THE SAILOR's MEDLEY, SONG

As Sylvia in a forest lay, To vent her woe alone; Her swain Lysander came that way, And heard her dying moan. Ah! is my love (said she) to you So worthless and so vain; Why is your wonted fondness now Converted to disdain?

You vow'd the light should darkness turn E'er you'd exchange your love; In shades now may creation mourn, Since you unfaithful prove. Was it for this I credit gave To ev'ry oath you swore? But ah! it seems they most deceive Who most our charms adore.

Tis plain your drift was all deceit, The practice of mankind: Alas! I see it but too late, My love had made me blind. For you, delighted I could die; But Oh! with grief I'm fill'd, To think that credulous, constant I Should by youself be kill'd.

This said—all breathless, sick and pale, Her head upon her hand, She sound her vital spirits fail, And senses at a stand. Sylvander then began to melt: But e'er the word was given, The heavy hand of death she felt, And sigh'd her foul to heaven.