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GLEE for Four Voices.

W. Horsley, M.B See the chariot at hand here of Love,

Wherein my lady rideth !
Each that draws is a swan, or a dove,

And well the car Love guideth.
As she goes, all hearts do duty
Unto her beauty ;
And, enamour’d, do wish so they might
But enjoy such a sight,
That they still were to run by her side,
Thro' swords, thro' seas, whither she wou'd ride.

Have you seen but a bright lilly grow,

Before rude hands have pluck't it?
Ha' you mark'd but the fall o’the snow,

Before the soil has smutch'd it ?
Ha' you felt the wool of the beaver,
Or swan's down ever?
Or have smelt o'the bud o’the briar,
Or the nard in the fire ?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee ?
O so white ! O so soft! O so sweet is she !

Ben Jonson.

GLEE for Four Voices.

C. S. Evans.

Say, mighty love, and teach my song,
To whom thy sweetest joys belong,

And who the happy pairs ;
Whose yielding hearts and joining hands,
Find blessings twisted with their bands,

To soften all their cares.

Now the mad tribe that hell inspires,
With wanton flames those raging fires,

The purer bliss destroy ;
On Etna's top let furies wed,
And sheets of lightning deck their bed,
, To improve the burning joy.

Two kindred souls alone must meet,
'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet,

And feeds their mutual loves;
Bright Venus on her rolling throne,
Is drawn by gentlest birds alone,
And Cupids yoke the doves.

Dr. Watts.

GLEE for Four Voices.


SLEEP, sleep, poor youth! sleep, sleep in peace !

Reliev'd from love, and mortal care ; Whil’st we that pine in life's disease,

Uncertain blest, less happy are.

Couch'd in the dark and dismal grave,

No ills of fate thou now canst fear; In vain would tyrant power enslave,

Or scornful beauty be severe:

Wars that do fatal storms disperse,

Far from thy happy mansions keep ; Earthquakes that shake the universe,

Can't rock thee into sounder sleep.

Past is the fear of future doubt,

The sun is from the dial gone ; The sands are sunk, the glass is out, The folly of the farce is done.

Tom Durfey's Pills to Purge Melancholy. GLEE for Five Voices.

R. J. S. Stevens. Some of my heroes are low,” I hear the sound of death on the harp. Bid the sorrow rise; that their spirits may fly with joy to Morven's woody hills ; “ bend forward from your clouds,” ghosts of my fathers; bend ! Lay by the red terror of your course, receive the falling chief; whether he comes from a distant land, or rises from the rolling sea. And oh ! let his countenance be lovely, that his friends may delight in his presence. Bend forward from your clouds, “ ghosts of my fathers," bend !


GLEE for Five Voices.

Dr. Cooke,

SOPHROSYNE, thou guard unseen,

Whose delicate controul
Can turn the discord of chagrin

To harmony of soul.

Above the lyre, the lute above,

Be mine thy melting tone,
Which makes the peace of all we love,
The basis of our own.

Wm. Hayley, Esq. * Euphrosyne.

GLEE for Four Voices.

J. DANBY. Sweet thrush! that makes the vernal year Sweeter than Flora can appear; As Philomel attends thy lay, She envies the return of day. The tuneful lyre and swelling flute, At thy rich warbling shall be mute; Vocal Minstrel ! thy soft lay Treasures up, and ends the May ; Hark! how the blackbird woos his love, The skill'd musician of the grove ; On thorn, as perch'd, he nobly sings, A cadence for the best of kings; Sublime and soft, gay and serene, A virginal to hail a queen : Nature's music thus improves, All the graces and the loves.

GLEE for Three Voices.

S. WEBBE. SURLY Giles's old cat was shut out of the house; How she plagu'd him all night without catching a mouse! With her mew, sick to death, surly Giles rose in haste, And vow'd that no longer his moments he'd waste ; So he took up a stick, as he jump'd out of bed, And swore he would knock the old cat o'the head.

Dr. Callcott.

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