ay,
Will make Loyal Subjects forget to Obey.

_The_ SHEPHERD'S _Complaint. Set by Mr._ Williams.

[Music]

What, Love a crime, Inhumane Fair?
Repeal that rash Decree,
As well may pious Anthems bear;
The Name of Blasphemy:
'Tis Bleeding Hearts and Weeping Eyes,
Uphold your Sexes Pride;
Nor could you longer Tyrannize,
My Fetters laid aside.

Then from your haughty Vision wake,
And listen to my Moan;
Tho' you refuse me for my sake,
Yet pity for your own;
For know proud Shepherdess you owe,
The Victim you despise,
More to the strictness of my Vow,
Than glories of your Eyes.

_A_ SONG _in the_ OPERA _call'd_ The Fairy Queen. _Sung by Mrs._
BUTLER. _Set by Mr._ H. Purcell.

[Music]

When I have often heard young Maids complaining,
That when Men promise most they most deceive;
Then I thought none of them worthy my gaining.
And what they swore I would never believe:
But when so humbly one made his Addresses,
With Looks so soft, and with Language so kind,
I thought it a Sin to refuse his Caresses,
Nature o'ercame, and I soon chang'd my Mind.

Should he employ all his Arts in deceiving,
Stretch his Invention, and quite crack his Brain,
I find such Charms, such true Joys in believing,
I'll have the pleasure, let him have the pain:
If he proves perjur'd, I shall not be cheated,
He may deceive himself, but never me;
'Tis what I look for, and shan't be defeated,
For I'm as false, and inconstant as he.

_A_ SONG. _The Words and Tune by Mr._ Edward Keen. _Sung by Mrs._
Willis, _in the Play call'd_ The Heiress: _Or_, The Salamanca Doctor.

[Music]

_CAELIA'S_ bright Beauty all others transcend,
Like Lovers Sprightly Goddess she's flippant and gay;
Her rival Admirers in crouds do attend,
To her their devoirs and Addresses to pay:
Pert gaudy Coxcombs the Fair one adore,
Grave Dons of the Law and quere Prigs of the Gown;
Close Misers who brood o'er their Treasure in store,
And Heroes for plundring of modern renown,
But Men of plunder can ne'er get her under,
And Misers all Women despise,
She baulks the pert Fops in the midst of their hopes,
And laughs at the Grave and Precise.

Next she's caress'd by a musical crew,
Shrill Singing and Fidling, Beaus warbles o'th' Flute,
And Poets whom Poverty still will pursue,
That's a just cause for rejec