XXII.

THE LADY DISTRACTED WITH LOVE,

MAD SONG THE FOURTH,

was originally fung in one of Tom D'URFEY'S come" dies of Don Quixote acted in 1694 and 1696; and probably compofed by himself. In the feveral ftanzas, the author reprefents his pretty mad woman as 1. fullenly mad: 2. mirthfully mad: 3. melancholy mad: 4. fantastically mad: and 5.ftark mad. Both this, and Num. XXIV, are printed from D'urfey's " Pills to purge Melancholy." 1719. vol. I.

FRO

ROM rofie bowers, where fleeps the god of love,
Hither, ye little wanton cupids, fly;
Teach mé in foft melodious ftrains to move
With tender paffion my heart's darling joy :
Ah! let the foul of mufick tune my voice,
To win dear Strephon, who my foul enjoys.

Or, if more influencing

Is to be brifk and airy,

With a step and a bound,
With a frisk from the ground,

I'll trip like any fairy :

VOL. II.

As once on Ida dancing

Were three celestial bodies:

With an air, and a face,

And a shape, and a grace,

I'll charm, like beauty's goddess.

Ah! 'tis in vain! 'tis all, 'tis all in vain !
Death and defpair muft end the fatal pain:

Cold, cold defpair, difguis'd like fnow and rain,
Falls on my breaft; bleak winds in tempelts blow; 20
My veins all shiver, and my fingers glow;

My pulfe beats a dead march for lott repose,
And to a folid lump of ice my poor fond heart is froze.

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

Among the foaming billows?
Increafing all with tears I fhed,

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

No, no, I'll ftrait run mad, mad, mad,
That foon my heart will warm ;-
When once the fenfe is fled, is fled,

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

Robes, locksthall this

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be1tore!

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A thoufand, thousand times I'll dye

Ere thus, thus, in vain,-ere thus in vain adore.

XXIII.

THE DISTRACTED LOVER,

MAD SONG THE FIFTH.

From the Hive, a collection of fongs. 4 vols. 1724. 12mo where may be found two or three other MAD SONGS not admit ted into this collection.

I

Go to the Elyfian shade,

Where forrow ne'er fhall wound me;
Where nothing shall my rest invade,
But joy shall still furround me.

I fly from Celia's cold disdain,
From her difdain I fly;
She is the cause of all my pain,

For her alone I die.

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 flowing tide,

There I have wept till I could weep no more,

. And curft 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.

Pity my pains,

Ye gentle fwains!

Cover me with ice and fnow,

I fcorch, I burn, I flame, I glow!

Furies, tear me,

Quickly bear me

To the difmal fhades below!

Where yelling, and howling.

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