It is a flower, which buds and grows,
And withers as the leaves disclose;
Whose spring and fall faint seasons keep,
Like fits of waking before sleep;

Then shrinks into that fatal mould,
Where its first being was enroll'd.

It is a dream, whose seeming truth
Is moralis'd in age and youth;
Where all the comforts he can share,
As wand'ring as his fancies are;
Till in a mist of dark decay
The dreamer vanish quite away.

It is a dial, which points out
The sun-set as it moves about;
And shadows out in lines of night
The subtile stages of Time's flight,
Till all obscuring earth hath laid
The body in eternal shade.

It is a weary interlude,

Which doth short joys, long woes include:
The world the stage, the prologue tears,
The acts vain hope, and varied fears;
The scene shuts up with loss of breath,
And leaves no epilogue-but Death.

SONG XXI.

BY MR. GEORGE LILLO.*

THE sweet and blushing rose
Soon withers and decays;
Short are the joys life knows,
And few our happy days:
The fairest day must set in night;
Summer in winter ends;

So anguish still succeeds delight,
And grief on joy attends.

SONG XXII.

BY MR. ROBERT DODSLEY.

MAN's a poor deluded bubble,
Wand'ring in a mist of lies,
Seeing false, or seeing double;
Who would trust to such weak eyes?

Yet presuming on his senses,

On he goes, most wondrous wise :
Doubts of truth, believes pretences;
Lost in error, lives and dies.

*In the opera of Sylvia, or the Country Burial;' a piece occasioned by the success of Gay's Beggar's Opera.'

SONG XXIII.

THE BLIND BOY.

BY COLLEY CIBBER, ESQ.*

O SAY! what is that thing call'd light,
Which I must ne'er enjoy ;
What are the blessings of the sight,
O tell your poor blind boy!

You talk of wond'rous things you see,
You say the sun shines bright;
I feel him warm, but how can he
Or make it day or night.

My day or night myself I make,
Whene'er I sleep or play;

And could I ever keep awake,
With me 'twere always day.

With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my hapless woe;
But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I ne'er can know.

Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy;
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,

Although a poor blind boy.

* Written for, and set by the celebrated Mr. Stanley, late organist of St. Andrews, Holborn. See the music in vol. iii.

SONG XXIV.

BY MR. COFFE Y.

WELCOME, Welcome, brother debtor, To this poor but merry place, Where no bailiff, dun, nor setter,

Dares to show his frightful face : But, kind sir, as you're a stranger, Down your garnish you must lay, Or your coat will be in danger; You must either strip or pay.

Ne'er repine at your confinement From your children or your wife ; Wisdom lies in true resignment, Through the various scenes of life. Scorn to show the least resentment, Though beneath the frowns of fate; Knaves and beggars find contentment, Fears and cares attend the great.

Though our creditors are spiteful,
And restrain our bodies here;
Use will make a jail delightful,
Since there's nothing else to fear.
Every island's but a prison,

Strongly guarded by the sea:
Kings and princes, for that reason,

Prisoners are as well as we.

What was it made great Alexander

Weep at his unfriendly fate?
'Twas because he could not wander

Beyond this world's strong prison-gate:
For the world is also bounded

By the heavens and stars above;
Why should we then be confounded,
Since there's nothing free but love?

SONG XXV.*

How pleasant a sailor's life passes,
Who roams o'er the watery main ;
No treasure he ever amasses,

But cheerfully spends all his gain.
We're strangers to party and faction,
To honour and honesty true,

And would not commit a base action
For power or profit in view.

Then why should we quarrel for riches,
Or any such glittering toys?

A light heart, and a thin pair of breeches,
Go thorough the world, my brave boys.

The world is a beautiful garden,

Enrich'd with the blessings of life,
The toiler with plenty rewarding,

Which plenty too often breeds strife.

* In an old English opera, called Perseus and Andromeda.' [The Biographia Dramatica records no performance with this title earlier than the year 1728; a date that Ritson would hardly denominate 'old.']