Now they charge on amain, Now they rally again: The gods from above the mad labour behold, The fainting Saxons quit their ground, To the plunder we run: We return to our lasses like fortunate traders, 15 Triumphant with spoils of the vanquish'd invaders. II. MAN SINGS. OH sight, the mother of desires, To see the rosy morning gild The mountain-tops, and paint the field! She makes the summer's day more bright; CHORUS. When fair Clarinda comes in sight, &c. WOMAN SINGS. 'Tis sweet the blushing morn to view; And plains adorn'd with pearly dew: 10 But such cheap delights to see, Give each creature; They have eyes, as well as we; To see, to see, That only she, That only she we love! CHORUS. This is the joy, all joys above, &c. 15 20 III. Two daughters of this aged stream are we; Come naked in, for we are so : What danger from a naked foe? Come bathe with us, come bathe, and share What pleasures in the floods appear; We'll beat the waters till they bound, And circle round, around, around, And circle round, around. 10 IV. YE blustering brethren of the skies, Whose breath has ruffled all the watery plain, Retire, and let Britannia rise, In triumph o'er the main. Serene and calm, and void of fear, 5 10 To hollow rocks, your stormy seat; V. FOR folded flocks on fruitful plains, Fair Britain all the world outvies; Where pleasure mix'd with profit lies. Though Jason's fleece was fam'd of old, No mines can more of wealth supply; And takes for kings the Tyrian dye. VI. FAIREST isle, all isles excelling, Seat of pleasures and of loves; 5 10 Venus here will choose her dwelling, Cupid from his favourite nation Gentle murmurs, sweet complaining, Shall be all the pains you prove. Every swain shall pay his duty, Grateful every nymph shall prove; And as these excel in beauty, Those shall be renown'd for love. SONG OF JEALOUSY, IN LOVE TRIUMPHANT. WHAT state of life can be so blest As love, that warms a lover's breast? 'Tis all from thee, O Jealousy! 5 'Tis all from thee, O Jealousy! Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, All other ills, though sharp they prove, Sweet hope relieves the lover's pain. From Jealousy: O Jealousy! Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, False in thy glass all objects are, O Jealousy! Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, |