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Th' applauding deities with pleasure heard,
And for the grateful work prepar'd.
A busy face the god of Gardens wore;
Vertumnus of the party too,
From various sweets th' exhaling spirits drew:
While, in full canisters, Pomona bore

Of richest fruits a plenteous store;
And Vesta promis'd wondrous things to do.
Gay Venus led a lively train

Of smiles and graces: the plump god of Wine
From clusters did the flowing nectar strain,
And fill'd large goblets with his juice divine.
Thus charg'd, they seek the honour'd shade
Where liv'd and died the spotless maid.
On a soft couch of turf the body lay;
Th' approaching deities press'd all around,
Prepar'd the sacred rites to pay

In silence, and with awe profound.
Flora thrice bow'd, and thus was heard to pray.
"Jove! mighty Jove! whom all adore,
Exert thy great creative power!
Let this fair corpse be mortal clay no more;
Transform it to a tree, to bear a beauteous flower"-
Scarce had the goddess spoke, when see!
The nymph's extended limbs the form of branches

wear:

Behold the wondrous change, the fragrant tree! To leaves was turn'd her flowing hair; And rich diffus'd perfumes regal'd the wanton air. Heavens! what new charm, what sudden light, Improves the grot, and entertains the sight! A sprouting bud begins the tree t' adorn; The large the sweet vermilion flower is born! The goddess thrice on the fair infant breath'd, To spread it into life, and to convey The fragrant soul, and every charm bequeath'd To make the vegetable princess gay: Then kiss'd it thrice: the general silence broke, And thus in loud rejoicing accents spoke. "Ye flowers at my command attendant here, Pay homage, and your sovereign Rose revere! No sorrow on your drooping leaves be seen; Let all be proud of such a queen, So fit the floral crown to wear,

To glorify the day, and grace the youthful year." Thus speaking, she the new-born favourite The transformation was complete; [crown'd, The deities with songs the queen of flowers did greet: Soft flutes and tuneful harps were heard to sound; While now to Heaven the well-pleas'd goddess flies With her bright train, and reascends the skies.

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words, it may be proper to acquaint the public. that they are the first essays of this kind, and were written as an experiment of introducing a sort of composition, which had never been naturalized in our language. Those who are affectedly partial to the Italian tongue will scarce allow music to speak any other; but if reason may be admitted to have any share in these entertainments, nothing is more necessary than that the words should be understood, without which the end of vocal music is lost. The want of this occasions a common complaint, and is the chief, if not the only reason, that the best works of Sear-) lati and other Italians, except those performed in operas, are generally but little known or regarded, here. Besides, it may be observed, without any dishonour to a language which has been adorned by some writers of excellent genius, and was the first among the moderns in which the art of poetry was revived and brought to any perfection, that in the great number of their operas, serenatas, and cantatas, the words are often much inferior to the composition; and though, by their abounding with vowels, they have an inimitable aptness and facility for notes, the writers for music have not always made the best use of this advantage, or seem to, have relied on it so much as to have regarded little else; so that Mr. Waller's remark on another occasion may be frequently applied to

them:

Soft words, with nothing in them, make a song.

Yet so great is the force of sounds well chosen and skilfully executed, that, as they can hide indifferent sense, and a kind of associated pleasure arises from the words though they are but mean; so the impression cannot fail of being in proportion much greater, when the thoughts are natural and proper, and the expressions unaffected and agreeable.

Since, therefore, the English language, though inferior in smoothness, has been found not incapable of harmony, nothing would perhaps be wanting towards introducing the most elegant style of music, in a nation which has given such generous encouragements fo it, if our best poets would sometimes assist this design, and make it their diversion to improve a sort of verse, in regular measures, purposely fitted for music, and which, of all the modern kinds, seems to be the only one that can now properly be called lyrics.

It cannot but be observed on this occasion, that since poetry and music are so nearly allied, it is a misfortune that those who excel in one are often perfect strangers to the other. If, therefore, a better correspondence were settled between the two sister arts, they would probably contribute to each other's improvement. The expressions of harmony, cadence, and a good ear, which are said to be so necessary in poetry, being all borrowed from music, show at least, if they signify any thing, that it would be no improper help for a poet to understand more than the metaphorical sense of them. And on the other hand, a composer can never judge where to lay the accent of his music, who does not know, or is not made sensible, where the words have the greatest beauty and force.

There is one thing in compositions of this sort which seems a little to want explaining, and that

is the recitative music, which many people hear without pleasure, the reason of which is, perhaps, that they have a mistaken notion of it. They are accustomed to think that all music should be air; and being disappointed of what they expect, they lose the beauty that is in it of a different kind. It may be proper to observe, therefore, that the recitative style in composition is founded on that variety of accent which pleases in the pronunciation of a good orator, with as little deviation from it as possible. The different tones of the voice, in astonishment, joy, sorrow, rage, tenderness in affirmations, apostrophes, interrogations, and all the varieties of speech, make a sort of natural music, which is very agreeable; and this is what is intended to be imitated, with some helps by the composer, but without approaching to what we call a tune or air; so that it is but a kind of improved elocution or pronouncing the words in musical cadences, and is indeed wholly at the mercy of the performer to make it agreeable or not, according to his skill or ignorance, like the reading of verse, which is not every one's talent. short account may possibly suffice to show how properly the recitative has a place in compositions of any length, to relieve the ear with a variety, and to introduce the airs with the greater advantage.

