To the elysian fhades I post
In hopes to be freed from care,
Where many a bleeding ghoft
Is hovering in the air.

XX.

THE LADY DISTRACTED WITH LOVE,

MAD SONG THE FOURTH,

was originally fung in one of TOM D'URFEY'S comedies of Don Quixote acted in 1694 and 1696; and probably compofed by himself. In the feveral ftanzas, the author reprefents his pretty Mad-woman as 1. fuddenly mad: 2. mirthfully mad: 3. melancholy mad: 4. fantastically mad: and 5.ftark mad. Both this, and Num. XXII. are printed from D'urfey's "Pills to purge Melancholy," 1719, vol. I.

F

ROM rofie bowers, where fleeps the god of love, Hither ye little wanton cupids fly; Teach me in foft melodious ftrains to move With tender passion my heart's darling joy: Ah! let the foul of mufick tune my voice, To win dear Strephon, who my foul enjoys.

S

OT,

Or, if more influencing

Is to be brifk and airy, With a step and a bound, With a frisk from the ground,

I'll trip like any fairy.

As once on Ida dancing

Were three celestial bodies:

With an air, and a face,

And a shape, and a grace,

I'll charm, like beauty's goddess.

10

15

Ah! 'tis in vain! 'tis all, 'tis all in vain!

Death and despair muft end the fatal pain:

Cold, cold despair, disguis'd like fsnow and rain, Falls on my breast; bleak winds in tempests blow; 20 My veins all fiver, and my fingers glow: My pulfe beats a dead march for loft repofe, And to a folid lump of ice my poor fond heart is froze.

Or fay, ye powers, my peace to crown,
Shall I thaw myself, and drown

Among the foaming billows?
Increafing all with tears I fhed,

On beds of ooze, and crystal pillows,
Lay down, lay down my lovefick head?

25

No, no, I'll ftrait run mad, mad, mad,
That foon my heart will warm;

30

When

When once the fenfe is fled, is fled,

Love has no power to charm.
Wild thro' the woods I'll fly, I'll fly,

Robes, locks- -fhall thus

be tore!

35

A thousand, thousand times I'll dye

Ere thus, thus, in vain,-ere thus in vain adore.

was written by HENRY CAREY, a celebrated composer of Mufic at the beginning of this century, and author of feveral little Theatrical Entertainments, which the reader may find enumerated in the "Companion to the Play-house," &c. The Sprightliness of this Song fter's fancy could not preferve him from a very melancholy catastrophe, which was affected by his own hand. In his POEMS, 410. Lond. 1729, may be feen another Mad Song of this author, beginning thus: "Gods! I can never this endure, "Death alone must be my cure," &c.

I

Go to the Elysian fhade,

Where forrow ne'er hall wound me;
Where nothing fhall my reft invade,
But joy fhall still furround me.
B b

VOL. II.

I fly

I fly from Celia's cold disdain,

From her disdain I fly;

She is the cause of all my pain,

For her alone I die.

Her eyes are brighter than the mid-day fun,
When he but half his radiant courfe has run,
When his meridian glories gaily fhine,
And gild all nature with a warmth divine.

See yonder river's flowing tide,
Which now fo full appears;
Those streams, that do so swiftly glide,

Are nothing but my tears.

There I have wept till I could weep no more,

And curft mine eyes, when they have wept their store:

Then, like the clouds, that rob the azure main,

I've drain'd the flood to weep it back again.

Pity my pains,

Ye gentle fwains!

Cover me with ice and fnow,

I fcorch, I burn, I flame, I glow!

Furies, tear me,

Quickly bear me

To the dismal fhades below!

Where yelling, and howling

And