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Mean while a thousand harps were play'd on high;

"Be this thy measur'd bound,"
Was echo'd all around;

"And now arise, ye Earth, and Seas, and Sky!"
A thousand voices made reply,
"Arise, ye Earth, and Seas, and Sky!"
What can Music's power control?

When Nature's sleeping soul
Perceiv'd th' enchanting sound,
It wak'd, and shook off foul Deformity;
The mighty melody

Nature's secret chains unbound;
And Earth arose, and Seas, and Sky.
Aloft expanded spheres were slung,
With shining luminaries hung;
A vast Creation stood display'd,
By Heaven's inspiring Music made.

CHORUS.

O wondrous force of Harmony!

Divinest art, whose fame shall never cease!

Thy honour'd voice proclaim'd the Saviour's birth;
When Heaven vouchsaf'd to treat with Earth,
Music was herald of the peace:

Thy voice could best the joyful tidings tell;
Immortal Mercy! boundless Love!
A God descending from above,
To conquer Death and Hell.

There yet remains an hour of Fate,
When Music must again its charms employ;
The trumpet's sound

Shall call the numerous nations under ground.
The numerous nations straight

Appear; and some with grief, and some with joy,
Their final sentence wait.

GRAND CHORUS.

Then other arts shall pass away:

Proud Architecture shall in ruins lie,

And Painting fade and die,

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A THOUGHT IN A GARDEN. WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1704. DELIGHTFUL mansion! blest retreat! Where all is silent, all is sweet! Here Contemplation prunes her wings,

Nay Earth, and Heaven itself, in wasteful fire decay. | The raptur'd Muse more tuneful sings,

Music alone, and Poesy,

Triumphant o'er the flame, shall see

The world's last blaze.
The tuneful sisters shall embrace,

And praise and sing, and sing and praise, la never-ceasing choirs, to all eternity.

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While May leads on the cheerful hours,
And opens a new world of flowers.
Gay Pleasure here all dresses wears,
And in a thousand shapes appears.
Pursu'd by Fancy, how she roves
Through airy walks, and museful groves;
Springs in each plant and blossom'd tree,
And charms in all I hear and see!
In this elysium while I stray,

And Nature's fairest face survey,

[shine,

Earth seems new-born, and life more bright;
Time steals away, and smooths his flight;
And Thought's bewilder'd in delight.
Where are the crowds I saw of late?
What are those tales of Europe's fate?
Of Anjou, and the Spanish crown;
And leagues to pull usurpers down?
Of marching armies, distant wars;
Of factions, and domestic jars?
Sure these are last night's dreams, no more;
Or some romance, read lately o'er;
Like Homer's antique tale of Troy,
And powers confederate to destroy

Priam's proud house, the Dardan name,
With him that stole the ravish'd dame,

And, to possess another's right,

Durst the whole world to arms excite.
Come, gentle Sleep, my eye-lids close,
These dull impressions help me lose:

Let Fancy take her wing, and find
Some better dreams to sooth my mind;
Or waking let me learn to live;
The prospect will instruction give.

For see, where beauteous Thames does glide
Serene, but with a fruitful tide;
Free from extremes of ebb and flow,
Not swell'd too high, nor sunk too low:
Such let my life's smooth current be,
Till from Time's narrow shore set free,
It mingle with th' eternal sea;
And, there enlarg'd, shall be no more
That trifling thing it was before.

A WISH, TO THE NEW YEAR,
1705.

JANUS great leader of the rolling year,
Since all that's past no vows can e'er restore,
But joys and griefs alike, once hurry'd o'er,
No longer now deserve a smile or tear;

Close the fantastic scenes-but grace
With brightest aspects thy foreface,
While Time's new offspring hastens to appear.
With lucky omens guide the coming Hours,**
Command the circling Seasons to advance,
And form their renovated dance,
With flowing pleasures fraught, and bless'd by
friendly powers.

Thy month, O Janus! gave me first to know A mortal's trifling cares below;

My race of life began with thee.

Thus far, from great misfortunes free,

Contented, I my lot endure,

Nor Nature's rigid laws arraign,

Nor spurn at common ills in vain,

Which Folly cannot shun, nor wise Reflection cure.

But oh!--more anxious for the year to come,

I would foreknow my future doom.
Then tell me, Janus, canst thou spy
Events that yet in embryo lie

For me, in Time's mysterious womb?
Tell me-nor shall I dread to hear,
A thousand accidents severe;

I'll fortify my soul the load to bear,

If Love rejected add not to its weight,

To finish me in woes, and crush me down with Fate.

