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Show i \i6 <p 0 E M S. Q I SONG. T o the Tune of Somm.es nous pas trop heureux. fta* n ;3 I. H O w prodigious is m y fate, Since I can't determine dearly, Whether you'll do more feverely Giving m e your love or hate! For if you with kindnefs blefs me, Since from you I foon muft part j Fortune will fo difpoSffefs me, That your Love will break m y heart.. i\ : ''$i » * But fince Death, all forrow cures, flight I chufe; m y way of dying, I could wifh the arrow flying From Fortunes Quiver, not from yours. For in the fad unufual, ftory H o w m y wretched heart wds torn, It will more concern your glory, I by abfence fell than fcorii- / A Dialogue betwixt Lucafia and Rofania, Imitating that of Gentle Therfis. .m* E^s. Y Lucafia, leave the Mountain tops, ^_ w ^ And like a nearer air. Luc. Howlhalllthen forfake m y Lovely Flocks Bequeathed to m y care ? Res. Shepherdeft, thy Flocks will not be lefs, Although thou fhould'ft come hither. Luc. T 0 EMS. 127 Luc. But I fear, the World will be fevere, Should I leave them to go thither. Ros. O ! m y friend, if you on that depend, You 11 never know content. Luc. Rather I near thee would live and dye Would Fortune but confent. Ros. But did you ask leave to love m e too, That others fhould deprive m e ? Luc. Not all Mankind, <a ftratagem can find Which from that heart fhould drive me. Ros. Better 't had been, I thee had never feen, Than that content to lofe. Luc Such are thy Charms, I'd dwell within thine arms Could I m y ftation chufe. Ros. W h e n Life is done, the W o r l d to us is gone, And all our cares do end. Luc. N a y I k n o w there's nothing fweet below tlnlefs it be a Friend. Ros Then whilft w e live, this Joy let's take and give, Since death us foon will fever. Luc. But I truft, when crumbled into duft, W e fhall meet and love for ever. • • - Song to the Tune of Adieu Phillis. T i s true our Life is but a long difeafe Made up of real pain and feeming eafe. You Stars, w h o thefe entangled frotunes give, O tell m e w hy It is fo hard to dye, Yet fuch a task to Live fc If wi th fome pleafure w e our griefs betray, it cofts us dearer than it can repay. or Time or Fortune all things fo devours; Our i opes are croft, O r cue the object loft, Ere w e can call it ours. 1 - 1 *. An |