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XXII.

THE LADY DISTRACTED WITH LOVE,

MAD SONG THE

FOURTH,

was originally sung in one of Tom D'urfey's come dies of Don Quixote acted in 1694 and 1696 ; and probably composed by himself. In the several stanzas, the author res presents his pretty mad woman as 1. Jullenly mad : 2. mirthfully mad : 3. melancholy mad : 4. fantastically mad : and 5. Fark mad. Both this, and Num. XXIV. are printed from D'urfey's Pills to purge Melancholy." 1719. vol. I.

FROM

ROM rosie bowers, where sleeps the god of love,

Hither, ye little wanton cupids, fly;
Teach mé in soft melodious strains to move

With tender passion my heart's darling joy :
Ah ! let the soul of mufick tune my voice,
To win dear Strephon, who my soul enjoys.

5

Or, if more influencing

Is to be brisk and airy,
With a step and a bound,
With a frisk from the ground,

I'll trip like any fairy :
Vol. II.

z

10

As

As once on Ida dancing

Were three celestial bodies :
With an air, and a face,
And a sape, and a grace,

I'll charm, like beauty's goddess.

15

Ah! 'tis in vain ! 'tis all, 'tis all in vain !
Death and despair must end the fatal/pain :
Cold, cold despair, disguis'd like snow and rain,
Falls on my breast ; break winds in tênipests blow; 20
My veins all shiver, and my fingers. glow ;

My pulse beats a dead march for loit repose,
And to a solid lump of ice my poor fond heart is froze.

25

Or say, ye powers, my peace to crown,
Shall I thaw myself, and drown

Among the foaming billows ?
Increasing all with tears I shed,

On beds of ooze, and chrystal pillows
Lay down, lay down my lovesick head ?

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No, no, I'll ftrait run mad, mad, mad, 30

That foon my heart will warm ;
When once the sense is filed, is fed,

Love has no power to charm.
Wild thro' the woods I'll Ay, I'll Ay,

Robes, locks hall thus be tore! 35
A thousand, thouland times I'll dye
Ere thus, thus, in vain,-ere thus in vain adore.

XXIII. TH

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1724. 12mo

From the Hive, a collection of fongs. 4 vols. where may be found two or three other MAD SONGs not admit ted into this collection.

I

Go to the Elysian fhade,

Where forrow ne'er shall wound me;
Where nothing shall my rest invade,

But joy shall still surround me.

5

I fly from Celia's cold disdain,

From her disdain I fly;
She is the cause of all my pain,

For her alone I die.

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Her eyes are brighter than the mid-day fun,
When he but half his radiant course has run,
When his meridian glories gaily shine,
And gild all nature with a warmth divine.

See yonder river's Aowing tide,

Which now so full appears;
Those streams, that do so swiftly glide,
Are nothing but my tears.

22

15

There

There I have wept till I could weep no more, . And curst mine eyes, when they have wept their store, Then, like the clouds, that rob the azure main, I've drain’d the flood to weep it back again.

20

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