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SONG.

By the fame Author.

Repar'd to Rail, Refolv'd to Part,

PR

When I approach the Perjur'd Maid;

What is it awes my Timorous Heart?

Why is my Tongue afraid?

With the leaft Glance a little kind,

Such wondrous Pow'r have Myra's Charms! She quells my Doubts, Enslaves my Mind, And all my Rage difarms.

Forgetful of her broken Vows,
When gazing on that Form Divine,
Her injur'd Vaffal, trembling bows,

Nor dares her Slave Repine.

SONG

SONG.

While

By the fame Author.

I.

Hile Phillis is drinking, Love and Wine in Alliance,

With Forces United bid refiftless defiance.

By the touch of her Lips the Wine sparkles higher,

And her Eyes from her drinking redouble their

Fire.

II.

Her Cheeks glow the brighter, recruiting their

Colour,

As flowers by fprinkling revive with fresh

Odour.

His dart dipt in Wine, Love wounds beyond

Curing,

And the Liquor, like Oyl, makes the Flame

more enduring.

III.

By Cordials of Wine, Love is kept from expiring,

And our Mirth is enliven'd by Love and de

firing.

Relieving each other, the Pleasure is lasting, And we never are cloy'd, yet are ever a tasting.

IV.

Then Phillis begin, let our Raptures abound' And a Kifs and a Glass be still going round. Our Joys are Immortal, while thus we remove, From Love to the Bottle, from the Bottle to

Love.

SONG

SONG.

By the fame Author.

O Smooth, and fo Serene but now,

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What means this Change on Myra's Brow?

Her Aguish Love now glows and burns,

Then chills, and shakes, and the Cold Fit returns

Mockt with deluding Vows and Smiles,
When on her Pity I depend,

My airy hope fhe foon beguiles,

And Laughs to fee my Labours never end.

So up

the Steepy Hill with pain,

The weighty Stone is rowl'd in vain;
Which having toucht the top, recoils,

And leaves the Labourer * to renew his Toils.

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VERSES

Sent from an Unknown Hand, To

Mr. G. GRANVILLE,

WH

In the Country.

HY, Granville, is thy Life confin'd,
To Shades, Thou whom the gods

defign'd

In publick, to do credit to Mankind?

Why fleeps the Noble Ardour of thy Blood, Which from thy Ancestors, fo many Ages paft, From Rollo, down to Bevil Flow'd,

And then appear'd again at last,

In Thee, when thy Victorious Lance

Bore the Disputed Prize, from all the Youth of

France.

Ia

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