FROM KING ARTHUR. SOLO AND CHORUS. H. PURCELL. COME, if you dare, our trumpets sound; Come, if you dare, the foes rebound. We come, we come, we come, we come, Says the double, double, double beat of the thund'ring drum. Now they charge on amain ; Now they rally again. The gods from above the mad labour behold; The fainting Saxons quit their ground; Their trumpets languish in the sound. They fly they fly! they fly! they fly! Victoria! Victoria! the bold Britons cry. Now the victory's won, To the plunder we run ; We return to our lasses like fortunate traders, Dryden. GLEE for Three Voices. J. M. HARRIS. COMRADES, replenish the heart-cheering bowl, E. Belchambers. TO CUPID ON VALENTINE'S DAY. GLEE for Three Voices. COME, thou rosy-dimpled boy, Haste to Sylvia, haste away, Only while we love we live, Dr. COOKE. Crowns and sceptres, envied things, Are but childish empty toys, Love alone can pleasure give, Only while we love, we live. Mr. Parrat. GLEE for Three Voices. J. BATTISHILL. COME bind my hair, ye wood-nymph's fair, Dull cynic rules are fit for schools, No wounds of love e'er let me feel, But such as spring from eyes and shapes; A curse on those that come by steel, I hate all blood, but blood of grapes. Then fill up high the bowl, That I may drink and laugh at fools of sense; Why need we fear to want next year, "Twill be all one an hundred helice. Thos. Moxeen. GLEE for Three Voices. CUPID no more shall give me grief, Celia! thy scorn I now despise, This takes the brightness from thine eyes, J. DYNE. Anacreon. GLEE for Three Voices. COME, Lelia, fill the goblet up, W. HORSLEY, M.B. Reach round the rosy wine; Think not that we will take the cup, From any hand but thine. A draught like this 'twere vain to seek, It steals its tint from Lelia's cheek, Its brightness from her eye. Carlisle's Specimens of Arabian Poetry. T. ATTWOOD. ROUND for Three Voices. COME, ye fairy-footed hours, Fill your laps with fragrant flowers; Nature calls me to the grove, Vernal blossoms grace the earth; There we'll dance with sportive mirth— We, alive to gaiety, Children of sweet Liberty. Gentle zephyrs, young and gay, Now to nature homage pay; F 1 |