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I fail'd in the good fhip the Kitty
If wine and mufic have the pow'r
If all the world and love were young

Jove, when he far my Fanny's face
Jack Ratlin was the ableft feaman

Lufinghiero m' in ganafli

Loud toll'd the fern bellman of night

Let care be a stranger to each jovial foul
Let thofe who would wish to hear reafon
Like mine, to botch is each man's trade
Let ev'ry man now give his toat

Lawyers pay you with words

Muft Peace and Pleafure's melting firain

Now to pant on Thetis' breaft

Now Phebus finketh in the Weft

On the green fedgy banks

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O'er moorlands and mountains

0! Nightingale ! who on yon' blooming Spray O cruel maid! how haft thou chang'd

Once the Gods of the Greeks

One ev'ning Good Humour took Wit as his guest
Oh! men, what filly things ye are

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Old Chiron thus preach'd to his pupil Achilles

Our grotto was the freete place

0! Richard! oh! my love

Poor Orra tink of Yanko dear
Preach not to me your mufy rules
Pretty tube of mighty pow'r

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Rail no more, ye learned affes

Soft pow'r of Harmony and Song
Soft zephyr, on thy balmy wing

Stray not to thofe diftant fcenes

Says Plato, why should man be vain

Softly fweet the minutes glide

Sweet Echo! fweeteft nymph, that lives unfeen

Since all my hopes, dear maid

Soft pity never leaves the gentle breaft

Shall not my foul to vengance now be mov'd?

See the course throng'd with gazers
Spirits of diftrefs

Silence! take notice, you are my fon

Sweet is the breath of morn

Sweet Poll of Plymouth was my dear

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The rofe had been wak'd, just wash'd in a flow'r 'Twas near a thicket's calm retreat

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The fun fets in night and the stars foun the day
The traveller benighted

Tho' grandeur reigns with fplendid pow'r

To him who in an hour must die

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The world, my dear Mira, is full of deceit

'Twas in that feafon of the

year

Thou haft play'd a falfe, a faithless part
The moon had climb'd the highest bill

Thus let me hold thee to my heart

Thou canst not bouft of fortune's fore

Tell me, my lute, can thy fond frain

The meadows look charming, the birds faveetly fing

The pride of ev'ry grove I chofe

The wealthy fool with gold in fore

The landlord he looks very big

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To Anacreon in heav'n, where he fat in full glee
The wanton God who pierces hearts

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To this happy meeting long life and profperity

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Tho' the fate of battle on to-morrow wait

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The watry God, great Neptune, lay

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The foes of Old England, (France, Holland, and Spain) 118

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Whence rifes this perfume that fills all the air

Who to my wounds a balm advifes

When Werter fair Charlotte beheld

When firft the fatal news arriv'd

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When Yanko dear fight far away
When erft the Graces fprung from heav'n

Would ye tafte the noontide air

Where the jefamin fweetens the bow'r

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What different tracks do mortals take

When bidden to the wake or fair

When first my dear laddie gade to the

green bill

With my friend and my glass let my time pass away

Whilft fome in epic ftrains delight

When Orpheus went down to the regions below
When Orpheus, c. (the companion)

When Harold was invaded

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With a chearful old friend

When the chill Sirocco blows

When Jove was refolo'd to create the round earth

When I drain the rofy bowl

When freedom was banish'd from Greece and from Rome

When Britain firft, at heav'n's command

What Cato advifes moft certainly wife is

Whene'er I am mending a foe

When in order drawn up, and adorn'd in bis beft
When I've been working in my shop

When the ferjeant, encourag'd by wine

What argufies pride and ambition

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When Aurora is up, the fweet Goddess of day
When Phabus the tops of the bills does adorn
When Bibo thought fit

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What man in his wits had not rather be poor
When it is night, and the mid-watch is come

Te pow'rs who taught my artless fighs
Te pow'rs who make virtue your care
'Young Saundy was prefs'd from his Alice's fide
You know that our ancient philofophers hold

Ye jobbers, underwriters;-ye tribe of pen and ink
Ye facred priests, whofe hands were never ftain'd

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III

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Written for Mrs. CROUCH, to fing at the Theatre-Royal, York.

BY A GENTLEMAN OF THAT CITY.

FT pow'r of Harmony and Song,

SOFT

Whofe liquid notes can foften grief;
Who fooths the dire oppreffor's wrong,
And to the wretched brings relief;
Whofe heart-exhilarating lays

Can drive away corroding care,
And mirth to joy and rapture raise;
Propitious hear thy Votrefs' pray'r.

II.

Be mine Euterpe's dulcet ftrain,
To calm the bofom of Diftress;
To ease the mourner's mental pain,
And Mis'ry footh, her pangs fupprefs;
To banish bold, intrufive Care,

And fill each present heart with joy;
Then fhall I rapt'rous transport share
While bufied in the fweet employ.

A

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