A TRIFLING Song you shall hear;
Begun with a trifle and ended.
All trifling people, draw near;
And I shall be nobly attended!
Were it not for trifles a few,
That lately have come into play; The men would want something to do, And the women want something to say!
What makes men trifle in dressing?
Because the Ladies, they know,
Admire, by often possessing,
That eminent trifle, a Beau!
What mortal man would be able
At WHITE's half an hour to sit,
Or who could bear a tea-table;
Without talking of trifles for wit!
The Court is from trifles secure!
Gold Keys are no trifles, we see!
White Rods are no trifles, I'm sure;
Whatever their bearers may be!
But if you will go to the place
Where trifles abundantly breed,
The Levée will show you his Grace
Makes promises trifles indeed!
A coach with six footmen behind,
I count neither trifle, nor sin;
But, ye Gods! how oft do we find
A scandalous trifle within!
A flask of Champagne, people think it
A trifle, or something as bad;
But if you'll contrive how to drink it,
You'll find it no trifle, egad!
A Parson's a trifle at sea!
A Widow's a trifle in sorrow!
A Peace is a trifle to-day;
Who knows what may happen to-morrow?
A Black Coat, a trifle may cloak;
Or to hide it, the Red may endeavour! But if once the Army is broke;
We shall have more trifles than ever!
The Stage is a trifle, they say;
The reason, pray carry along!
Because, at ev'ry new Play,
The House they with trifles so throng.
But with people's malice to trifle,
And to set us all on a foot;
The Author of this is a trifle;
And his Song is a trifle to boot!
LOVE and FOLLY were at play,
Both too wanton to be wise.
They fell out; and, in the fray,
FOLLY put out CUPID's eyes.
Straight, the criminal was tried,
And this punishment assigned.
FOLLY should to Love be tied,
And condemned to lead the blind.
Then, wisely let 's venture ourselves to deceive,
Since Fate has decreed us to love and believe!
For all we can gain, by our wisdom and eyes,
Is to find ourselves cheated; and wretched, when wise!
I LOVE! but She alone shall know;
Who is herself my treasure!
Vain Lovers, when their joys they show,
Call partners to their pleasure!
Let empty Beaus the favour miss,
While they would have it known!
That Soul's too narrow for the bliss;
Who can't enjoy alone!
Then, never let my love be told
By way of modern Toasting!
The sweetest joy, like fairy gold,
Is lost by selfish boasting!
Too rich to shew what I possess,
My treasure I'll conceal!
I may my pains of Love confess;
But ne'er my joys reveal!
BENEATH a myrtle's verdant shade,
AS CLOE, half asleep, was laid,
CUPID perched lightly on her breast,
And in that heaven desired to rest:
Over her paps, his wings he spread;
Between, he found a downy bed,
And nestled in his little head.
Still lay the God. The Nymph, surprised,
Yet mistress of herself, devised
How she the Vagrant might inthrall,
And captive him who captives all!
Her bodice half way she unlaced;
About his arms she slily cast
The silken bond, and held him fast.
The God awaked; and thrice, in vain,
He strove to break the cruel chain!
And thrice, in vain, he shook his wing,
Incumbered in the silken string!
Flutt'ring, the God, and weeping, said,
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