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QUARTET
FROM SAMPSON.

Mr. HANDEL. Then round about the starry throne

Of him who ever rules alone,
Your heav'nly-guided soul shall climb :

Of all this earthly grossness quit,

With glory crown'd, for ever sit,
And triumph over Death, and thee, O Time!

ANOTHER OF ASTROPHELL.

MADRIGAL for Three Voices.

Bateson, 1604. Tue

Ie nightingale so soone as Aprill bringeth Vnto her rested sense a perfect waking : While late bare earth, proud of new cloathing springeth,

Sings out her woes, a thorne her song-booke making. And mournefully bewailing,

Her throate in tunes expresseth,

What griefe her breast oppresseth,
For Tereus' force, on her chast will prevailing.

* Oh, Philomela, faire, oh, take some gladness,
That here is iuster cause of plaintfull sadnes.
Thine earth now springs, mine facleth :
Thy throne without, my thorne my hart invadeth.

England's Helicon, P. 194.—Sir Phil, Sidney.

* The wbole of the above has not been set, but the Editor, having

the verse complete, thought it right to print it.

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The Sea-BeAT Mariner.
GLEE for Three Voices.

J. Burrows.
The sea-beat mariner, whose watchful eye, ,

Full many a boisťrous night hath wak'd to weep'; When the keen blast, descending from the sky,

Snatch'd his warm tear-drop from the rav'nous deep. Drench'd by the chilling rain, bis dreary hour

Creeps slowly onward to the dawn of day; Till burning Phæbus, darting thro' the shower,

Warms, with his golden beam, the frothy spray. With lightning's swiftness he ascends the mast,

And cries, “ another tedious night is o'er;" He spreads the swelling sail, he sees at last

His long sought mistress, and his native shore. The restless wanderer then forgets past pain, Steals a fond kiss and braves his fate again.

Mrs. Robinson.

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AIR AND CHORUS
IN SAMPSON.

Mr. HANDEL.
Tuus rolling surges rise,

And plough the troubled main ; But soon the tempest dies,

And all is calm again.

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DUET.

WILLIAM JACKSON. Time has not thinn'd my flowing hair,

Nor bent me with his iron band; Ah! why so soon the blossom tear,

Ere autumn ye the fruit demand ?
Let me enjoy the cheerful day,

Till many a year has o'er me rollid;
Pleas'd let me trifle life away,
And sing of love ere I grow old.

Hammond.

GLEE for Four Voices.

R. J. S. STEVENS, (Double Accompaniment.) To what age must we live without love? · If we outstay the time

Of our youth's happy prime, 'Tis an age that will never improve.

When the sweet early rose is in bloom,

If the minutes pass by,

'Till it wither and die, Poor rose, where is then its perfume.

Da Capo.

Cumberland,

GLEE for Five Voices.

J. DANBY. 'Tis midnight all! now sacred silence reigns, And breatbes an awful horror thro’ the plains ; No noise is heard, save the low murm'ring breeze, Whilst Zephyr faintly sighs among the trees : The charmers of the grove, with sleep opprest, Their little loves forgot, are all removed to rest; And now the prudent nightingale essays, In thrilling notes to chaunt her maker's praise ; All unmolested by the feather'd throng, She sits and sings alone, whilst beav'n approves the song ; Her soft-breath'd music and enchanting strains Call out the list’ning stars, and fill the lonely plains.

DUET
IN SOLOMON.

Dr. Boyce.

Together let us range the fields,

Impearld with the morning dew; Or view the fruits the vineyard yields,

Or the apple's clust'ring bough. There in the close embower'd shades,

Imperious to the moon-tide ray ; By twink’ling rills on rosy beds,

We'll love the sultry hours away.

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GLEE for Three Voices.

M. P. King. The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about, Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again to make up nine. Peace !- the charm's wound up.

Shakspeare.

GLEE for Five Voices.

S. WEBBE, Jun. Too late I staid, forgive the crime,

Unheeded flew the hours;
How noiseless falls the foot of time

That only treads on flowers !

What eye, with clear account, remarks

The ebbing of his glass ?
When all its sands are diamond sparks,

That dazzle as they pass !

Ah! who to sober measurement,

Times happy-swiftness brings ; When birds of Paradise have lent Their plumage for his wings !

W. Rob. Spencer, Esq.

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