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With pride her footsteps I pursue,
And bid your frantic joys adieu.

The sole confusion I admire,
Is that my Daphne's eyes inspire :
I scorn the madness you approve,
And value Reason next to Love.

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CUPID no more shall give me grief,

Or anxious cares oppress my soul ; While gen'rous Bacchus brings relief,

And drowns 'em in a flowing bowl.

Cælia, thy scorn I now despise,

Thy boasted empire I disown; This takes the brightness from thy eyes,

And makes it sparkle in my own.

SONG LIX.

THE MILITARY TOPER.

How stands the glass around ?

For shame, ye take no care, my boys ! How stands the glass around? Let mirth and wine abound ! The trumpets sound :

* Who entitles it .A dithyrambick for two voices.'

The colours flying are, my boys,
To fight, kill, or wound:
May we still be found

Content with our hard fare, my boys,
On the cold ground.

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Why, soldiers, why

Should we be melancholy, boys !
Why, soldiers, why?
Whose business 'tis to die?
What! sighing ? fie !

Damn fear, drink on, be jolly boys !
'Tis he, you, and I.
Cold, hot, wet, or dry,

We're always bound to follow, boys, And scorn to fly.

Tis but in vain,

(I mean not to upbraid you, boys)
'Tis but in vain
For soldiers to complain :
Should next campaign

Send us to Him that made you, boys,
We're free from pain ;
But should we remain,

A bottle and kind landlady
Cures all again.

SONG LX.

THE SCHOOL OF ANACREON.

RECITATIVE.

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The festive board was met, the social band
Round fam'd Anacreon took their silent stand :

My friends (began the sage) be this the rule, No brow austere must dare approach my school; Where Love and Bacchus jointly reign within, Old Care, begone! here sadness is a sin.

AIR.

Tell me not the joys that wait
On him that's learn'd, on him that's great ;
Wealth and wisdom I despise ;
Cares surround the rich and wise.
The

queen that gives soft wishes birth,
And Bacchus god of wine and mirth,
Me their friend and favorite own,
I was born for them alone.
Bus’ness, title, pomp and state,
Give them to the fools I hate;
But let love, let life be mine ;
Bring me women, bring me wine.
Speed the dancing hours away,
Mind not what the grave ones say ;
Gayly let the minutes fly,
In love and freedom, wit and joy :
So shall love, shall life be mine e ;
Bring me women, bring me wine."

2 SONG LXI.

BY PAUL WHITEHEAD, ESQ.

When Bacchus, jolly god, invites
To revel in his evening rites,
In vain his altars I surround,
Though with Burgundian incense crown'd:
No charm has wine without the lass;
'Tis love gives relish to the glass.

Whilst all around, with jocund glee,
In brimmers toast their fav’rite she ;
Though ev'ry nymph my lips proclaim,
My heart still whispers Chloe's name ;
And thus, with me, by am'rous stealth,
Still ev'ry glass is Chloe's health.

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Hence with cares, complaints, and frowning,

Welcome jollity and joy ;
Every grief in pleasure drowning,

Mirth this happy night employ.
Let's to friendship do our duty,

Laugh and sing some good old strain; Drink a health to Love and Beauty;

May they long in triumph reign.

* In the opera of Love in a Village.

SONG LXIII.

THE BOTTLE.

BY HUGH KELLY, ESQ.

While the bottle to humour and social delight

The smallest assistance can lend,
While it happily keeps up the laugh of the night,

Or enlivens the mind of a friend :

Oh let me enjoy it, thou bountiful Pow'r!

That my time may deliciously pass ; And should Care ever think to intrude on the hour,

Scare the haggard away with a glass.

But, instead of a rational feast of the sense,

Should Discord preside o'er the bowl, And folly, debate, or contention commence,

From too great an expansion of soul :

Should the man I esteem, or the friend of my breast,

In the ivy feel nought but the rod;
Should I make sweet religion a profligate jest,

And daringly sport with my God;

From my lips dash the poison, O merciful Pow'r !

Where the madness or blasphemy hung;
And let every word at which Virtue should lour,

Parch quick on my infamous tongrie.

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