GLEE for Four Voices.

Dr. ARNE.-Prize, 1769.

MAKE haste to meet the gen'rous wine,

Whose piercing is for thee delay'd;
The rosy wreath is ready made,

And artful hands prepare,

The fragrant oil that shall perfume thy hair.

Fresh roses here, with myrtle twine,

Like Daphne all is fair and sweet;

But simple all, without deceit,
My wine from art is free,
Which never woman was,

Nor e'er will be.

When nectar sparkles from afar,

And the free-hearted friend cries, come away;
Make hast, resign thy bus'ness and thy care,
No mortal int'rest can be worth thy stay.
Here Mirth resides, here Bacchus' rites are due,
Come, drink till ev'ry taper shines like two;
Till whining love in bumpers deep be drown'd,
And all things, like the circling glass, go round.

Dr. Arne.

CATCH for Three Voices.

MR. SPEAKER! though 'tis late,

I must lengthen the debate.

Question-Order-hear him, hear!
Pray support, support the chair!
Sir, I shall name you, if you stir.

BAILDON.

Lord Sandwich.

GLEE for Three Voices.

MARK the merry elves of fairy land,
In the cold moon's gleamy glance,
They with shadowy merry dance;
Soft music dies along the desert land.
Soon at peep of cool-ey'd day;
Soon the num'rous lights decay:
Merrily, now merrily,
After the dewy moon they fly.

Dr. CALLCOTT,

MR.

GLEE for Three Voices.

will you do us the favour

S. WEBBE.

To join in a catch? Sir, I'll do my endeavour:
To be sure I've a cold-but I'll still do my best;
As I know your intention, I'll join with the rest.
May the smiles of the company thus ever cheer us,
And we all give pleasure to those who may hear us.
S. Webbe.

GLEE For Three Voices.

My ships to fair Sicilia's coast,

Dr. CALLCOTT.

Have row'd their rapid way;

While in their van my well-mann'd barque,
Spread wide her streamers gay:

Arm'd at the helm myself a host,
I scem'd in glory's orb to move.
Ah! Harold, check thy empty boast,
A Russian maiden scorns thy love.

Rough was the sea, and rude the wind,
And scanty were my crew;
Billows on billows o'er our deck,

With frothy fury flew :

Deep in the hold the waves were lost,

Back to their bed each wave we drove

CHORUS.

Ah! Harold, &c.

What feat of hardihood so bold,
But Harold wots it well;
I curb the steed, I stem the flood,
I fight with falchion fell;
The oar I ply from coast to coast,

On ice with flying scates I fly.
CHORUS.

Ah! Harold, &c.

Can she deny, the blooming maid,
(And she has beard the tale,)
When to the south my troops 1 led,
The fortress to assail;

How, while my prowess thin'd the host,

Fame bade the world each deed approve? Ah! Harold, check thy empty boast,

A Russian maiden scorns thy love.

Wm. Mason.

GLEE for Three Voices.

MUSIC's the language of the blest above,

No voice but Music's can express
The joys that happy souls possess ;

S. Webbe.

Nor, in just raptures, tell the wond'rous pow'r of love.

"Tis Nature's dialect, design'd

To charm and to instruct the mind.

Music's an universal good,

That does dispense its joys around,

In all the elegance of sound;

To be by men admir'd, by angels understood.

Congreve.