That little Patch upon your Face Wou'd seem a Foil on one less Fair, Wou'd seem a Foil, wou'd seem a Foil, Wou'd seem a Foil on one less Fair: On you it hides a charming Grace, And you in Pity, you in Pity, You in Pity plac'd it there; On you it hides a Charming Grace, And you in Pity, you in Pity, In Pity plac'd it there. _And you in Pity, Pity,_ _And you in Pity plac'd it there._ _A_ SONG. _Set and Sung by Mr._ LEVERIDGE _at the_ THEATER. [Music] _Iris_ beware when _Strephon_ pursues you, 'Tis but to boast a Conquest won: All his Designs are aim'd to undo you, Break off the Love he has begun: When he's Addressing, and prays for the Blessing, Which none but his _Iris_ can give alone; O then beware, 'tis all to undo you, 'Tis but to boast a Conquest won: She that's believing, while he is deceiving, Like many already, will be undone; _Iris_ beware when _Strephon_ pursues you, 'Tis but to boast a Conquest won. _A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ RAMONDON, _Sung at the_ Theatre. [Music] How charming _Phillis_ is, how Fair, How charming _Phillis_ is, how Fair, O that she were as willing, To ease my wounded Heart of Care, And make her Eyes less killing; To ease my wounded Heart of Care, And make her Eyes less killing; To ease my wounded Heart of Care, And make her Eyes less killing; To ease my wounded Heart of Care, And make her Eyes less killing. I Sigh, I Sigh, I Languish now, And Love will not let me rest; I drive about the Park and Bow, Where-e'er I meet my Dearest. _A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ ANTHONY YOUNG. [Music] Cease whining _Damon_ to Complain, Of thy Unhappy Fate; That _Sylvia_ should thy Love disdain, Which lasting was and great. For Love so constant flames so bright, More unsuccessful prove: Than cold neglect and sudden slight, To gain the Nymph you love. Then only you'll obtain the Prize, When you her Coyness use; If you pursue the Fair, she flies, But if you fly, pursues. Had _Phoebus_ not pursu'd so fast The seeming cruel she; The God a Virgin had embrac'd, And not a lifeless Tree. _A_ SONG _in the_ OPERA _call'd the_ BRITTISH ENCHANTERS. _Set by Mr._ J. ECCLES. [Music] Plague us not with idle Stories, Whining Loves, whining Loves, whining Loves, And Senceless Glories. What are Lovers? what are Kings? What, at best, but slavish Things? What are Lovers? what are Kings? What, at best, but slavish Things? What, at best, but slavish Things? Free I liv'd as Nature made me, Love nor Beauty durst invade me, No rebellious Slaves betray'd me, Free I liv'd as Nature made me, Each by turns as Sence inspired me, _Bacchus_, _Ceres_, _Venus_ fir'd me, I alone have learnt true Pleasure, Freedom, Freedom, Freedom is the only, only Treasure. JUNO _in the Prize._ _Set by Mr._ JOHN WELDON. [Music]