as should overthwart him,
He would swim to the Shore:
Should his Love become a Swallow,
Thro' the Air to stray;
Love would lend Wings to follow,
And would find out the way.

There is no striving,
To cross his intent:
There is no contriving,
His Plots to prevent:
But if once the Message greet him,
That his true Love doth stay;
If Death should come and meet him,
Love will find out the way.

_A_ SONG, _in the Play call'd the Tragedy of_ CLEOMENES _the Spartan
Heroe: Sung by Mrs._ BUTLER, _Set by Mr._ H. PURCELL.

[Music]

No, no, poor suffering Heart, no change endeavour;
Chuse to sustain the smart rather than leave her:
My ravish'd Eyes behold such Charms about her,
I can Dye with her, but not live without her,
One tender Sigh of her to see me Languish:
Will more than pay the price of my past Anguish,
Beware, oh cruel Fair how you smile on me,
'Twas a kind look of yours that has undone me.

Love has in store for me one happy Minute,
And she will end my Pain who did begin it;
Then no Day void of Bliss and Pleasures leaving,
Ages shall slide away without perceiving:
_Cupid_ shall guard the Door, the more to please us,
And keep out Time and Death when they would seaze us;
Time and Death shall depart, and say in flying;
Love has found out a way to Live by Dying.

_The Jolly Trades-men._

[Music]

Sometimes I am a Tapster new,
And skilful in my Trade Sir,
I fill my Pots most duly,
Without deceit or froth Sir:
A Spicket of two Handfuls long,
I use to Occupy Sir:
And when I set a Butt abroach,
Then shall no Beer run by Sir.

Sometimes I am a Butcher,
And then I feel fat Ware Sir;
And if the Flank be fleshed well,
I take no farther care Sir:
But in I thrust my Slaughtering-Knife,
Up to the Haft with speed Sir;
For all that ever I can do,
I cannot make it bleed Sir.

Sometimes I am a Baker,
And Bake both white and brown Sir;
I have as fine a Wrigling-Pole,
As any is in all this Town Sir:
But if my Oven be over-hot,
I dare not thrust in it Sir;
For burning of my Wrigling-Pole,
My Skill's not worth a Pin Sir.

Sometimes I am a Glover,
And can do passing well Sir;
In dressing of a Doe-skin,
I know I do excel Sir:
But if by chance a Flaw I find,
In dressing of the Leather;
I straightway whip my Needle out,
And I tack 'em close together.

Some