GLEE for Five Voices. R. J. S. STEVENS. ALTHO' Soft sleep Death's near resemblance wears, Still do I wish him on my couch to lie : Come, balmy rest! for sweetly it appears, Thus, without life, to live! thus, without death, to die. GLEE for Four Voices. R. J. S. STEVENS. ASK'T thou, how long my love shall stay, When all that's new is past? How long? ah.! Delia, can I say How long my life will last? Dry be that tear, be hush'd that sigh, And does that thought affect thee too, Must yield his faithful breath? Hush'd be that sigh! be dry that tear! Nor let us lose our heaven here. Sheridan. GLEE for Four Voices. ANSWER. R. J. S. STEvens. THINK'ST thou, my Damon, I'd forego, This tender luxury of woe? Which, better than the tongue, imparts Can true affection cease to fear? GLEE for Four Voices. AWAKE! Sweet love! thou art return'd; My heart, which long in absence mourn'd, Only herself hath seemed fair, She only I could love; She only drove me to despair, When she unkind did prove. DOWLAND. DUETTO. As I saw fair Chlora walk alone, To court her in a silver show'r.. HAYDN. The wanton snow flew to her breast, But being o'ercome with whiteness there, Thence falling on her garments hem, To deck her, froze into a gem. The wanton snow, &c. Da Capo. MADRIGAL for Four Voices. ADIEU! Sweet Amarillis ! WILBYE.-1598. For since to part your will is, O heavy tiding! There is for me no biding; Yet once again, ere that I part with you, QUARTETTO. Aн grazie si rendono al sommo fattor, CHORUS. Ah grazie si rendono, &c. MOZART. GLEE for Five Voices. J. BATTISHILL. AMIDST the myrtles as I walk, Says love to me," thou gentle swain, Carew. The late Earl of Sandwich. MADRIGAL for Four Voices. DOWLAND.-1597. AWAKE, Sweet love! thou art return'd, My heart, which long in absence mourn'd, Lives now in perfect joy; Only herself hath seemed fair, She only I could love; She only drove me to despair, с ROUND for Three Voices. A BLOOMING youth lies buried here, Dr. BOYCE. Translated from the Greek by the Rev. S. Wesley. MADRIGAL for Four Voices. WEELKES.1598. Aн, me! my wonted joys forsake me, Thus sorrows run when pleasures creep; For love has wrought my misery. DUET. ALAS, poor fly! thy race is run, Sir J. STEVENSON. But thou hast lov'd and liv'd with glee; And, ah! behold my setting sun, For I have lov'd and liv'd like thee. One glass has form'd this grave of thine, An hundred hogsheads may be mine. |