ing_ SONG. _The Words by Sir_ CHARLES SYDNEY.

[Music]

Hears not my _Phillis_ how the Birds,
Their feather'd Mates salute:
They tell their Passion in their Words,
Must I alone, must I alone be mute:
Phillis _without a frown or smile,_
_Sat & knotted, & knotted, & knotted, and knotted all the while._

The God of Love in thy bright Eyes,
Does like a Tyrant Reign;
But in thy Heart a Child he lies,
Without a Dart or Flame.
_Phillis_, &c.

So many Months in silence past,
And yet in raging Love;
Might well deserve one word at last,
My Passion should approve.
_Phillis_, &c.

Must then your faithful Swain expire,
And not one look obtain;
Which to sooth his fond desire,
Might pleasingly explain.
_Phillis_, &c.

_The_ FRENCH KING _in a foaming Passion for the loss of his Potent
Army in the_ NETHERLANDS, _which were Routed by his Grace the Duke of_
MARLBOROUGH.

[Music]

Old _Lewis le Grand_,
He raves like a Fury,
And calls for _Mercury_;
Quoth he, if I can,
I'll finish my Days;
For why should I live?
Since the Fates will not give
One affable smile:
Great _Marlborough_ Conquers,
Great _Marlborough_ Conquers,
I'm ruin'd the while.

The Flower of _France_,
And Troops of my Palace
Which march'd from _Versales_
Who vow'd to Advance,
With Conquering Sword,
Are cut, hack'd and hew'd,
I well may conclude,
They're most of them Slain:
Oh! what will become of,
Oh! what will become of,
My Grand-Son in _Spain_.

My fortify'd Throne,
Propt up by Oppression,
Must yield at Discretion,
For needs must I own,
My Glory decays:
Bold _Marlborough_ comes
With ratling Drums,
And thundering Shot,
He drives all before him,
He drives all before him,
Oh! Where am I got?

He pushes for Crowns,
And slays my Commanders,
And Forces in _Flanders_;
Great Capital Towns,
For _CHARLES_ has declar'd:
These things like a Dart,
Has pierced my Heart,
And threatens my Death;
Here do I lye sighing,
Here do I lye sighing,
And Panting for Breath.

This passionate Grief,
Draws on my Diseases,
Which fatally ceases
My Spirits in chief,
A fit of the Gout,
The Gravel and Stone,
I have 'tis well known,
At this horrid News,
Of _Marlborough's_ Triumph,
Of _Marlborough's_ Triumph,
All Battles I lose.

Wherever he comes,
He is bold and Victorious,
Successful and glorious,
My two Royal Thumbs
With anguish I bite:
To hear his Success;
Yet ne