A CANTATA .

RECITATIVE .

A S Harriot, wanton as the sportive roe,
Was pelting Strephon with the new-fall'n snow;
The' enamour'd youth, who'd long in vain admir'd,
By every look and every gesture fir'd,
While round his head the harmless bullets fly,
Thus breathes his passion, prefac'd with a sigh.

AIR .

" Cease, my charmer, I conjure thee,
Oh! cease this pastime too severe;
Though I burn, snow cannot cure me,
Fix'd is the flame that rages here.

" Snow in thy hand its chillness loses,
Each flake converts to glowing fire;
Whilst thy cold breast all warmth refuses,
Thus I, by contraries, expire."

RECITATIVE .

" At humble distance thus to tell your pain,
What should you meet but coldness and disdain?"
Replied the laughing fair — " Observe the snow,
The sun retir'd, broods o'er the vale below,
But when approaching near he gilds the day,
It owns the genial flame and melts away."

AIR .

" Whining in this love-sick strain,
Strephon, you will sigh in vain;
For your passion thus to prove,
Moves my pity, not my love.
Phaebus points you to the prize,
Take the hint, be timely wise:
Other arts perhaps may move,
And ripen pity into love."