ful Traytor,
Farewel my Perjur'd Swain:
Let never injur'd Creature,
Believe a Man again:
The pleasure of possessing,
Surpasses all expressing;
But Joys too short a Blessing,
And love too long a Pain:
_But Joys too short a Blessing,_
_And Love too long a Pain._

'Tis easie to deceive us,
In pity of your Pain;
But when we Love, you leave us,
To rail at you in vain:
Before we have descry'd it,
There is no Bliss beside it;
But she that once has try'd it,
Will never Love again.

The Passion you pretended,
Was only to obtain;
But when the Charm is ended,
The Charmer you disdain:
Your Love by ours we measure,
'Till we have lost our Treasure;
But dying is a Pleasure,
When living is a Pain.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

You I Love by all that's true,
More than all things here below;
with a Passion far more great,
Than e'er Creature loved yet:
And yet still you cry forbear,
Love no more, or Love not here.

Bid the Miser leave his Ore,
Bid the Wretched sigh no more;
Bid the Old be young again,
Bid the _Nun_ not think of Man:
_Sylvia_ thus when you can do,
Bid me then not think on you.

Love's not a thing of Choice, but Fate,
What makes me Love, that makes you Hate:
_Sylvia_ you do what you will,
Ease or Cure, Torment or Kill:
Be Kind or Cruel, False or True,
Love I must, and none but you.

_A_ SONG.

Note: _You must Sing 8 lines to the first Strain._

[Music]

Let's be merry blith and jolly,
Stupid Dulness is a Folly;
'Tis the Spring that doth invite us,
Hark, the chirping Birds delight us:
Let us Dance and raise our Voices,
Every Creature now rejoyces;
Airy Blasts and springing Flowers,
Verdant Coverings, pleasant Showers:
Each plays his part to compleat this our Joy,
And can we be so dull as to deny.

Here's no foolish surly Lover,
That his Passions will discover;
No conceited fopish Creature,
That is proud of Cloaths or Feature:
All things here serene and free are,
They're not Wise, are not as we are;
Who acknowledge Heavens Blessings,
In our innocent Caressings:
Then let us Sing, let us Dance, let us Play,
'Tis the Time is allow'd, 'tis the Month of _May_.

_A New_ SONG, _the Words by Mr._ J.C. _Set to Musick by Dr._ Prettle.

[Music]

No _Phillis_, tho' you've all the Charms,
Ambitious Woman can desire;
All Beauty, Wit, and Youth that warms,
Or sets our foolish Hearts on fire:
Yet you may practice all your Arts,
In vain to mak