THE KING OF FRANCE's BREAKING THE PEACE OF RESWICK.
Spartan youths! what fafcinating charms
Have froze your blood? why ruft your idle
When with awaken'd courage will you go,
And minds refolvid, to meet the threatening foe?
What! fhall our vile lethargic floth betray
To greedy neighbours an unguarded prey?
Or can you fee their armies rufh from far,
And fit fecure amidst the rage of war?
Ye gods! how great, how glorious, 'tis to fee
The warrior-hero fight for liberty,
For his dear children, for his tender wife,
For all the valued joys, and foft fupports of life?
Then let him draw his fword, and take the field,
And fortify his breaft behind the spacious shield.
Nor fear to die; in vain you fhun your fate,
Nor can you shorten, nor prolong its date;
For life's a measur'd race, and he that flies
From darts and fighting foes, at home inglorious dies
No grieving crowds his obfequies attend;
But all applaud and weep the foldier's end,
Who, defperately brave, in fight fuftains
Inflicted wounds, and honourable stains,
And falls a facrifice to glory's charms :
But if a just fuccefs fhall crown his arms,
For his return the rescued people wait,
To fee the guardian genius of the state;
With rapture viewing his majestic face,
His dauntless mien, and every martial grace,
They'll bless the toils he for their safety bore,
Admire him living, and when dead adore.
UNDER THE PRINT OF TOM BRITTON,
THE MUSICAL SMALL-COAL MAN.
HOUGH mean thy rank, yet in thy humble cell
Did gentle peace and arts unpurchas'd dwell.
Well pleas'd Apollo thither led his train,
And Mufic warbled in her fweetest strain !
Cyllenius fo, as fables tell, and Jove,
Came willing guests to poor Philemon's grove.
Let useless Pomp behold, and blush to find
So low a ftation, fuch a liberal mind.
IN young Aftrea's fparkling eye,
Refiftlefs Love has fix'd his throne;
A thousand lovers bleeding lie
For her, with wounds they fear to own.
While the coy beauty fpeeds her flight
To distant groves from whence the came;
So lightning vanishes from fight,
But leaves the forest in a flame !
A CANTA TA.
SET BY MR. D. PURCELL.
Love, I defy thee !
Venus, I fly thee!
I'm of chafte Diana's train.
RECITATIVE.
Bright Venus and her fon ftood by,
And heard a proud difdainful fair
Thus boaft her wretched liberty;
They scorn'd she should the raptures share,
Which their happier captives know,
Nor would Cupid draw his bow
To wound the nymph, but laugh'd out this reply.
Proud and foolish! hear your fate!
Waste your youth, and figh too late
For joys which now you fay you hate.
When your decaying eyes
Can dart their fires no more,
The wrinkles of threefcore
Shall make you vainly wife.
Proud and foolish! hear your fate!
Waste your youth, and figh too late
For joys which now you say you hate.
O N G.
WOULD you gain the tender creature,
Softly gently-kindly-treat her
Suffering is the lover's part
Beauty by constraint poffeffing,
You enjoy but half the bleffing,
Lifelefs charms without the heart.
RECITATIVE.
ON filver Tyber's vocal fhore,
The fam'd Scarlati ftrook his lyre,
And ftrove, with charms unknown before,
The springs of tuneful found t' explore,
Beyond what art alone could e'er infpire ;
When fee-the fweet effay to hear,
Venus with her fon drew near,
And, pleas'd to ask the master's aid,
The mother goddess smiling said.
Harmonious fon of Phoebus, fee!
'Tis Love, 'tis little Love I bring.
The Queen of Beauty fues to thee,
To teach her wanton boy to fing.
RECITATIVE.
The pleas'd musician heard with joy,
And, proud to teach th' immortal boy,
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