IV.

The soft complaining flute

In dying notes discovers
The woes of hopeless lovers,

V.

VI.

But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder higher : 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;

Sharp violins] It is a judicious remark of Mr.

Mason, that Dryden with propriety gives this epi

thet to the instrument; because, in the poet's time, they could not have arrived at that delicacy of tone, even in the hands of the best masters, which they now have in those of an inferior kind. See Essays on English Church Music, by the Rev. W. Mason, M.A. Precentor of York, 12mo. 1795, p. 218. T.

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 the song is printed entire in New Court Songs and

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.
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
You'll say with a sigh-it was given by me. [see,

THE LADY'S SONG.

A CHOIR of bright beauties in spring did appear,
To chose 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 de

sires,

'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 he 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 fail 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.

Forbear your addresses, and court us no inore
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.

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
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.

Clic

To sous oppress'd, and dumb with grief,
The gods ordain this kind relief;
That music should in sounds convey
What dying lovers dare not say.

A sigh or tear, perhaps, she'll give,
But love on pity cannot live.

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.

SONG TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY,

GOING OUT OF THE TOWN IN THE SPRING.

Ask not the cause why sullen Spring

So long delays her flowers to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to sing,

And winter storms invert the year:
Chloris is gone, and fate provides
To make it Spring where she resides.
Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;

She cast not back a pitying eye;
But left her lover in despair,

To sigh, to languish, and to die :
Ah, how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!
Great god of love, why hast thou made
A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invade,

And change the laws of every land?
Where thou hadst plac'd such power before
Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.
When Chloris to the temple comes,

Adoring crowds before her fall;
She can restore the dead from tombs,
And every life but mine recall.

I only am by love design'd
To be the victim for mankind.

4

None but the brave deserves the fair.

Timotheus, plac'd on high
Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky,

And heavenly joys inspire

The song began from Jove
Who left his blissful seats above,
(Such is the power of mighty love.)
A dragon's fiery form belied the god :
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode,

When he to fair Olympia press'd:

And while he sought her snowy breast:
Then, round her slender waist he curl'd,
And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign
of the world.

The listening crowd admire the lofty sound,
A present deity, they shout around:

A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound:
With ravish'd ears

The monarch hears, Assumes the god,

Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

PARAPHRASED.

CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid

The world's foundations first were laid,
Come visit every pious mind;
Come pour thy joys on human kind;
From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make thy temples worthy thee.
O source of uncreated light,
The Father's promised Paraclete!
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;
Come, and thy sacred unction bring,
To sanctify us, while we sing.

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy sevenfold energy!
Thou strength of his Almighty hand
Whose power does heaven and earth command.
Proceeding Spirit, our defence,
Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense,
And crown'st thy gift with eloquence!
Refine and purge our earthly parts;
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!

VOL. 1-10

Our frailties help, our vice control,
Submit the senses to the soul;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thy hand, and hold'em down.
Chase from our minds the infernal foe.
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And lest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us in the way.

Make us eternal truths receive,
And practise all that we believe:
Give us thyself, that we may see
The Father, and the Son, by thee.

Immortal honour, endless fame,
Attend the Almighty Father's name.
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died;
And equal adoration be,

Eternal Paraclete,* to thee.

THE SECULAR MASQUE. Enter JANUS.

JANUS.

CHRONOS, Chronos, mend thy pace,
A hundred times the rolling sun

Around the radiant belt has run
In his revolving race.

Behold, behold, the gaol in sight,
Spread thy fans, and wing thy flight.

Enter CHRONOs, with a scythe in his hana, and a globe on his back, which he sets down at his

entrance.

CHKONOS.

Weary, weary of my weight, Let me, let me drop my freight, And leave the world behind. I could not bear,

Another year,

The load of humankind.

Enter MOMUS laughing.

MOMUS.

Ha ha ha ha! ha! ha! well hast thou done To lay down thy pack,

And lighten the hack,

The world was a fool, e'er since it begun, And since neither Janus, nor Chronos, nor I Can hinder the crimes,

Or mend the bad times, "T is better to laugh than to cry.

• Eternal Paraclete] 'This is a most elegant and beautiful little morsel, and one of his most correct compositions. Its poetry and piety aid each other Dr. J. W.