False _Amintor_ leave Dissembling, Tell her plainly you are Poor; Hence are all your Sighs and Tremblings, When you talk of your Amour: Tho' you Sigh, and tho' you Languish, 'Till she gives herself away; Then you soon forget your Anguish, And _Belinda_ must obey. _An Amorous Address to the charming_ CORINNA. [Music] _Corinna_ 'tis you that I Love, And love with a Passion, a Passion so great; That death a less Torment would prove, Than either your Frown or your hate: So soft and prevailing your Charms, In vain I should strive to retreat; Oh! then let me live in your Arms, Or dye in Despair at your Feet. In vain I may pray to Love's Powers, To ease me and pity my Pain; Since the Heart that I sue for is yours, Who all other Powers disdain: Like a _Goddess_ you Absolute reign, You alone 'tis can save or kill; To whom else then should I complain, Since my fate must depend on your will. _The Coy Lass dress'd up in her best Commode and Top-knot._ [Music] Do not rumple my Top-knot, I'll not be kiss'd to Day; I'll not be hawl'd and pull'd about, Thus on a Holy-day: Then if your Rudeness you don't leave, No more is to be said; See this long Pin upon my Sleeve, I'll run up to the Head: And if you rumple my head Gear, I'll give you a good flurt on the Ear. Come upon a Worky-day, When I have my old Cloaths on; I shall not be so nice nor Coy, Nor stand so much upon: Then hawl and pull, and do your best, Yet I shall gentle be: Kiss hand, and Mouth, and feel my Breast, And tickle to my Knee: I won't be put out of my rode, You shall not rumple my Commode. _A_ SONG _in the Dramatick_ OPERA _of_ KING ARTHUR. _Written by Mr._ DRYDEN. [Music] Fairest Isle, all Isles excelling, Seat of pleasures, and of Love; _Venus_ here, will chuse her dwelling, And forsake her _Cyprian Grove_. _Cupid_ from his fav'rite Nation, Care and Envy will remove; Jealousy that poisons Passion, And Despair that dies for Love. Gentle murmurs sweet complaining, Sighs that blow the fire of Love; Soft Repulses, kind Disdaining, Shall be all the Pains you prove. Every Swain shall pay his Duty, Grateful every Nymph shall prove; And as these excel in Beauty, Those shall be renown'd for Love. _A_ SONG _in the Comedy call'd the_ (Wives Excuse: _Or_, Cuckolds make themselves.) _Sung by Mrs._ BUTLER. [Music] Hang this whining way of Wooing, Loving was design'd a sport; Sighing, talking without doing, Makes a sily Idol court: Don't believe that Words can move her, If she be not well inclin'd; She herself must be the Lover, To perswade her to be kind: If at last she grants the Favour, And consents to be undone; Never think your Passion gave her, To your wishes, but her own. _A_ SONG _in the Opera call'd the_ (Fairy Queen,) _Sung by Mr._ PATE. [Music]