THE SHEPHERDS LOTTERY.
A Musical Entertainment.
As it is Perform'd by His MAJESTY's Company of Comedians AT THE Theatre-Royal in
Drury-Lane.
The MUSIC Compos'd by Dr. BOYCE.
LONDON,
Printed: And Sold by
M. Cowper
in
Pater-Noster-Row.
M DCC LI.
[Price Six Pence.]
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
THYRSIS,
Master
Vernon.
COLIN,
Mr.
Beard.
DORYLAS,
Mr.
Wilder.
PHILLIS,
Miss
Norris.
DAPHNE,
Mrs.
Clive.
Nymphs, Shepherds,
&c.
THE SHEPHERDS LOTTERY. A Musical Entertainment.
PART I.
SCENE I.
THYRSIS.
T HO' lawless War has quench'd her flaming Brand,
That long, too long, has thinn'd this frighted Land;
Tho'
Ceres
' heaps my loaded Gran'ries fill,
And my proud Oxen graze on ev'ry Hill;
Yet my fond Heart is fill'd with deepest Cares,
For
Thyrsis
loves, and while he dotes, despairs.
AIR.
What Beauties does my Nymph disclose!
Less fair the silver Lilly blows:
Such Blushes glow not on the Rose,
As on the Cheeks of
Phillis.
The other Day, upon the Green,
I saw a Nymph of heav'nly Mien;
I ran to greet the
Cyprian
Queen,
But found it was my
Phillis.
By mossy Grot with Ivy bound,
Where fragrant Woodbines curl around,
And Daisies dapple o'er the Ground,
I sit, and murmur
Phillis:
And when the Lark with dewy Wings,
To hail the Morn exulting springs,
I rise, and tune the trembling Strings,
To praise my dearest
Phillis.
When first I saw the lovely Maid,
I gaz'd, in-raptur'd and dismay'd;
My faltring Tongue was quite afraid
To tell my Pangs to
Phillis.
Then
Cupid
aim'd his sharpest Dart;
At once I felt the pleasing Smart,
That very Hour I lost my Heart;
And now it dwells with
Phillis.
Exit.
SCENE II.
DAPHNE, PHILLIS.
Recit.
What, still in Tears? Cast ev'ry Fear away,
To-morrow,
Phillis,
is the First of
May
;
Then, as the Custom of the Place demands,
Each vent'ring Shepherd in due Order stands,
And from the Urn draws forth his future Wife;
Phillis
no more shall lead a maiden Life.
Ah
Daphne, Daphne!
hence my Sorrows rise,
Thyrsis
is he whom I alone can prize:
Shou'd any other draw my hapless Name,
My Death shall witness how sincere my Flame.
Talk not so wild, whate'er his Face may be,
Or this, or that, 'tis all alike to me:
Or grant, One chiefly struck my am'rous Eye;
Yet trust me,
Phillis,
I for none would die.
Ah! where will gentle Love a Shelter find,
If he forsake the Breast of Womankind?
AIR.
Oh, let me, unreserv'd, declare
The Dictate of my Breast;
My
Thyrsis
reigns unrivall'd there,
An ever-welcome Guest.
No more our spritely Nymphs I meet,
But seek the lonely Grove;
There, sighing to myself, repeat
Some tender Tale of Love.
When absent from my longing Sight,
He is my constant Theme;
His shadowy Form appears by night,
And shapes the morning Dream.
Ye spotless Virgins of the Plain,
Deem not my Words too free,
For ere my Passion you arraign,
You must have lov'd like me.
Exit.
SCENE III.
Recit.
Unhappy Girl! I know the Pangs of Love,
And often sigh when in the silent Grove:
My faithless Traitor from my Passion fled,
And left me weeping in a lonely Bed.
Henceforth my Arts I'll on their Sex employ,
Their Vows my Laughter, and their Pangs my Joy.
AIR.
My Pride is to hold all Mankind in my Chain;
The Conquest I prize, tho' the Slaves I disdain:
I'll teaze them and vex them,
I'll plague and perplex them:
Since Men try all Arts our weak Sex to betray,
I'll show them a Woman's as cunning as they.
