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If all the fates combine,
each other, and embrace.
Shall I marry the man I love?
And shall I conclude my pains ?
Body join'd to body, and heart join'd to heart,
CHORUS OF BOTH.
[They run out together hand in hand.
SONGS IN THE INDIAN EMPEROR.
Au fading joy; how quickly art thou past !
Yet we thy ruin haste.
We seek out new :
In their sweet notes, their happiness.
But on their mother Nature lay their care:
Such troubles choose to know,
To gentle slumbers call.
I LOOK'D and saw within the book of fate,
When many days did lour,
When lo! one happy hour Leap'd up, and smild to save the sinking state; A day shall come when in thy power
Thy cruel foes shall be ;
Then shall thy land be free:
shall reign; But take, O take that opportunity, Which, once refus'd, will never come again.
SONG IN THE MAIDEN QUEEN.
I FEED a flame within, which so torments me,
Yet he for whom I grieve shall never know it; 5 My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it. Not a sigh, nor
tear, my pain discloses, But they fall silently, like dew on roses.
Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel,
On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me;
SONGS IN THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA.
WHEREVER I and whatever I do,
I mean not to Phyllis to go,
Than, Phyllis too fair and unkind !
When Phyllis I see, my heart bounds in my breast,
And the love I would stifle is shown; But asleep, or awake, I am never at rest,
When from my eyes Phyllis is gone. Sometimes a sad dream does delude
sad mind; But, alas ! when I wake, and no Phyllis I find,
How I sigh to myself all alone!
Should a king be my rival in her I adore,
He should offer his treasure in vain :
And give me my Phyllis again !
And envy no monarch his reign.
Alas ! I discover too much of my love,
And she too well knows her own power!
She makes me each day a new martyrdom prove,
And makes me grow jealous each hour: But let her each minute torment my poor mind, I had rather love Phyllis, both false and unkind,
Than ever be freed from her power.
HE. How unhappy a lover am I,
While I sigh for my Phyllis in vain;
Who is happy, while I am in pain! 6
ShE. Since her honour allows no relief,
But to pity the pains which you bear, 'Tis the best of
your fate, In a hopeless estate,
To give o'er, and betimes to despair.
HE. I have tried the false med'cine in vain ;
For I wish what I hope not to win:
But it burns and consumes me within.
SHE. Yet, at least, 'tis a pleasure to know
That you are not unhappy alone:
And counts all your sufferings her own.