A SONG.
Set by Mr. Fishburne.
[[Listen]]
LONG had Damon been admir’d,
By the Beauties of the Plain;
Ev’ry Breast warm Love inspir’d,
For the proper handsome Swain:
The choicest Nymph Sicilia bred,
Was won by his resistless Charms:
Soft Looks, and Verse as smooth, had led
And left the Captive in his Arms.
But our Damon’s Soul aspires,
To a Goddess of his Race;
Though he sues with chaster Fires,
This his Glories does deface:
The fatal News no sooner blown
In Whispers up the Chesnut Row;
The God Sylvanus with a Frown,
Blasts all the Lawrels on his Brow.
Swains be wise, and check desire
In it’s soaring, when you’ll woe:
Damon may in Love require
Thestyles and Laura too:
When Shepherds too ambitious are,
And Court Astrea on a Throne;
Like to the shooting of a Star,
They fall, and thus their shining’s gone.
A Song.
Set by Mr. Fishburn.
[[Listen]]