But if the goddess, in whose charming eyes,

More clearly written than in Fate's dark book, My joy, my grief, my all of future fortune lies; If she must with a less propitious look

Forbid my humble sacrifice,

Or blast me with a killing frown;
If, Janus, this thou seest in store,
Cut short my mortal thread, and now
Take back the gift thou didst bestow!
Here let me lay my burthen down,

And cease to love in vain, and be a wretch no more.

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And, hated by all tyrants, chose The glory to have such his foes."

AUGUSTA,

RECITATIVE.

Genius of Britain! give thy sorrows o'er:
A grateful tribute thou hast paid
To thy Devonia's noble shade;
Now vainly weep the dead no more!
For see the duke and patriot still survives,
And in his great successor lives.

BRITANNIA,

RECITATIVE,

I own the new-arising light,
I see paternal grandeur shine,
Descending through th' illustrious line,
In the same royal favours bright.

LAST DUETTO, WITH ALL THE INSTRUMENTS.
BRIT. Gently smooth thy flight, O Time!
AUG. Smoothly wing thy flight, O Time!
BOTH. And as thou, flying, growest old,
Still this happy race behold
In Britannia's court sublime.
BRIT. Lead along their smiling Hours;
Long produce their smiling Hours;
BOTH. Blest by all auspicious powers.
BRIT. Gently smooth thy flight, O Time!
Smoothly wing thy flight, O Time!
BOTH. And as thou, flying, growest old,
Still this happy race behold
In Britannia's court sublime,

AUG.

AUG.

EPILOGUE,

SPOKEN BY MR. MILLS, AT THE QUEEN'S THEATRE, ON HIS BENEFIT-NIGHT, FEBRUARY 16, 1709, A LITTLE BEFORE THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUH'S GOING FOR HOLLAND.

WHETHER Our stage all others docs excel

In strength of wit, we'll not presume to tell:
But this, with noble, conscious pride, we'll say,
No theatre such glories can display;
Such worth conspicuous, beauty so divine,
Who can, without amazement, turn his sight,
As in one British audience mingled shine.
And mark the awful circle here to-night?
Warriors, with ever-living laurels, brought
From empires sav'd, from battles bravely fought,
Here sit; whose matchless story shall adorn
Scenes yet unwrit, and charm e'en ages yet unborn.
Yet who would not expect such martial fire,
That sees what eyes those gallant deeds inspire?
Valour and Beauty still were Britain's claim,
Both are her great prerogatives of fame;

By both the Muses live, from both they catch their. flame.

Then as by you, in solid glory bright,

Our envy'd Isle through Europe spreads her light, And rising honours every year sustain,

And mark the golden tract of Anne's distinguish'd

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WRITTEN

IN A WINDOW AT GREENHITHE.

GREAT President of light, and Eye of day,
As through this glass you cast your visual ray,
And view with nuptial joys two brothers blest,
And see us celebrate the genial feast,
Confess, that in your progress round the sphere,
You've found the happiest youths and brightest
beauties here.

THE TOASTERS.

WHILE circling healths inspire your sprightly wit,
And on each glass some beauty's praise is writ,
You ask, my friends, how can my silent Muse
To Montague's soft name a verse refuse?
Bright though she be, of race victorious sprung,
By wits ador'd, and by court-poets sung;
Unmov'd I hear her person call'd divine,
I see her features uninspiring shine;
A softer fair my soul to transport warms,
And, she once nam'd, no other nymph has charms.

TOFTS AND MARGARETTA. MUSIC has learn'd the discords of the state, And concerts jar with Whig and Tory hate. Here Somerset and Devonshire attend The British Tofts, and every note commend; To native Merit just, and pleas'd to sce We've Roman arts, from Roman bondage free: There fam'd L'Epine does cqual skill employ, While listening peers crowd to th' ecstatic joy: Bedford, to hear her song, his dice forsakes, And Nottingham is raptur'd when she shakes: Lull'd statesmen melt away their drowsy cares Of England's safety, in Italian airs.

Who would not send each year blank passes o'er, Rather than keep such strangers from our shore?

THE WANDERING BEAUTY,
THE Graces and the wandering Loves
Are fled to distant plains,

To chase the fawns, or, deep in groves,
To wound admiring swains.

