All other ills tho' sharp they prove, Serve to refine and sweeten Love; In absence or unkind disdain, Sweet hope relieves the Lovers pain: But oh! no cure but death we find, To set us free from Jealousy, Oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! _&c._ False in thy Glass all objects are, Some set too near, and some too far; Thou art the fire of endless Night, The fire that burns and gives no light, All torments of the damn'd we find, In only thee, oh Jealousy! Oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! _&c._ _A_ Scotch SONG. _Set by Mr._ ROBERT COX. [Music] When _Jockey_ first I saw, my Soul was charm'd, To see the bonny Lad so blith, so blith and gay; My Heart did beat it being alarm'd, That I to _Jockey_ nought, nought could say: At last I courage took and Passion quite forsook, And told the bonny Lad his Charms I felt; He then did smile with a pleasing look, And told me _Jenny_ in his Arms, his Arms should melt. _A Song. Sung by Mrs._ Temple. _Set by Mr._ J. Clark. [Music] I Seek no more to shady coverts, _Jockey's_ Eyn are all my Joy; Beauty's there I Ken, that cannot, Must not, shall not, steal away: What wou'd _Jockey_ now do to me, Surely you're to me unkind; Ise ne'er see you, nay you fly me, Yet are ne'er from out my Mind. Tell me why 'tis thus you use me, Take me quickly to your Arms; Where in blisses blithly basking, Each may rival others Charms: Oh but fye, my _Jockey_ pray now, What d'ye, do not, let me go; O I vow you will undoe me, What to do I do not know. _A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ PHILL. HART. [Music] Tho' I love and she knows it, she cares not, She regards not my Passion at all; But to tell me she hates me she spares not, As often as on her I call: 'Tis her Pleasure to see me in pain, 'Tis her pain to grant my desire; Then if ever I Love her again, May I never, never, never, never, may I never, be free from Love's fire. MIRTILLO. _A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Tho. Clark. [Music] _Mirtillo_, whilst you patch your Face, By Nature form'd so fair, We know each Spot conceals a Grace, And wish, and wish to see it bare: But since our Wish you've gratifi'd, We find, we find, 'twas rashly made, And that those Spots were but to hide, to hide Excess of Lustre laid: And that those Spots were but to hide, to hide Excess of Lustre laid. _The Rambling_ RAKE. [Music] Having spent all my Coin, Upon Women and Wine, I went to the C----h out of spite; But what the Priest said, Is quite out of my Head, I resolv'd not to Edify by't. While he open'd his Text, I was plaguily vext, To see such a sly Canting Crew, Of _Satan's_ Disciples, With P----r Books and B----s, Enough to have made a Man Spew.