When to her organ vocal breath was given,
An angel heard, and straight appear'd
Mistaking earth for heaven.

GRAND CHORUS.

As from the power of sacred lays
The spheres began to move,
And sung the great Creator's praise
To all the bless'd above;

So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And Music shall untune the sky.

SONG. FAREWELL, FAIR ARMIDA.*

FAREWELL, fair Armida, my joy and my grief,
In vain I have lov'd you, and hope no relief;
Undone by your virtue, too strict and severe,
Your eyes gave me love, and you gave me despair;
Now call'd by my honour, I seek with content
The fate which in pity you would not prevent:
To languish in love, were to find by delay
A death that's more welcome the speediest way..

* This song, written on the death of Captain Digby, has been given by Mr. Malone in his Life of Dryden, on account, he says, of its not having been preserved in Dryden's works, and being found entire only in a scarce Miscellany, viz. Covent Garden Drollery.' I must, however, observe, that

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On seas and in battles, in bullets and fire,
The danger is less than in hopeless desire;
My death's wound you give, though far off I bear
My fall from your sight-not to cost you a tear:
But if the kind flood on a wave should convey,
And under your window my body should lay,
The wound on my breast when you happen to see,
You'll say with a sigh-it was given by me.

the song is printed entire in New Court Songs and Poems, by R. V. Gent. 8vo. 1672, p. 78. In this collection the second line runs thus :

:

'In vain I have lov'd you, and find no relief.'

The sixth,

A fate which in pity,' &c.

The twelfth,

'My fate from your sight,' &c.

An answer from Armida, as she is called, follows the Song in this collection; but it is not worth citing. The ridiculous parody on this Song in the Rehearsal is too well known to require copying here. But the following ludicrous stanza, which I have seen in MS. and which is a coeval parody on Dryden's Song to Armida, deserves to be cited :

'Or if the king please that I may, at his charge,
Just under your window be brought in a barge;
Nay, 'twill be enough, as I died a brave fighter,
If but to your window I come in a lighter;
Or, rather than faile to shew my love fuller,
I would be content to arrive in a sculler;
But if me these favours my fate hath deny'd,

I hope to come floating up with a spring tyde.' Armida is said to have been the beautiful Frances Stuart, wife of Charles, Duke of Richmond. Captain Digby was killed at sea in the engagement between the English and Dutch fleet, off Southwold Bay, in 1672. T.

THE LADY'S SONG.

A CHOIR of bright beauties in spring did appear, To choose a May-lady to govern the year;

All the nymphs were in white, and the shepherds in green;

The garland was given, and Phyllis was queen:
But Phyllis refus'd it, and sighing did say,
I'll not wear a garland while Pan is away.
While Pan and fair Syrinx are fled from our shore,
The Graces are banish'd, and Love is no more:
The soft god of pleasure, that warm'd our desires,
Has broken his bow, and extinguish'd his fires:
And vows that himself and his mother will mourn,
Till Pan and fair Syrinx in triumph return.

Forbear
your addresses, and court us no more,
For we will perform what the deity swore :
But if you dare think of deserving our charms,
Away with your sheephooks, and take to your arms:
Then laurels and myrtles your brows shall adorn,
When Pan, and his son, and fair Syrinx return.

SONG.

FAIR, Sweet, and young, receive a prize
Reserv'd for your victorious eyes:

From crowds, whom at your feet you see,

O pity, and distinguish me!
As I from thousand beauties more
Distinguish you, and only you adore.

Your face for conquest was design'd,
Your every motion charms my mind ;
Angels, when you your silence break,
Forget their hymns, to hear you speak;
But when at once they hear and view,

Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you.

No graces can your form improve,

But all are lost, unless you love;

While that sweet passion you disdain,
Your veil and beauty are in vain :
In pity then prevent my fate,

For after dying all reprieve's too late.

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SONG.

HIGH state and honours to others impart,

But give me your heart:

That treasure, that treasure alone,

I

beg for my own.

So gentle a love, so fervent a fire,

My soul does inspire ;

That treasure, that treasure alone,

I beg for my own. Your love let me crave;

Give me in possessing

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So matchless a blessing;

That empire is all I would have.
Love's my petition,
All my ambition;
If e'er you discover
So faithful a lover,

So real a flame,

I'll die, I'll die,

So give up my game.

SONG.

Go tell Amynta, gentle swain,
I would not die, nor dare complain:
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,
Thy words will more prevail than mine.
To souls oppress'd, and dumb with grief,
The gods ordain this kind relief;
That music should in sounds convey

What dying lovers dare not say.

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A sigh or tear, perhaps, she'll give,

But love on pity cannot live.

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Tell her that hearts for hearts were made,

And love with love is only paid.

Tell her my pains so fast increase,
That soon they will be past redress;
But ah! the wretch that speechless lies
Attends but death to close his eyes.

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