VENUS! thy throne of beauty now resign! Who sings it to his lyre, And does this maid inspire With his own art, to give a surer wound. AIR. Hark! the groves her songs repeat; Learns her voice, and grows more sweet; Hark! the groves her songs repeat; RECITATIVE. Yet, Venus, once again my suit attend; And when from Heaven you shall descend, CLAUDIANUS. IN EPITHALAMIO HONORII ET MARIE. CUNCTATUR Stupefacta Venus. Nunc ora puellæ, Nunc flavam niveo miratur vertice matrem. Hæc modo crescenti, plenæ par altera lunæ: Assurgit ceu fortè minor sub matre virenti Laurus: & ingentes ramos, olimque futuras Promittit jam parva comas: vel ilore sub uno,' Ceu gemina Pastana rosæ per jugera regnant. Hæc largo matura die, saturataque vernis Roribus, indulget spatio: latet altera nodo, Nec teneris audet foliis admittere soles. TRANSLATED. Venus coming to a nuptial ceremony, and entering the room, sees the bride and her mother sitting together, &c. On which occasion Claudian makes the following description. THE goddess paus'd; and, held in deep amaze, A beauteous bud, nor yet admits the skies. A CANTATA. SET BY MR. PEPUSCH. AIR. FOOLISH Love! scor thy darts, RECITATIVE. Thus Strephon mock'd the power of Love, and swore His freedom he would still maintain, Nor ever wear th' inglorious chain, Or slavishly adore. But when Lamira cross'd the plain, The shepherd gaz'd, and thus revers'd his strain. AIR. Love, I feel thy power divine, THE SOLDIER IN LOVE. SET WITH SYMPHONIES BY MR. PEPUSCH. AIR. WHY, too amorous hero! why And sighing tell thy woe? And sighing tell thy woe? RECITATIVE. Cleander heard not this advice, Nor would his languishing refrain. But while to Celia once he pray'd in vain, And, blushing at the sight, he grew a man again. AIR. WITH A TRUMPET. Hark! the trumpet sounds to arms! Melting airs, soft joys inspire: Let the deep-mouth'd organ blow, Hark! how the treble and base By turns they rise and fall, by turns we live and die, Then other arts shall pass away: Proud Architecture shall in ruins lie, And Painting fade and die, A THOUGHT IN A GARDEN. WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1704. DELIGHTFUL niansion! 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. And praise and sing, and sing and praise, In never-ceasing choirs, to all eternity. While May leads on the cheerful hours, And Nature's fairest face survey, [shine, Earth seems new-born, and life more bright; Where are the crowds I saw of late? Priam's proud house, the Dardan name, 1 JANUS! great leader of the rolling year, Close the fantastic scenes--but grace 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, froin great misfortunes free, Nor Nature's rigid laws arraign, Which Folly cannot shun, nor wise Reflection cure. But oh!--more anxious for the year to come, I would foreknow my future doom, For me, in Time's mysterious womb? 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, And cease to love in vain, and be a wretch no more. A CANTATA. SET BY MR. GALLIARD, WHILE on your blooming charms I gaze, Your tender lips, your soft enchanting eyes, And all the Venus in your face, I'm fill'd with pleasure and surprise: BRIT. And wakeful Fame defend, AUG. And grateful Truth commend BOTH. The generous and the brave! AUGUSTA. RECITATIVE. 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 does excel In strength of wit, we'll not presume to tell: 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 |