ain:
Leading her bleating Flocks to drink,
She 'spy'd upon a River's brink
A Youth, whose Eyes did well declare,
How much he lov'd, but lov'd not her.

At first she laugh'd, but gaz'd a while,
Which soon it lessen'd to a smile;
Thence to Surprize and Wonder came,
Her Breast to heave, her Heart to flame:
Then cry'd she out, Ah! now I prove
Thou art a God most mighty _Jove_.

She would have spoke, but shame deny'd,
And bid her first consult her Pride;
But soon she found that aid was gone,
For _Jove_, alass! had left her none:
Ah! now she burns! but 'tis too late,
For in his Eyes she reads her Fate.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Fair _Caelia_ too fondly contemns those Delights,
Wherewith gentle Nature hath soften'd the Nights;
If she be so kind to present us with Pow'r,
The Fault is our own to neglect the good Hour:
Who gave thee this Beauty, ordain'd thou should'st be,
As kind to thy Slaves, as the Gods were to thee.

Then _Caelia_ no longer reserve the vain Pride,
Of wronging thy self, to see others deny'd;
If Love be a Pleasure, alass! you will find,
We both are not happy, when both are most kind:
But Women, like Priests, do in others reprove,
And call that thing Lust, which in them is but Love.

What they thro' their Madness and Folly create,
We poor silly Slaves still impute to our Fate;
But in such Distempers where Love is the Grief,
'Tis _Caelia_, not Heaven, must give us Relief:
Then away with those Titles of Honour and Cause,
Which first made us sin, by giving us Laws.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ WILLIAM TURNER.

[Music]

I Lik'd, but never Lov'd before
I saw that charming Face;
Now every Feature I adore,
And doat on ev'ry Grace:
She ne'er shall know that kind desire,
Which her cold Looks denies,
Unless my Heart that's all on Fire,
Should sparkle through my Eyes:
Then if no gentle Glance return,
A silent Leave to speak;
My Heart which would for ever burn,
Alass! must sigh and break.

_A_ SONG _in_ Valentinian.

[Music]

Where would coy _Amyntas_ run,
From a despairing Lover's Story?
When her Eyes have Conquest won,
Why should her Ear refuse the Glory:
Shall a Slave, whose Racks constrain,
Be forbidden to complain;
Let her scorn me, let her Fly me,
Let her Looks, her Love deny me:
Ne'er shall my Heart yield to despair,
Or my Tongue cease to tell my Care,
Or my Tongue cease to tell my Care:
Much to love, and much to pray,
Is to Heav'n the only wa