With their bright mistress there they stray,

Who turns her careless eyes

From daily triumphs; yet, each day,
Beholds new triumphs in her way,,
And conquers while she flies.

But see! implor'd by moving prayers,
To change the lover's pain,

Venus her harness'd doves prepares,
And brings the fair again.

Proud mortals, who this maid pursue,
Think you she'll e'er resign?
Cease, fools, your wishes to renew,
Till she gros flesh and blood like you,
Or you, like her, divine'

DIALOGUE DE L'AMOUR ET DU POETE.

LE P. AMOUR, je ne veux plus aimer;
Jabjure à jamais ton empire:

Mon cœur, lassé de son martire,
A résolu de se calmer.

L'AM. Contre moi, qui peut t' animer?
Iris dans ses bras te rapelle.

LE P. Non, Iris est une infidelle;

Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.
L'AM. Pour toi, j'ai pris soin d'enflamer
Le cœur d'une beauté nouvelle;
Daphné.- -LE P. Non, Daphné n'est que belle;
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

L'AM. D'un soupir, tu peux désarmer
Dirce, jusqu'ici si sauvage.
LE P. Elle n'est plus dans le bel age;
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.
L'AM. Mais si je t'aidois à charmer

La jeune, la brillante Flore.-
Tu rougis-vas-tu dire encore,
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.
LE P. Non, dieu charmant, daigne former
Pour nous une chaine eternelle;
Mais pour tout ce qui n'est point elic,
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

DIALOGUE FROM THE FRENCH

OF MONSIEUR DE LA MOTTE.

POET. No, Love—I ne'er will love again;
Thy tyrant empire I abjure:
My weary heart resolves to cure

Its wounds, and ease the raging pain.

LOVE. Fool! can t thou fly my happy reign?
Iris recals thee to her arms.
POET. She's false-I hate her perjur'd charms;
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.

LOVE. But know, for thee I've toil'd to gain

Daphné, the bright, the reigning toast.
POET. Daphné but common eyes can boast;
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.
LOVE. She who before scorn'd every swain,
Dirce, shall for one sigh be thine.
POET. Age makes her rays too faintly shine;
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.
LOVE. But should I give thee charms t'obtain
Flora, the young, the bright, the gay
I see thee blush-now, rebel, say,
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.

POET. No, charming god, prepare a chain
Eternal for that fair and me!
Yet still know every fair but she,
I've vow'd I ne'er will love again.

VENUS AND ADONIS.

A CANTATA.

SET BY MR. HANDEL.

RECITATIVE.

BEHOLD where weeping Venus stands !
What more than mortal grief can move
The bright, th' immortal queen of love?
She beats her breast, she wrings her hands;

And hark, she mourns, but mourns in vain,
Her beauteous, lov'd Adonis, slain.
The hills and woods her loss deplore;
The Naiads hear, and flock around;

And Echo sighs, with mimic sound,

Adonis is no more!

Again the goddess raves, and tears her hair: Then vents her grief, her love, and her despair.

AIR

Dear Adonis, Beauty's treasure,
Now my sorrow, once my pleasure;
O return to Venus' arins!
Venus never will forsake thee;

Let the voice of Love o ertake thee,
And revive thy drooping charms.

RECITATIVE.

Thus, queen of beauty, as the poets feign,
While thou didst call the lovely swain;
Transform'd by heavenly power,

The lovely swain arose a flower,
And, smiling, grac'd the plain.

And now he blooms, and now he fades;

Venus and gloomy Proserpine

Alternate claim his charms divine;

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FAIR rival to the god of day,

By turns restor'd to light, by turns he seeks the Beauty, to thy celestial ray

shades.

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A thousand sprightly fruits we owaj Gay wit, and moving eloquence, And every art t' improve the sense, And every grace that shines below. Not Phoebus does our songs inspire, Nor did Cyllenius form the lyre, 'Tis thou art music's living spring; To thee the poet tunes his lays, And, sweetly warbling Beauty's praise, Describes the power that makes him sing Painters from thee their skill derive, By thee their works to ages live, For ev'n thy shadows give surprise, As when we view in crystal streams The morning Sun, and rising beams, That seem to shoot from other skies. Enchanting vision! who can be Unmov'd that turns his eyes on thee? Yet brighter still thy glories shine, And double charms thy power improve, When Beauty, dress'd in smiles of Love, Grows, like its parent Heaven, divine!

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