spires with _Sylvia_ to oppress,
The Heart he should relieve.

The God that should reward my Pain,
Makes _Sylvia_ more my Foe:
As She encreases in Disdain,
He makes my Passion grow:
And must I, must I still admire,
Those Eyes that cause my Grief?
'Tis just, since I my self conspire
Against my own Relief.

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ ROBERT KING.

All own the Young _Sylvia_ is fatally Fair;
All own the Young _Sylvia_ is pretty;
Confess her good Nature, and easie soft Air,
Nay more, that's She's wanton and witty.
Yet all the keen Arrows at _Damon_ still cast,
Cou'd never, cou'd never, his quiet destroy,
'Till the cunning _Coquett_, shot me flying at last;
_By a Jene say, Jene say, quoy_,
_By a Jene say, Jene say, quoy._

So tho' the young _Sylvia_ were not very Fair,
Tho' she were but indifferently pretty;
Much wanting _Aurelia's_, or _Caelia's_ soft Air,
But not the dull sence of the City:
Yet still the dear Creature wou'd please without doubt,
And give me abundance of Joy;
Since all that is missing is plainly made out,
_By a Jene say, Jene say quoy._

_A_ SONG, _Set by Mr._ FRANK.

[Music]

A Swain in despair,
Cryed Women ne'er trust,
Alass they are all
Unkind or unjust.
A Nymph who was by,
Soon thus did reply;
The Men we all find
More false and unkind.

Except me he cryed,
And me She replyed,
Then try me said he,
I dare not said she:
The Swain did pursue,
Each alter'd their Mind:
She vow'd He was true,
He swore She was kind.

_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ AKEROYDE.

[Music]

Wo'as me poor Lass! what mun I do?
Gin I did my bonny _Sawney_ slight,
He now gangs a blither Lass to woo,
And I alene poor Lass ligs ev'ry Night.
Curse on Fickleness and Pride,
By which we silly Women are undone:
What my _Sawney_ begg'd and I deny'd
Alass! I long to grant, but now he's gone.

When he was kind I made a Strife,
Yet I then deny'd with mickle Woe;
For he su'd as gin, he begg'd for Life,
And almost dy'd poor Lad! when I said no:
Well I keen'd, he woo'd to wed,
Yet fear'd to own, I lov'd the canny Loon;
Ah would he have stay'd he might have sped,
Waa's me! why would my _Sawney_ gang so soon.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

Richest Gift of lavish Nature,
Matchless darling of my Heart;
Ah!