Young
Damon
ador'd me, and
Lycon
the vain,
By turns I encourag'd each amorous Swain;
They knelt and they trembled,
I smil'd and dissembled.
Since Men try all Arts our weak Sex to betray,
I'll show them a Woman's as cunning as they.
Then hear me, ye Nymphs, and my Counsel believe,
Resist all their Wiles, the Deceivers deceive:
Their Canting and Whining,
Their Sighing and Pining,
Are all meant as Baits our weak Sex to betray;
Then prove there are Women as cunning as they.
Exit.
SCENE IV.
A GROVE.
COLIN
discover'd playing on his Pipe.
AIR.
The Drum is unbrac'd, and the Trumpet no more
Shall rouse the fierce Soldier to fight;
Our Meads shall no longer be floated with Gore,
Nor Terror disturb the calm Night.
Once more o'er the Fields golden Harvests shall shine,
The Olive her Flowrets increase;
Again purple Clusters shall blush on the Vine;
These, these are the Blessings of Peace.
The Shepherd securely now roams thro' the Glade,
Or merrily pipes in the Vale:
The Youth in soft Numbers attempts his coy Maid:
The Virgins dance blithe in the Dale.
The Flow'rs, with gay Colours, embroider the Ground,
Unpress'd by an Enemy's Feet;
The Bleatings of Sheep from the Hillocks resound,
And the Birds their trim Sonnets repeat.
SCENE V.
To him
Thyrsis.
Recit.
Thrice happy
Colin!
you the whole Day long
Teach ev'ry Hill to catch your jocund Song:
So the blithe throstle carols thro' the Grove,
His Breast unwounded by the Thorns of Love.
True,
Thyrsis,
true; I ne'er could sigh and pine,
And call a proud denying Fair divine:
Each Nymph, I see, has got some Charm to strike,
And those who yield the soonest, best I like.
As verdant Fields the blasted Heath surpass,
As gen'rous Corn exceeds the meaner Grass,
As Palms are nobler than the Shrubs they shade,
So
Phillis
triumphs o'er each other Maid.
I like young
Doris
in her russet Gown,
Ripe as the Pear, and as the Berry brown:
Her ruddy Cheeks the Cherry's Hue display,
And warm, and buxom as a Summer's Day.
To-morrow is the Period of my Fate,
My Hopes, my Fears do on To-morrow wait;
Then Fortune gives me
Phillis
for a Wife,
Or ends my ev'ry Suff'ring with my Life.
Ye Lovers much profess, and yet I'm told,
Ye seldom long the same Opinion hold:
You knew young
Strephon,
he who on the Ring—
But hearken,
Thyrsis,
I'll the Story sing.
AIR.
To dear
Amaryllis
young
Strephon
had long
Declar'd his fix'd Passion, and dy'd for in Song;
He went one
May
-Morning to meet in the Grove,
By her own dear Appointment this Goddess of Love;
Mean-while in his Mind all her Charms he ran o'er,
And doted on each;
can a Lover do more?
He waited, and waited, then changing his Strain,
'Twas Fury, and Rage, and Despair, and Disdain:
The Sun was commanded to hide his dull Light,
And the whole course of Nature was alter'd downright.
'Twas his hapless Fortune to die and adore,
But never to change;
can a Lover do more?
Cleora,
it hap'd, was by Accident there;
No Rose-bud so tempting, no Lilly so fair
He press'd her white Hand, next her Lips he essay'd,
Nor would she deny him, so civil the Maid!
Her kindly Compliance his Peace did restore;
And dear
Amaryllis
was thought of no more.
SCENE VI.
Recit.
Unhappy State of these offending Plains
For Guilt long since the Punishment remains:
Not free to choose, our youngest Virgins stand
The Sport of Chance, for such is
Pan
's Command.
O Fortune! to my Pangs propitious prove,
And crown with due Success my constant Love.
Exit.
SCENE VII.
AIR.
