And you my Companions so dear, Who sorrow to see me betray'd; Whatever I suffer forbear, Forbear to accuse my false Maid, Tho' thro' the wide World we shou'd range, 'Tis in vain from our Fortunes to fly; 'Twas hers to be false and to change, 'Tis mine to be Constant and die. If whilst my hard Fate I sustain, In her Breast any Pity is found; Let her come with the Nymphs of the Plain, And see me laid low in the Ground; The last humble Boon that I crave, Is to shade me with _Cypress_ and _Yew_; And when she looks down on my Grave, Let her own that her Shepherd was true. Then to her new Love let her go, And deck her in Golden Array; Be finest at every fine Show, And Frolick it all the long Day: Whilst _Collin_ forgotten and gone, No more shall be talk'd of or seen; Unless that beneath the Pale Moon, His Ghost shall glide over the Green. _The Constant_ Warrior: _Set by Mr._ Ramondon. Farewel _Chloe_, O farewel, I'll repair to Wars alarms; And in foreign Nations tell, Of your Cruelty and Charms: Come ye briny Billows rowl, And convey me from my Soul, Come ye briny Billows rowl, And convey me from my Soul: Since the cruel Fair, The cause of my Despair, Has forc'd me hence to go, Where stormy Winds do blow; Where raging Seas do toss and mount, With dangers that I can't recount, Forgive me showing thus my Woe; _Where raging Seas do toss_, &c. When you hear of Deeds in War, Acted by your faithful Swain; Think, oh think, that from afar, 'Twas you conquer'd all were slain: For by calling on your Name, I Conquer'd whereso'er I came; Shou'd my Fate not be, To keep my Body free, From Wounds and Bruises too, Whilst Honour I pursue; 'Twou'd raise my Reputation, My Pain I'd lose in Passion, And glory that 'twas done for you. Shou'd grim Death once assail me, It cou'd never fright your Slave, Fortune self cou'd never fail me, Only you can make my Grave: My Destiny shou'd grant reprieve, I cou'd not Die, if you said live: Were it to be found, In all the World around, An instance of such Love, As you in me may prove: I'd never ask return, But patiently wou'd burn, Nor more your generous pity move. O my guardian Angel say, Can such proofs your Passion gain; If it can I'll bless the Day, That I venture on the Main: Then with Joy cry Billows rowl, And convey me to my Soul: Return with glory Crown'd, Upon the lowly Ground, Kneel at your Feet a while, And there my Fears beguile: And think my Toyl repaid, If you'd vouchsafe dear Maid, To crown my Labours with a Smile. _The true Use of the_ BOTTLE. [Music]