SONG.

COLIN THAT LIVES IN THE VALE.

(A favorite Vauxhall Song.)

WHERE

SUNG BY MISS BERTLES.

HERE the jeffamin fweetens the bow'r,
And cowflips adorn the gay green;

And the rofes, refresh'd by the show'r,
Contribute to brighten the scene:
In a cottage retirement there lives
Young Colin, and Phœbe the fair;
The bleffings each other receive,

In mutual enjoyment they fhare.

And the lads tell the laffes, in hopes to prevail, They're as constant as Colin that lives in the Vale.

II.

The sweets of contentment fupply

The fplendour and grandeur of pride;

No wants can the fhepherd annoy,

While bleft with his beautiful bride:

He wishes no greater delight

Than to tend on his lambkins by day, And return to his Phoebe at night,

His innocent toil to repay.

And the lads tell the laffes, in hopes to prevail,

They're as conftant as Colin that lives in the Vale.

III.

If her lover delighted appears,
The fair one partakes of his blifs;
If dejected, the fooths all his cares,
And heals ev'ry pain with a kiss..
Ye fwains who're accuftom'd to rove,
And each innocent fair one betray,
From this pair learn the true joys of love,
And his dictates with honor obey,

Your paffions, fond fhepherds, will furely prevail,
If you're conftant as Colin that lives in the Vale.

SONG.

ROSLINE

CASTLE.

WAS in that feafon of the year,

"TWAS

When all things gay and fweet appear,

That Colin with the morning ray
Arofe, and fung his rural lay:

Of Nanny's charms the fhepherd fung,-
The hills and dales with Nanny rung;
While Rofline Caftle heard the fwain,
And echo'd back the chearful ftrain.

II.

Awake, fweet mufe! the breathing spring,
With rapture warms, awake and fing;
Awake and join the vocal throng,
Who hail the morning with their fong,
To Nanny raise the chearful lay,
O bid her hafte and come away;
In fweeteft fmiles herself adorn,
And add new graces to the morn.

III.

O hark, my love! on ev'ry spray
Each feather'd warbler tunes his lay;
"Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng,
And love infpires the melting fong:
Then let my raptur'd notes arise,
For beauty darts from Nanny's eyes;
And love my rifing bofom warms,
And fills my foul with fweet alarms.

IV.

O! come, my love! thy Colin's lay
With rapture calls: O come away;

Come, while the mufe this wreathe fhall twine
Around that modeft brow of thine.

O hither hafte, and with thee bring
That beauty blooming like the spring;
Those graces that divinely fhine,

And charm this ravish'd breast of mine.

SONG.

LADY JANE GRAY's LAMENTATION.

COMPOSED BY SIGNIOR GIORDANI.

ROM thefe dread walls, this melancholy tow'r,

FROM

(Doom'd the fad victim of relentless pow'r) Where Ruin fits in gloomy pomp array'd,

And circling horrors fpread their mournful fhade, I fend the tribute of a fhort'ning life,

The last memorial of a faithful wife;

For ev'ry hope on this fide heav'n's dead,
And death's pale banner waves around my head.

It yet, perchance, may chear my lord to know,
That SUFFOLK'S DAUGHTER finks not with her woe:
Beneath its weight I feel myself refign'd,

Tho' ftrong the preffure-stronger still my mind; This duty paid to thee, each care is o'er,

1;

Nor my hard fortune fhall distress me more.

SONG.

SUNG BY MRS. CROUCH

In the Comedy of the Heiress.

FOR tenderness fashion'd, in life's early day,

A parent's foft forrow to mine led the way;
The leffon of pity was caught from her eye,
And ere I knew language, I fpoke with a figh.

II.

The nightingale plunder'd,—the mate-widow'd dove,
The warbled complaint of the suffering grove;
To youth, as it ripen'd, gave sentiment new:
The object ftill changing, the fympathy true.

III.

Soft embers of paffion yet reft in their glow;
A warmth of more pain may this breast never know!
Or if too indulgent the bleffing I claim,

Let the fpark drop from reason, that weakens the flame.

F