With new-fall'n dew,

RECITATIVE.

From church-yard yew,

I will but 'noint,

And then I'll mount,

Now I'm furnished for my flight.

AIR AND CHORUS.

Now we go, now, now we fly,

Malkin, my sweet spirit and I :

O'what a dainty pleasure is this!
To sail in the air,

When the moon shines fair,

To sing, to dance, to toy and kiss:
Over woods, high rocks, and mountains,
Over hills, and misty fountains,

Over steeples, towns, and turrets,
We fly by night, 'mongst troops of spirits.

Here's lizard's brain!

First Witch.

Hecate.

Put in a grain !

First Witch.

Here's juice of toad; here's oil of adder,
Which will make the charm grow madder.

QUARTETTO.

Put in all these, 'twill raise the stench.

RECITATIVE.

'Hecate.

Hold! here's three ounces of a red-hair'd wench !

CHORUS.

Round, around, around about :

All ill come running in,

All good, keep out.

GLEE for Three Voices.

ME Bacchus fires, he swells each vein,
Gay odours charm my raptur'd brain ;
Beauty forbids her slave to sigh,
And I'll be mad, stark mad with joy.

Shakspeare.

S. WEBBE.

GLEE for Five Voices.

My dear Mistress had a heart,

R. SPOFFORTH.

Soft as those kind looks she gave me ;

When with love's resistless art,

And her eyes she did enslave me, But her constancy's so weak,

She's so wild and apt to wander; That my jealous heart would break, Should we live one day asunder.

Melting joys about her move,

Killing pleasures, wounding blisses; She can dress her eyes in love,

And her lips can arm with kisses. Angels listen when she speaks,'

She's my delight, all mankind's wonder ;

But my jealous heart would break,
Should we live one day asunder.

Earl of Rochester.

GLEE for Four Voices.

W. KNYVETT.

MURDER! I wish to my heart I was dead,

My wife has sure broken my head;

She last night in a rage began,

To bang me with the warming pan;
'And what was worse than all, good lack,

The pan was hot, and burnt my back.

GLEE for Four Voices.

My mother had a maid call'd Barbara;

W. SHIELD.

She was in love, and he she lov'd prov'd false,
And did forsake her.

She had a song of willow, an old song 'twas;
But it express'd her fortune, and she died
Singing it. That song to-night will not
Go from my mind; I've much ado, not to
Go hang my head all a'one side,

And sing it like poor, Barbara.

Shakspeare.

EPITAPH ON THE LATE REV. MR. ALLOTT.
GLEE for Four Voices.

Dr. COOKE.

MORE with the love than the fear of God,

This vale of sorrow cheerfully he trod;
So tuned to harmony, and hating strife,

From youth to age unclouded was his life:

Nought cou'd his earthly virtuous joys increase,
But heav'nly song and everlasting peace.

David Garrick.

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.