Chorus. A lottery, a lottery, In Cupid's court there us'd to be, Two roguish eyes The highest prize, In Cupid's scheming lottery. Ladies and gentlemen-gentlemen and ladies-go not to Cupid's court, For, whatever the young woman may say, 'tis a place of very bad resort. AIR. But mine is the lottery-hasten to me; Here's scissors and satires, as sharp as can be :-. Here's a drawing of cork, here's a cork-screw for wine, Here are pills for the cough-and here's Gibbon's "Decline;" Here's a bright carving knife—here's a learned review, Here's an essay on marriage, and here's a cuckoo. CHORUS. Our lottery-our lottery Ye youths and maidens, come to me! "Tis ne'er too late To try your fate In this our lucky lottery. A spirit there is. A spirit there is, whose fragrant sigh His breath is the soul of flowers like these, Is making the stream around them tremble. Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power! Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, And there never was moonlight so sweet as this. By the fair and brave, Who blushing unite, By the tear that shows From the heat of the sky! By the first love-beat Of the youthful heart, And the pain to part! By all that thou hast To mortals given, Which-oh! could it last, This earth were heaven! We call thee hither, entrancing power! Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, And there never was moonlight so sweet as this. Can I again that look recall. Can I again that look recall, Which once could make me die for thee? No, no, the eye that burns on all, Shall never more be priz'd by me. Can I again that form caress, Or on that lip in joy recline? No, no-the lip that all may press, Come hither, come hither. Come hither, come hither-by night and by day, Here maidens are sighing, and fragrant their sigh Oh! think what the kiss and the smile must be worth Here sparkles the nectar, that, hallowed by love, Could draw down those angels of old from their sphere, Who for wine of this earth left the fountains above,95 And forgot heav'n's stars for the eyes we have here. And bless'd with the odour our goblet gives forth, What spirit the sweets of his Eden would miss ? For oh! if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this, it is this. Dear aunt. Dear aunt! in the olden time of love, And though beaus like monkeys amuse us, We may know by the head on Cupid's seal If shallow the head, oh! soon we feel Oh! think not I'd follow their desperate rule, |