D

IALOGUE

D E

L'AMOUR E T DU POETE.

LE P.

A

MOUR, je ne veux plus aimer;
J'abjure à jamais ton empire:
Mon Cœur, laffé de fon Martire,
A réfolu de fe calmer.

L'AM. Contre moi, qui peut t'animer ?
Iris, dans fes bras te rapelle.

LE P. Non, Iris eft une infidelle;
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

L'AM. Pour foi, j'ai pris foin d'enflamer
Le cœur d'une beauté nouvelle;

Daphné. Le P. Non, Daphné n'est que belle;
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

L'AM. D'un foupir, tu peux defarmer
Dircé, jufqu'ici fi fauvauge.

LE P. Elle n'eft plus dans le bel age;
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

L'AM.

DIALOGUE

FROM THE

FRENCH OF MONSIEUR DE LA MOTTE.

POET. NO, Love I ne'er will love again;

Thy Tyrant Empire I abjure ;

My weary heart refolves to cure

Its wounds, and eafe the raging pain.

LOVE. Fool? canft thou fly my happy reign?
Iris recalls thee to her arms.

POET. She's falfe-I hate her perjur'd charms;
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.

LOVE. But know for thee I've toil'd to gain
Daphné, the bright, the reigning toast.
POET. Daphné but common eyes can boast;
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.

LOVE. She who before fcorn'd every fwain,
Dircé, fhall for one figh be thine.
POET. Age makes her rays too faintly fine;
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.

L'AM. Mais fi je t'aidois à charmer
La jeune, la brilliante Flore.
Tu rougis-vas-tu dire encore,
Amour, Je ne veux plus aimer?

Le P. Non, Dieu charmant, daigne former
Pour nous une chaîne eternelle;

Mais pour tout ce qui n'eft point elle,
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

LOVE. But should I give thee charms t’obtain
Flora, the young, the bright, the gay!
I' fee thee blufh-now, rebel, fay,
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.

POET. No, charming God, prepare a chain
Eternal for that fair and ine!

Yet ftill know every fair but she,
I've vow'd I ne'er will love again.

VENUS AND

ADONIS,

B

A

CANTA TA.

SET BY M R. HANDE L.

RECITATIVE.

EHOLD where weeping Venus ftands !
What more than mortal grief can move
The bright, th' immortal Queen of Love?
She beats her breaft, fhe wrings her hands;
And hark, the mourns, but mourns in vain,
Her beauteous, lov'd Adonis, flain.
The hills and woods her lofs deplore;
The Naiads hear, and flock around;

And Echo fighs, with mimick found,
Adonis is no more!

Again the goddess raves, and tears her hair;
Then vents her grief, her love, and her despair.

AIR.

Dear Adonis, beauty's treasure,

Now my forrow, once my pleafure;

O return to Venus' arms!

Venus never will forfake thee;
Let the voice of Love o'ertake thee,
And revive thy drooping charms.

RE