But, Charming _Nymph_, beware, Whilst _I_ your Victim die, Some One, my Perjur’d Fair, Revenging my Despair, Will prove as false to thee; Which yet my wandring Ghost wou’d look more pale to see. For I shall break my Tomb, And nightly as I rome, Shall to my _Silvia_ come, And show the Piteous Sight; My bleeding Bosom too, Which wounds were given by you; Then vanish in the Shades of Night. SONG. _On her Loving Two Equally._ _Set by Captain_ Pack. I. How strongly does my Passion flow, Divided equally ‘twixt two? _Damon_ had ne’er subdu’d my Heart, Had not _Alexis_ took his part; Nor cou’d _Alexis_ pow’rful prove. Without my _Damons_ Aid, to gain my Love. II. When my _Alexis_ present is, Then I for _Damon_ sigh and mourn; But when _Alexis_ I do miss, _Damon_ gains nothing but my Scorn. But if it chance they both are by, For both alike I languish, sigh, and die. III. Cure then, thou mighty winged God, This restless Feaver in my Blood; One Golden-Pointed Dart take back: But which, O _Cupid_, wilt thou take? If _Damons_, all my Hopes are crost; Or that of my _Alexis_, I am lost. _The Counsel._ A Song. _Set by Captain_ Pack. I. A Pox upon this needless Scorn: _Sylvia_, for shame the Cheat give o’er: The End to which the Fair are born, Is not to keep their Charms in store: But lavishly dispose in haste Of Joys which none but Youth improve; Joys which decay when Beauty’s past; And who, when Beauty’s past, will love? II. When Age those Glories shall deface, Revenging all your cold Disdain; And _Sylvia_ shall neglected pass, By every once-admiring Swain; And we no more shall Homage pay: When you in vain too late shall burn, If Love increase, and Youth decay, Ah _Sylvia_! who will make Return? III. Then haste, my _Sylvia_, to the Grove, Where all the Sweets of _May_ conspire To teach us ev’ry Art of Love, And raise our Joys of Pleasure higher: Where while embracing we shall lie Loosly in Shades on Beds of Flow’rs, The duller World while we defie, Years will be Minutes, Ages Hours. SONG. _The Surprize._ _Set by Mr._ Farmer. I. _Phillis_, whose Heart was Unconfin’d, And free as Flow’rs on Meads and Plains, None boasted of her being Kind, ‘Mong’st all the languishing and amorous Swains. No Sighs or Tears the _Nymph_ cou’d move, To pity or return their Love. II.