I am I declare, In a weak Condition, Go call my Physician, And let him prepare Some comfort with speed, Without all delay, Assist me I pray, And hear my Complaint, A Dram of the Bottle, A Dram of the Bottle, Or else I shall faint. Should I slip my Breath, At this dreadful Season, I think it but Reason, I should lay my Death, To the daring Foes, Whose Fire and Smoak, Has certainly broke, The Heart in my Breast: Oh! bring me a Cordial, Oh! bring me a Cordial, And lay me to Rest. _A_ SONG. _Set by Captain_ PACK. [Music] Would you be a Man in Fashion? Would you lead a Life Divine? Take a little Dram of Passion, (a little dram of Passion) In a lusty Dose of Wine If the Nymph has no Compassion, Vain it is to sigh and groan: Love was but put in for Fashion, Wine will do the Work alone. _A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ THO. FARMER. [Music] Though the Pride of my Passion fair _Sylvia_ betrays, And frowns at the Love I impart; Though kindly her Eyes twist amorous Rays, To tye a more fortunate Heart: Yet her Charms are so great, I'll be bold in my Pain, His Heart is too tender, Too tender, that's struck with Disdain. Still my Heart is so just to my Passionate Eyes, It dissolves with Delight while I gaze: And he that loves on, though _Sylvia_ denies, His Love but his Duty obeys: I no more can refrain her neglects to pursue, Than the force, the force Of her Beauty can cease to subdue. _A_ SONG. [Music] When first I fair _Celinda_ knew, Her Kindness then was great: Her Eyes I cou'd with Pleasure view, And friendly Rays did meet: In all Delights we past the time, That could Diversion move; She oft would kindly hear me Rhime Upon some others Love: _She oft would kindly hear me Rhime,_ _Upon some others Love._ But ah! at last I grew too bold, Prest by my growing Flame; For when my Passion I had told, She hated ev'n my Name: Thus I that cou'd her Friendship boast, And did her Love pursue; And taught Contentment at the cost, Of Love and Friendship too. _A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FISHBURNE. [Music] Long had _Damon_ been admir'd, By the Beauties of the Plain; Ev'ry Breast warm Love inspir'd, For the proper handsome Swain: The choicest Nymph _Sicilia_ bred, Was won by his resistless Charms: Soft Looks, and Verse as smooth, had led And left the Captive in his Arms. But our _Damon's_ Soul aspires, To a Goddess of his Race; Though he sues with chaster Fires, This his Glories does deface: The fatal News no sooner blown In Whispers up the Chesnut Row; The God _Sylvanus_ with a Frown, Blasts all the Lawrels on his Brow. Swains be wise, and check desire In it's soaring, when you'll woe: _Damon_ may in Love require _Thestyles_ and _Laura_ too: When Shepherds too ambitious are, And Court _Astrea_ on a Throne; Like to the shooting of a Star, They fall, and thus their shining's gone. _A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ FISHBURN. [Music]