This

As to Mr. Pepusch's success in these compositions, I am not at liberty to say any more than that he has, I think, very naturally expressed the sense of the words. He is desirous the public should be informed, that they are not only the first he has attempted in English, but the first of any of his works published by himself; and as he wholly submits them to the judgment of the lovers of this art, it will be a pleasure to him to find, that his endeavours to promote the composing of music in the English language, after a new model, are favourably accepted.

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CANTATA I.

ON ENGLISH BEAUTY.

RECITATIVE.

WHEN Beauty's goddess from the ocean sprung,
Ascending, o'er the waves she cast a smile
On fair Britannia's happy isle,

And rais'd her tuneful voice, and thus she sung.

AIR.

Hail, Britannia! hail to thee,
Fairest island of the sea!
Thou my favourite land shalt be.
Cyprus too shall own my sway,

And dedicate to me its groves;
Yet Venus and her train of Loves
Will with happier Britain stay.
Hail, Britannia! hail to thee,
Fairest island of the sea!

Thou my favourite land shalt be.

RECITATIVE.

Britannia heard the notes diffusing wide,

And saw the power whom gods and men adore, Approaching nearer with the tide,

And in a rapture loudly cry'd,

O welcome! welcome to my shore!

CANTATA III.

ON THE SPRING.

WITH VIOLINS.

AIR.

FRAGRANT Flora! haste, appear,
Goddess of the youthful Year!
Zephyr gently courts thee now:
On thy buds of roses playing,
All thy breathing sweets displaying,
Hark, his amorous breezes blow!
Fragrant Flora! haste, appear!
Goddess of the youthful Year!

Zephyr gently courts thee now.

RECITATIVE.

Thus on a fruitful hill, in the fair bloom of spring.
The tuneful Colinet, his voice did raise,
The vales remurmur'd with his lays,
And listening birds hung hovering on the wing,
In whispering sighs soft Zephyr by him flew,
While thus the shepherd did his song renew.

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Or can you see their armies rush from far,
And sit secure amidst the rage of war?
Ye gods! how great, how glorious 'tis to see
The warrior-hero fight for liberty,

For his dear children, for his tender wife,
For all the valued joys, and soft supports of life!
Then let him draw his sword, and take the field,
And fortify his breast behind the spacious shield.
Nor fear to die; in vain you shun your fate,
Nor can you shorten, nor prolong its date;
For life's a measur'd race, and he that flies
From darts and fighting foes, at home inglorious
No grieving crowds his obsequies attend;
But all applaud and weep the soldier's end,
Who, desperately brave, in tight sustains
Inflicted wounds, and honourable stains,
And falls a sacrifice to Glory's charms:
But if a just success shall crown his arins,
For his return the rescued people wait,
To see the guardian genius of the state;
With rapture viewing his majestic face,

His dauntless mien, and every martial grace,
They'll bless the toils he for their safety bore,
Admire them living, and when dead adore.

UNDER THE PRINT OF

TOM BRITTON.

THE MUSICAL SMALL-COAL MAN,

[dies;

THOUGH mean thy rank, yet in thy humble cell

Did gentle Peace and arts unpurchas'd dwell.
Well pleas'd Apollo thither led his train,
And Music warbled in her sweetest strain;
Cyllenius so, as fables tell, and Jove,
Came willing guests to poor Philemon's grove.
Let useless Pomp behold, and blush to find
So low a station, such a liberal mind.

SONG.

THE FAIR TRAVELLER.
Is young Astrea's sparkling eye,
Resistless Love has fix'd his throne;
A thousand lovers bleeding lie

For her, with wounds they fear to own.
While the coy beauty speeds her flight
To distant groves from whence she came;
So lightning vanishes from sight,
But leaves the forest in a flame!

A CANTATA.

SET BY MR. D. PURCELL.

AIR.

LOVE, I defy thee!

Venus, I fly thee!

I'm of chaste Diana's train.
Away, thou winged boy!

Thou bear'st thy darts in vain,
I hate the languid joy,

I mock the trifling pain.
Love, I defy thee!

Venus, I fly thee!

I'm of chaste Diana's train.

VOL X

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Scene opening discovers a pleasant bower, with the god of love asleep, attended by Cupids, some playing with his bow, others sharpening his arrows, &c. On each side the bower, walks of cypress trees, and fountains playing; a distant landscape terminates the prospect.

Verse for a shepherdess, with flutes.
See the mighty power of love,
Sleeping in a Cyprian grove!
Nymphs and shepherds, gently shed
Spices round his sacred head;
On his lovely body shower

Leaves of roses, virgin lilies,
Cowslips, violets, daffodilies,
And with garlands dress the bower.

Rittornel of flutes. After which Cupid rises, and sings, with his bow drawn.

Yield to the god of soft desires!
Whose gentle influence inspires
Every creature

Throughout nature

With sprightly joys and genial fires

Chorus of the shepherds and nymphs

Hail, thou potent deity!
Every creature
Throughout nature

Owns thy power as well as we.

Enter Hymen in a saffron-coloured robe, a chaplet of flowers on his head, and in his hand the nuptial torch; attended by priests.

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