JUP. Shall then the fon of Saturn be undone,
Like Saturn, by an impious fon!
Juftly th' impartial fates confpire,
Dooming that fon to be the fire
Of fuch another fon.

Confcious of ills that I have done,

My fears to prudence shall advise,

And guilt, that made me great, fhall make me wife.
The fatal bleffing I refign;

Peleus, take the maid divine :

Jove confenting, she is thine;
The fatal bleffing I refign.

[Giving her to Peleus.

PEL. Heaven had been loft, had I been Jove; There is no heaven like mutual love.

JUP. to PROM. And thou, the stars interpreter,

'Tis juft I fet thee free,

Who giv'st me liberty ;

Arife, and be thyself a star.
'Tis juft I fet thee free,

Who giv'ft me liberty.

[The Vulture drops dead at the feet of Prometheus, his chains fall off, and he is borne up to heaven with Jupiter, to e loud flourish of all the mufic.]

PEL. Fly, fly to my arms, to my arms,

Goddefs of immortal charms!

To my arms, to my arms, fly, fly,

Goddefs of tranfporting joy!

But to gaze

On thy face,

Thy gentle hand thus preffing,
Is heavenly, heavenly blessing.
O my foul!

Whither, whither art thou flying?
Loft in fweet tumultuous dying,
Whither, whither art thou flying,
O my foul!

THET. You tremble, Peleus---So do I
Ah stay, and we'll together die.

Immortal, and of race divine,

My foul fhall take her flight with thine :
Life diffolving in delight,

Heaving breasts, and fwimming fight,
Faultering fpeech, and gasping breath,
Symptoms of delicious death,
Life diffolving in delight,

My foul is ready for the flight.
O my foul!

Whither, whither art thou flying?
Loft in fweet tumultuous dying,
Whither, whither art thou flying,
O my foul!

PEL. and THET.

repeat together.

O my foul, &c,

CHORUS of all the Inftruments and Voices. Singing and Dancing.

When the ftorm is blown over,

Ilow bleft is the fwain,

Who begins to difcover
An end of his pain.

t

When the ftorm, &c.

Written under Mrs. HARE's Name upon a Drinking Glass.

HE gods of wine, and wit, and love, prepare

With chearful bowls to celebrate the fair;

Love is enjoin'd to name his favourite toast,
And Hare's the goddess that delights him most ;
Phoebus approves, and bids the trumpets found,
And Bacchus, in a bumper, fends it round.

Written under the Dutchefs of BOLTON's Name upon a Drinking-Glafs.

LOVE's keceneft darts are charming Bolton's care,

Which the bright goddefs poifons with despair;

The God of Wine the dire effect forefees,

And fends the juice that gives the lover ease.

A LATIN

ALATIN INSCRIPTION on a MEDAL for

LEWIS XIV.

Roximus & fimilis regnas Ludovice tonanti,

PRO

Vim fummam, fumma cum pietate geris:
Magnus & expanfis alis, fed maximus armis,
Protegis hinc Anglos, Teutones inde feris.
Quin cocant toto Titania foedera Rheno,
Illa aquilam tantum, Gallia fulmen habet.

ENGLISHED, and applied to the QUEEN.

NEXT to the Thunderer let ANNA stand,

In piety fupreme, as in command,

Fam'd for victorious arms and generous aid,
Young Auftria's refuge, and fierce Bourbon's dread:
Titanian leagues in vain fhall brave the Rhine,
When to the Eagle YOU the Thunder join.

A

MORNING

HY MN.

To Her Grace the Dutchefs of HAMILTON.

AWAKE, bright Hamilton, arife,

Goddess of Love, and of the Day,

Awake, difclofe thy charming eyes,
And how the fun a brighter ray:

Phoebus in vain calls forth the blushing morn,

He but creates the day, which you adorn.

The lark, that wont with warbling throat
Early to falute the fkies,

Or fleeps, or elfe fufpends his note,
Difclaiming day till you arife.
Goddess awake, thy beams display,
Reftore the universe to light;

When Hamilton appears, then dawns the day,
And when the disappears, begins the night.

Lovers, who watchful vigils keep,
For lovers ne
never never fleep!

Wait for the rifing of the fair,

To offer fongs and hymns of prayer,
Like Perfians to the fun :

Even life and death and fate are there,
For in the rolls of ancient deftiny

Long fince 'twas noted down,
The dying fhall revive, the living dic,
But as you fmile or frown.

Awake, bright Hamilton, arife,
Goddess of Love, and of the day,
Awake, difclofe thy charming eyes,

And fhew the fun a brighter ray :
Phoebus in vain calls forth the blushing morn,
He but creates the day, which
you adorn.

ΑΝ