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'If I would not give up the three Graces;
I wish I were hanged like a dog!
And at Court, all the Drawing Room faces;
For a glance of my sweet MOLLY MOG!

'Those faces want nature and spirit,
And seem as cut out of a log!
JUNO'S, VENUS', and PALLAS' merit
Unite in my sweet MOLLY MOG!

'Those who toast all the Family Royal
In bumpers of HOGAN and NOG,
Have hearts not more true, or more loyal,
Than mine to my sweet MOLLY MOG.

'Were VIRGIL alive, with his PHILLIS,
And writing another Eclogue,

Both his PHILLIS and fair AMARYLLIS
He'd give up for sweet MOLLY MOG!

'When she smiles on each guest, like her liquor, Then jealousy sets me agog!

To be sure, she 's a bit for the Vicar;

And so I shall lose MOLLY MOG!'

SONGS FROM THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.

YOUTH 's the season made for joys!

Love is then our duty!
She alone who that employs,
Well deserves her beauty!
Let's be gay,

While we may!

Beauty's a flower, despised in decay! CHORUS. Youth's the season made for joys! &c.

Let us drink and sport to-day!

Ours is not to-morrow!

Love, with Youth, flies swift away!
Age is nought but sorrow!

Dance and sing!

Time 's on the wing!

Life never knows the return of Spring! CHORUS. Let us drink and sport to-day! &c.

MACHEATH'S SONG.

How happy could I be with either,
Were t' other dear Charmer away!
But while you thus tease me together;
To neither a word will I say!

But tol de rol, tol de rol, &c.

POLLY'S SONG.

CEASE your funning!
Force, or cunning,
Never shall my heart trepan!
All these sallies

Are but malice,

To seduce my constant man!
'Tis most certain,

By their flirting,

Women oft have envy shown;
Pleased to ruin

Others' wooing;

Never happy in their own!

LOCKIT'S SONG.

WHEN you censure the Age, Be cautious and sage; Lest the Courtiers offended should be! If you mention Vice, or Bribe,

'Tis so pat to all the tribe,

Each cries, 'That was levelled at me!'

COLIN AND LUCY.

OF Leinster, famed for Maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the Grace;
Nor e'er did Liffey's limpid stream
Reflect a fairer face,

Till luckless love and pining care
Impaired her rosy hue,

Her dainty lip, her damask cheek,
And eyes of glossy blue.

Ah! have you seen a lily pale,
When beating rains descend?
So drooped this slow-consuming Maid,
Her life now near its end.

By Lucy warned; of flattering Swains
Take heed, ye easy Fair!

Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye flatt'ring Swains, beware!

Three times, all in the dead of night, A bell was heard to ring;

And at her window, shrieking thrice, The raven flapped his wing.

Full well the love-lorn Maiden knew
The solemn boding sound;

And thus, in dying words, bespoke
The virgins weeping round.

'I hear a voice, you cannot hear,
That cries, I must not stay!
I see a hand, you cannot see,
That beckons me away!

Of a false Swain, and broken heart,
In early youth I die!

Am I to blame, because the Bride
Is thrice as rich as I?

'Ah! COLIN! Give not her thy vows!
Vows due to me alone!

Nor thou, rash Girl! return his kiss;
Nor think him all thy own!
To-morrow in the Church to wed,

Impatient both prepare!

But know, false Man! and know, fond Maid! Poor Lucy will be there!

'Then bear my corse, ye comrades dear! This Bridegroom blithe to meet:

He in his wedding trim so gay;

I in my winding sheet!'

She spoke. She died. Her corse was borne The Bridegroom blithe to meet:

He in his wedding trim so gay;

She in her winding sheet,

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