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 ?

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

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.

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