LOVE and MUSICK

Shall Love alone for ever claim An universal Right to Fame, An undisputed Sway? Or has not Musick equal Charms, To fill the Breast with strange Alarms, And make the World obey.

The Thracian Bard, as Poets tell, Cou'd mitigate the Pow'rs of Hell; Ev'n Pluto's nicer Ear: His Arts, no more than Love's, we find To Deities or Men confin'd, Drew Brutes in Crouds to hear.

Whatever fav'rite Passion reign'd, The Poet still his Right maintain'd O'er all that rang'd the Plain: The siercer Tyrants cou'd asswage, Or fire the tim'rous into Rage, Whene'er he chang'd the Strain.

In milder Lays the Bard began; Soft Notes thro' every Finger ran, And echoing charm'd the place: See! fawning Lions gaze around, And, taught to quit their savage Sound, Assume a gentler Grace.

When Cymon view'd the fair One's Charms, Her ruby Lips, and snowy Arms, And told her Beauties o'er: When Love reform'd his awkard Tone, And made each clownish Gesture known, It shew'd but equal Pow'r.

The Bard now tries a sprightlier sound, When all the feather'd Race around Perceive the vary'd Strains; The soaring Lark the Note pursues; The tim'rous Dove around him cooes, And Philomel complains.

An equal Pow'r of Love I've seen Incite the Deer to scour the Green, And chace his barking Foe. Sometimes has Love, with greater might, To challenge—nay—sometimes—to fight Provok'd th' enamour'd Beau.

When Silvia treads the smiling Plain, How glows the Heart of ev'ry Swain, By pleasing Tumults tost! When Handel's solemn Accents roll, Each Breast is fir'd, each raptur'd Soul In sweet Confusion lost.

If she her melting Glances dart, Or he his dying Airs impart, Our Spirits sink away. Enough, enough! dear Nymph, give o'er; And thou, great Artist! urge no more Thy unresisted Sway.

Thus Love or Sound affects the Mind: But when their various Pow'rs are join'd, Fly, daring Mortal, fly! For when Selinda's Charms appear, And I her tuneful Accents hear— I burn, I faint, I die!