BODLEIFN
1-8-1808
LIBRARY
Sung in Alfred. Set by Dr ARNE.
ARISE fweet meffenger of morn,
With thy mild beams this ifle adorn :
For, long as thepherds pipe and play,
This fhall be holliday.
See! morn appears; a rofy hue
Steals foft o'er yonder orient blue:
Well are we met in trim array,
To frolic out this holliday.
Each nymph be like the blufhing morn,
That gaily brightens o'er the lawn;
Each thepherd, like the fun be gay,
And grateful keep this holliday,
II. Tune, Tarry woo'.
ELIA's voice, Celia's voice,
Sweetly on our senses win;
Guard us heav'n! guard us heav'n!
Guard us heav'n ere fhe begin!
When the pretty warbler fings,
Heav'n its ftore of pleafures brings;
Then, Oh! then, is heard and feen,
Mufic's goddefs, beauty's queen.
Charming Celia's voice we fing,
Sweet as balmy gale of fpring,
Scattering odour as it blows,
O'er the vi'let and the rofe:
Harp, viol, lute, in value fall,
Celia's voice excels them all;
Oblig'd are Ramfay's fongs, I vow,
Celia, to your voice and you."
Oh! it is a pleafing trance,
And our hearts within us dance,
Tarry woo' when Celia fings,
Then we're borne on pleafuré's wings:
Charms around the finger throng,
Angels liften to the fong:
Round her all the fwains rejoice,
Nought fo fweet as Celia's voice..
Happy is the rural swain,
Free from city care and pain;
He, with pleafure all the day,
Sees his tender lambkins play ;
But, ye gods, can any blifs,
Any pleasure equal his,
On whose ravish'd fenfes throng
Celia's beauties, and her fong
Though a fimple shepherd I,
Mighty kings I don't envy;
I am happier than a king,
Whilst I hear my Celia fing,
But when Celia fings adieu,
In the fong of Tarry, woo',
Then am I a pensive fwain,
Till the fair refume the ftrain.
Sing, my faireft, fing again,
Since your filence gives me pain;
And continue finging ftill,
Till I fay i have my fill.
Warble, faireft, warble on,
Never let the fong be done :
Still I find the pleasure new,
Never, never fing adieu.
III. Blow ye Winter's Wind,
BLOW, blow, ye winter's wind,
Thou art not fo unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not fo keen,
Because thou art not feen,
Altho' thy breath be rude.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter fky?
That doth not bite fo nigh
As benefits forgot.
What tho' the waters warp,
Their fting is not fo fharp
As friends remember'd not.
Though raging waters roll,
Would not afflict my foul,
Like falfe ungrateful man;
Thy danger's not fo great
As friendship turn'd to hate,
Privately to trapan.
Thou dreadful thunder! roar,
Thou wouldst not hurt me more
Than flighted friendship can:
Although, thou may't furprize,
Thou dost not tyrannize
Like proud infulting man
Fierce light'ning! dart and fly,
Thou haft more clemency
Than one who does pretend
Much kindness for to fhow,
Yet feeks your overthrow,
N good King CHARLES' golden days, When loyalty had no harm in't, A zealous high-church man I was, And fo I gain'd preferment;
To teach my flock I never mifs'd,
Kings are by heav'n appointed;
And they are damn'd that do resist,
Nor touch the Lord's anointed.
And this is law I will maintain,
Until my dying day, Sir,
That whatfoever king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Brae, Sir.
When royal JAMES obtain'd the crown,
And Pop'ry came in fashion,
The penal laws I hooted down,
And read the Declaration :
The chuch of Rome I found would fuit
Full well my conftitution,
And I'd become a Jefuit,
But for the Revolution,
And this is law, &c.
When WILLIAM was our king declar'd
To eafe the nation's grievance,
About with this new wind I fteer'd,
And fwore to him allegiance:
Old principles I did revoke,
Set confcience at a distance;
Paffive obedience was a joke;
A jeft was non-refiftance.
And this is law, &c.
When gracious ANNE became our queen,
The church of England's glory,
Another face of things was feen;
So I became a Tory;
Occafional Conformists bafe
I damn'd their moderation,
And swore the church in danger was
By fuch prevarication.
And this is law, &c.
When GEORGE in pudding-time came o'er, And moderate men look'd big, Sir;
I turn'd a cat in pan once more,
And then became a Whig, Sir;
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