Ye Nymphs of the Plain who once saw me so gay,
You ask why in Sorrow I spend the whole Day:
'Tis Love, cruel Love, that my Peace did betray:
Then crown your poor
Phillis
with Willow.
The Bloom which once grac'd, has deserted this Cheek;
My eyes no more sparkle, my Tongue can scarce speak;
My Heart too so flutters I fear it will break:
Then crown your poor
Phillis
with Willow.
Ye Lovers so true, that attend on my Bier,
And think that my Fortune has prov'd too severe;
Ah! curb not the Sigh, nor refuse the kind Tear;
Then strew all the Place round with Willow.
Erect me a Tomb, and engrave on its Side,
"Here lies a poor Maiden, whose Love was deny'd;
"She strove to endure it, but could not, and dy'd:"
Then shade it with Cypress and Willow.
SCENE VIII.
To her
Thyrsis.
Recit.
O lovely Maiden, dearer to my Sight
Than the gay Fires that gild the Gloom of Night;
Here at your Feet let me transported own,
How much I
Phillis
love, and her alone.
DUET.
When Fairies dance round on the Grass,
And revel to Night's awful Noon;
O say, will you meet me, sweet Lass,
All by the clear Light of the Moon?
My Passion I seek not to screen;
Then can I refuse you your Boon?
I'll meet you at Twelve on the
Green,
All by the clear Light of the Moon.
The Nightingale perch'd on a Thorn,
Then charms all the Plains with her Tune;
And glad of the Absence of Morn,
Salutes the pale Light of the Moon.
How sweet is the Jessamin Grove!
And sweet are the Roses of
June
;
But sweeter's the Language of Love,
Breath'd forth by the Light of the Moon.
Too slow rolls the Chariot of Day,
Unwilling to grant me my Boon:
Away, envious Sun-shine, away,
Give place to the Light of the Moon.
But say, will you never deceive
The Lass whom you conquer'd too soon?
And leave a lost Maiden to grieve
Alone, by the Light of the Moon.
The Planets shall start from their Spheres,
Ere I prove so fickle a Loon;
Believe me, I'll banish thy Fears,
Dear Maid, by the Light of the Moon.
Our Loves when the Shepherds shall view,
To us they their Pipes shall attune;
While we our soft Pleasures renew,
Each Night by the Light of the Moon.
Exeunt.
PART II.
SCENE I.
DAPHNE, DORYLAS.
Recit.
SWEET Nymph, this Token of my Love receive,
Tho' mean's the Present that a Swain can give;
Yet should a Smile the trifling Gift repay,
My Heart will dance with Pleasure all the Day.
I take the Crook in Earnest of your Love;
At Eight, precisely, in the Chesnut Grove;
To
Faunus
' Spring, good
Dorylas,
repair,
'Tis very likely—my warm Blushes spare,
'Tis very likely—
[Aside.]
I shall not be there.
Thrice happy
Dorylas!
kind Maid, Adieu;
At Eight, precisely, I'll my Suit renew.
Exit.
SCENE II.
Farewel, deluded Swain, if Smiles can gain
Such pretty Presents, I'll ne'er frown again.
AIR.
As soon hope for Peace 'twixt the Hawk and the Dove,
As to find it with Woman and Man;
Or prompted by Hate, or incited by Love,
They both will deceive when they can.
The Shepherd, forgetful of Oaths and of Vows,
Will run to a Face that's more new;
And often the Women, or Maiden or Spouse,
The very same Method pursue.
The Youth to obtain the dear Nymph he admires,
By Falshood expresses his Flame:
To gain the lov'd Boy who her Bosom inspires;
Does not
Cloe
exactly the same?
How just's the Division? Man's born to persuade;
We listen, and think him sincere:
But then, has not Nature been kind to the Maid?
She gave her the Smile and the Tear.
Intrepid as Heroes, Men snatch at their Joy,
And force us by Storm to comply:
We, helpless poor Creatures, by Fashion made coy,
Consent when we feebly deny.
Like Armies drawn out into martial Array,
The Sexes call forth all their Pow'rs;
And if for the Men goes the Battle to-day,
To-morrow the Triumph is ours.
