ENITENT. _Set by Mr._ ECCLES. _Sung by Mrs._
HUDSON.

[Music]

Stay, ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly?
Ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly?
Whither, whither wou'd you fly?
Too Charming, too Charming, too relentless Maid,
I follow not to conquer, not to conquer,
I follow not to conquer, but to dye:
You of the fearful, of the fearful are afraid,
Ah stay, ah turn, ah whither wou'd you fly?
Whither, whither, whither, whither, ah whither wou'd you fly?

In vain, in vain I call, in vain, in vain I call,
While she like fleeting, fleeting Air;
When press'd by some tempestuous Wind,
Flys swifter from the voice of my Despair:
Nor cast a pitying, pitying, pitying, pitying look behind,
No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying look,
Not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind,
No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind,
No not one, no not one, not one pitying, pitying, pitying look behind.

_A new_ SONG. _The Words by Mr._ Tho. Wall. _Set to Musick by Mr._
Henry Eccles, _Junior._

[Music]

No more let _Damon's_ Eyes pursue,
No more let _Damon's_ Eyes pursue,
The bright enchanting Fair;
_Almira_ thousands, thousands, thousands can undo,
And thousands more, and thousands more,
And thousands more may still despair,
And thousands more may still despair.

For oh her bright alluring Eyes,
And Graces all admire;
For her the wounded Lover dies,
And ev'ry Breast, and ev'ry Heart,
And ev'ry Breast is set on Fire.

Then oh poor _Damon_, see thy Fate,
But never more complain;
For all a Thousand Hearts will stake,
And all may sigh, and all may die,
And all may sigh and die in vain.

_The_ DEAR JOY'S _Lamentation._

[Music]

Ho my dear Joy, now what dost thou think?
Hoop by my shoul our Country-men stink;
To _Ireland_ they can never return,
The Hereticks there our Houses will burn:
_Ah hone, ah hone, ah hone a cree._

A Pox on _T----l_ for a Son of a W----,
He was the cause of our coming o'er;
And when to _Dublin_ we came to put on our Coats,
He told us his business was cutting of Throats.
_Ah hone_, &c.

Our Devil has left us now in the Lurch,
A Plague light upon the _Protestant_ C----
If _P----s_ had let but the Bishops alone,
O then the Nation had all been our own.
_Ah hone_, &c.

And I wish other Measures had been taken,
For now I fear we shan't save our Bacon;
Now _Orange_ to _London_ is coming down-right,
And t