire.

Kindling Glances quickning Kisses, That like Time so soon are past; Crowding Joys to eager Blisses, Still renewing may you last: Nor by a fantastick Fashion, Being lawful please the less; But may I indulge my Pa.s.sion, Blest in none but her I bless.

TOM _Tinker_.

[Music]

_Tom_ Tinker's my true love, and I am his Dear, And I will go with him his Budget to bear; For of all the young Men he has the best luck, All the Day he will Fuddle, at Night he will ---- This way, that way, which way you will, I am sure I say nothing that you can take Ill.

With Hammer on Kettle he tabbers all Day, At Night he will tumble on Strumil or Hay; He calls me his Jewel, his delicate Duck, And then he will take up my Smicket to ---- _This way_, &c.

_Tom Tinker_ I say was a Jolly stout Lad, He tickled young _Nancy_ and made her stark mad; To have a new Rubbers with him on the Gra.s.s, By reason she knew that he had a good ---- _This way_, &c.

There was an old Woman on Crutches she came, To l.u.s.ty _Tom Tinker_, _Tom Tinker_ by Name; And tho' she was Aged near threescore and five, She kickt up her Heels and resolved to ---- _This way_, &c.

A beautiful Damsel came out of the West, And she was as Jolly and brisk as the best; She'd Dance and she'd caper as wild as a Buck, And told _Tom_ the _Tinker_, she would have some ---- _This way_, &c.

A Lady she call'd him her Kettle to mend, And she resolved her self to attend; Now as he stood stooping and mending the Bra.s.s, His Breeches was torn and down hung his ---- _This way_, &c.

Something she saw that pleased her well, She call'd in the _Tinker_ and gave him a spell; With Pig, Goose and Capon, and good store of suck, That he might be willing to give her some ---- _This way_, &c.