Recit.
But see, young
Colin
casts this way his Look,
Perhaps he means to bring another Crook.
Fain would I force him to receive my Yoke,
And own that
Cupid
's Laws are more than Joke.
SCENE III.
To her
Colin.
Sweet Lady, tell me: Did you see this way
Two milk-white Lambs with rosy Collars stray?
No, gentle Youth: But pr'ythee tell me, why
You greet a Village Maid in Terms so high?
I am no Lady, courteous Swain, not I.
Since you my lov'd Companions have not seen,
Perhaps they've wander'd to yon distant
Green:
I'll see.—
[Aside.]
Stay, Shepherd, stay—Was ever such a stupid Swain!
He seems to eye me with a cold Disdain.
[To him.]
Some time, methinks with
Colin
I could waste.
Dispatch then, quickly; I'm, in truth, in haste.
AIR.
Has the Arrow of
Cupid
ne'er lodg'd in your Breast?
Have you wept for whole Months, nor been able to rest,
'Till the Fair One took pity, and bid you be bless'd?
Speak boldly the Truth, my good Shepherd.
No, that I can't brag of; but all the Day long
Some Mistress or other has place in my Song;
My Passion's not lasting, but 'tis very strong.
I speak the plain Truth, my good Lady.
I doubt you're a Rover; if so, a young Maid
May fear to be with you, within this thick Shade.
Such Beauties as yours need be never afraid.
I speak the plain Truth, my good Lady.
Suppose a young Shepherdess, just of my Size,
An Air too like mine, and a pair of such Eyes,
Should like you, say, would you your Conquest despise?
Speak boldly the Truth, my good Shepherd.
Plain-Dealing's a Jewel, you very well know;
And therefore permit me to own ere I go,
Such a Mistress as you, is at best, but so so.
I speak the plain Truth, my good Lady.
Farewel, gentle Maiden.
Farewel, thou dull Swain.
Go seek thy Companions that brouze on the Plain.
And I care not if e'er I behold thee again.
I speak the plain Truth,
&c.
Exeunt severally.
SCENE IV.
Discovers a Statue of
Pan,
near which is placed an Urn. Many Shepherds are discovered who have drawn, standing with the Women who have fallen to their Lot.
THYRSIS
and
PHILLIS.
Recit. Arcadian Pan!
whose happy Influence yields
Health to our Flocks, and Plenty to our Fields:
If ere the Thoughts of
Syrinx
warm'd your Soul,
Or when to kinder
Dryope
you stole,
Suspend your Rage, assist my amorous Pray'r,
And to her
Thyrsis
give the matchless Fair.
Advances to draw.
AIR.
Goddess of the dimp'ling Smile,
Quit, ah! quit thy fav'rite Isle;
Crown'd with Myrtle Wreath, advance;
From the Hand of giddy Chance
Snatch the Pow'r to make me bless'd,
Be it thine to ease my Breast.
In her Ivory Car the fair Queen I behold,
Her Cygnets in Trappings of Purple and Gold;
Displaying their Pinions I see the young Loves,
All brighter than Sun-shine, all soft as her Doves.
With Raptures, O
Venus,
I bow at thy Shrine:
She whispers me softly, Young
Thyrsis
is thine.
Recit.
O happy
Thyrsis!
let the Hills around,
And every Valley, catch the pleasing Sound:
Waft it, ye Breezes, to the
Cyprian
Shore;
Thyrsis
is blest, and asks of Fate no more.
Embraces
Phillis.
SCENE V,
and
LAST.
To them
Colin
and
Daphne.
You come, my
Daphne,
in an happy Hour;
Each Cloud's dispell'd, and Tempests cease to lour.
Joy to my dear, but unexperienc'd Friend!
Who thinks that Love and Raptures know no end.
Joy to my
Thyrsis!
and to thee, my Fair!
The Yoke is lasting that you're doom'd to wear.
May
Love
and
Hymen
never be at odds!
For both are young, and wond'rous testy Gods.
