art of Care,
And make her Eyes less killing.

I Sigh, I Sigh, I Languish now,
And Love will not let me rest;
I drive about the Park and Bow,
Where-e'er I meet my Dearest.

_A_ SONG.

_Set by Mr._ ANTHONY YOUNG.

[Music]

Cease whining _Damon_ to Complain,
Of thy Unhappy Fate;
That _Sylvia_ should thy Love disdain,
Which lasting was and great.

For Love so constant flames so bright,
More unsuccessful prove:
Than cold neglect and sudden slight,
To gain the Nymph you love.

Then only you'll obtain the Prize,
When you her Coyness use;
If you pursue the Fair, she flies,
But if you fly, pursues.

Had _Phoebus_ not pursu'd so fast
The seeming cruel she;
The God a Virgin had embrac'd,
And not a lifeless Tree.

_A_ SONG _in the_ OPERA _call'd the_ BRITTISH ENCHANTERS. _Set by Mr._
J. ECCLES.

[Music]

Plague us not with idle Stories,
Whining Loves, whining Loves, whining Loves,
And Senceless Glories.
What are Lovers? what are Kings?
What, at best, but slavish Things?
What are Lovers? what are Kings?
What, at best, but slavish Things?
What, at best, but slavish Things?

Free I liv'd as Nature made me,
Love nor Beauty durst invade me,
No rebellious Slaves betray'd me,
Free I liv'd as Nature made me,
Each by turns as Sence inspired me,
_Bacchus_, _Ceres_, _Venus_ fir'd me,
I alone have learnt true Pleasure,
Freedom, Freedom, Freedom is the only, only Treasure.

JUNO _in the Prize._

_Set by Mr._ JOHN WELDON.

[Music]

Let Ambition fire thy Mind,
Thou wert born o'er Men to Reign;
Not to follow Flocks design'd,
Scorn thy Crook, and leave the Plain:
Not to follow Flocks design'd,
Scorn thy Crook, and leave the Plain.

Crowns I'll throw beneath thy Feet,
Thou on Necks of Kings shalt tread,
Joys in Circles, Joys shall meet,
Which way e're thy fancy leads.

_The Beau's Character in the Comedy call'd_ Hampstead-Heath. _Set and
Sung by Mr._ Ramondon.

[Music]

A Whig that's full,
An empty Scull,
A Box of _Burgamot_;
A Hat ne'er made
To fit his Head
No more than that to Plot.
A Hand that's White,
A Ring that's right,
A Sword, Knot, Patch and Feather;
A Gracious Smile,
And Grounds and Oyl,
Do very well together.

A smatch of _French_,
And none of Sence,
All Conquering Airs and Graces;
A Tune that Thrills,
A Lear that Kills,
Stol