e a Slave of me;
You ne'er shall re-engage my Heart,
Revolted from your Tyranny:
_You ne'er shall re-engage my Heart,_
_Revolted from your Tyranny._

When first I saw those dang'rous Eyes,
They did my Liberty betray;
But when I knew your Cruelties,
I snatch'd my simple Heart away:
Now I defy your Smiles to win,
My resolute Heart, no pow'r th'ave got;
Tho' once I suck'd their Poyson in,
Your Rigour prov'd an Antidote.

_The Epilogue to the_ Island Princes, _Set by Mr._ Clark, _Sung by
Mrs._ Lindsey, _and the Boy._

[Music]

Now to you ye dry Wooers,
Old Beaus, and no doers,
So doughty, so gouty,
So useless and toothless,
Your blindless, cold kindness,
Has nothing of Man;
Still doating, or gloating,
Still stumbling, or fumbling,
Still hawking, still baulking,
You flash in the Pan:
Unfit like old Brooms,
For sweeping our Rooms,
You're sunk and you're shrunk,
Then repent and look to't;
In vain you're so upish, in vain you're so upish.
You're down ev'ry foot.

_A_ Scotch SONG, _Set by Mr._ R. BROWN.

[Music]

_Jockey_ loves his _Moggy_ dearly,
He gang'd with her to _Perth_ Fair;
There we Sung and Pip'd together,
And when done, then down I'd lay her:
I so pull'd her, and so lull'd her,
Both o'erwhelm'd with muckle Joy;
_Mog._ kiss'd _Jockey_, _Jockey_ _Moggy_,
From long Night to break of Day.

I told _Mog._ 'twas muckle pleasing,
_Moggey_ cry'd she'd do again such;
I reply'd I'd glad gang with thee,
But 'twould wast my muckle Coyn much:
She lamented, I relented,
Both wish'd Bodies might increase;
Then we'd gang next Year together,
And my Pipe shall never cease.

_A_ SONG, _in the_ Lucky Younger Brother, _or, the_ Beau Defeated;
_Set by Mr._ John Eccles, _and Sung by Mr._ BOWMAN.

[Music]

_Delia_ tir'd _Strephon_ with her Flame,
While languishing, while languishing she view'd him;
The well dress'd Youth despis'd the Dame,
But still, still; but still the old Fool pursu'd him:
Some pity on a Wretch bestow,
That lyes at your Devotion;
Perhaps near fifty Years ago,
Perhaps near fifty Years ago,
I might have lik'd the Motion.

If you, proud Youth, my Flame despise,
I'll hang me in my Garters;
Why then make hast to win the Prize,
Among loves foolish Martyrs:
Can you see _Delia_ brought so low,
And make her no Requitals?
_Delia_ may to the Devil go, _Delia_ may to the Devil,
Devil go, to the Devil, Devil, Devil, Devi