But prying Friends o'er-heard my Vow, And murmur'd in my Ear; _Damon_ hath neither Flocks nor Plough, Girl what thou dost beware: They us'd so long their cursed Art, And damn'd deluding sham; That I agreed with them to part, Nor offer'd up my Lamb. _Cupid_ ask'd for his Offering, 'Cause I refus'd to pay; He took my _Damon_ on his Wing, And carry'd him quite away: Pitch'd him before _Olinda's_ Charms, Those Wonders of the Plain; Commanding her into her Arms, To take the dearest Swain. The envy'd Nymph, soon, soon obey'd, And bore away the Prize; 'Tis well she did, for had she stay'd, I'd snatch'd him from her Eyes: My Lamb was with gay Garlands dress'd, The Pile prepar'd to burn; Hoping that if the God appeas'd, My _Damon_ might return. But oh! in vain he's gone, he's gone, _Phillis_ he can't be thine; I by Obedience am undone, Was ever Fate like mine: _Olinda_ do, try all thy Charms, Yet I will have a part; For whilst you have him in your Arms, I'll have him in my Heart. _The Apparition to the Jilted Lover. Set by Mr._ WROTH. [Music] Think wretched Mortal, think no more, How to prolong thy Breath: For thee there are no Joys in store, But in a welcome Death: Then seek to lay thee under Ground, The Grave cures all Despair; And healeth every bitter Wound, Giv'n by th' ungrateful Fair. How cou'dst thou Faith in Woman think, Women are _Syrens_ all; And when Men in Loves Ocean sink, Take Pride to see 'em fall: Women were never real yet, But always truth despise: Constant to nothing but Deceit, False Oaths and flattering Lies. Ah! _Coridon_ bid Life adieu, The Gods will thee prefer; Their Gates are open'd wide for you, But bolted against her: Do thou be true, you vow'd to Love, _Phillis_ or Death you'll have; Now since the Nymph doth perjured prove, Be just unto the Grave. _A_ SONG. [Music] Heaven first created Woman to be Kind, Both to be belov'd, and for to Love; If you contradict what Heav'n has design'd, You'll be contemn'd by all the Pow'rs above: Then no more dispute me, for I am rashly bent, To subject your Beauty To kind Nature's Duty, Let me than salute you by Consent. Arguments and fair Intreats did I use, But with her Consent could not prevail; She the Blessing modestly would still refuse, Seeming for to slight my amorous Tale: Sometimes she would cry Sir, prithee Dear be good, Oh Sir, pray Sir, why Sir? Pray now, nay now, fye Sir, I would sooner die Sir, than be rude. I began to treat her then another way, Modestly I melted with a Kiss; She then blushing look'd like the rising Day, Fitting for me to attempt the Bliss: I gave her a fall Sir, she began to tear, Crying she would call Sir, As loud as she could baul Sir, But is prov'd as false, Sir, as she's Fair. RALPH'S _going to the Wars._ [Music]