Haste to the Urn, there, there your Fortune try.
I humbly thank you, but indeed, not I;
This kind of Lott'ry does not hit my Taste;
A Wife is no such mighty Prize, at last.
AIR.
How giddy is Youth! yet above all Advice:
You counsel, and counsel in vain:
I've try'd what is Wedlock, and like it so well
That I'll never be marry'd again.
The Spouse that I pitch'd on was comely and young,
And sweet as the Flow'rs of the Plain:
She was wise, as they tell me; perhaps it might be;
But I'll never be marry'd again.
I saw the poor Creature laid deep in the Grave;
My Tears they came pouring like Rain:
But as Sun-shine, you know, will foul Weather succeed,
I quickly recover'd again.
Like the Castles of Fairies, it seems to the Sight;
And Fancy indulges the Rein:
But alas! when you try it, 'tis all a mere Cheat,
And the same dull Tale over again.
Recit.
Once more, well met, polite engaging Swain;
What Maid but must adore thy soothing Strain!
O say! must I sigh and pine, my Love?
O say, must I sigh, and pine?
You're cruel, I swear,
As a Tiger, or Bear,
If you don't to my Wish incline, my Love;
If you don't to my Wish incline.
So much I delight in thee, my Dear;
So much I delight in thee;
Thou may'st sigh, pine, and moan,
Or may'st let it alone;
'Tis all the same to me, my Dear;
'Tis all the same to me.
But say, should I break my Heart, my Love?
But say, should I break my Heart?
Would you not be dismay'd
To have murder'd a Maid
With
Cupid
's keenest Dart, my Love?
With
Cupid
's keenest Dart.
I should not be much dismay'd, my Dear;
I should not be much dismay'd:
If you think that I lye,
You had better go try,
I am not much afraid, my Dear;
I am not much afraid.
Since nothing, I find, will do, my Love;
Since nothing I find will do;
My Heart I'll break—
No, I'll live for your sake;
And I'll live to laugh at you, my Love;
And live to laugh at you.
Recit.
Cease all your Jars, while we, my gentle Maid,
Pursue true Pleasure in the rosy Shade:
But hasten, Swains, your annual Homage pay,
And hail with jolly Sounds the youthful
May.
AIR.
Now the Snow-drop lifts her Head;
Cowflips rise from golden Bed;
Silver Lillies paint the Grove:
Welcome
May,
and welcome Love.
Hark! the merry Finches sing,
Heralds of the blooming
Spring
;
And the artless Turtle-dove
Coes at once to
May
and Love.
Long the clay-cold Maid denies,
Nor regards her Shepherd's Sighs:
Now your fond Petitions move,
May
's the Season form'd for Love.
While adown the slopy Hill
Tinkles soft the gushing Rill,
Balmy Scents perfume the Grove,
May
unbends the Soul to Love.
Now the Bee, on silv'ry Wings,
Flow'ry Spoils unweary'd brings;
Spoils that Nymphs and Swains approve,
Soft as
May,
and sweet as Love.
And the Swallow's chirping Brood,
Skim around the crystal Flood:
Then in wanton Circlets rove,
Playful as the God of Love.
On the Fair that deck our Isle,
May each Grace and Virtue smile!
And our happy Shepherds prove
Days of Ease, and Nights of Love.
Exeunt omnes.
A Dance of Shepherds,
&c.
This Song is sung by
Dorylas,
in the First Scene of the Second Part, after the Words—
At Eight, precisely, I'll my Suit renew
; and was by mistake omitted.
AIR.
How happy's the Lover whose Cares are no more;
Who bids an Adieu to all Sorrow!
My Griefs are all husht, and my Torments are o'er,
For I shall be happy to-morrow.
Each flow'ret of
Spring
that enamels the Ground,
From you ev'ry Charm seems to borrow;
Then who will so blest or so happy be found,
As I with my
Daphne
to-morrow.
I never am happy but when in your Sight;
Your Smiles are the Cure of all Sorrow:
Remember, dear
Daphne,
your Promise to-night;
And I shall be happy to-morrow.
FINIS.