Yet why doubt her care to please thee?
Thou must every heart subdue:
I am sure each nymph that sees thee,
Loves thee like thy poor Hindoo.

No-ah, no! though from thee parted,
Other nymphs would peace obtain;
But thy Zayda, broken-hearted,
Ne'er, O ne'er will smile again.
O how fast from thee they bear me !
Faster still shall Death pursue;
But 'tis well-Death will endear me,
And thou'lt mourn thy poor Hindoo.

O PITY, IF THY HOLY TEAR.

MRS ROBINSON.NOT PUBLISHED.

Sung at the Newcastle Concerts.

O PITY, if thy holy tear,

Immortal, decks the wing of Time,
'Tis when the soldier's honour'd bier
Demands the glittering drop sublime!
For who, from busy life remov'd,
Such glorious, dang'rous toil has prov'd,
As he who, on the embattled plain,
Lies, nobly slain !

He who forsakes his native shore

To meet the whizzing ball of Death!

Who, 'mid the battle's fateful roar,
Resigns his ling'ring, parting breath!

MURRAY.

Who, when the deafening din is done,
So well deserves, as Valour's son,
The proud, the lasting wreath of Fame,
To grace his name?

Hard is his fate, the sultry day,

To wander o'er the burning plain;
All night to waste the hours away,
'Mid howling winds and beating rain;
To talk (O! vision sadly sweet)
With her his eyes will never meet,
And find, at morn's returning gleam,
'Twas but a dream!

To mark the haughty brow severe,-
To hear th' imperious, stern command,—
To heave the sigh,-to drop the tear,
While Mem'ry paints his native land!

To know the laurel he has won

Twines round the brow of Fortune's son,-
While he, when strength and youth are flown,
Shall die unknown!

ANON.

MAD TOM.

-GOULDING, LONDON.

PURCELL.

Sung by Mr Incledon.

FORTH from my dark and dismal cell,
Or from the dark abyss of hell,

Mad Tom is come to view the world again,

To see if he can cure his distemper'd brain !

Fears and cares oppress my soul !
Hark, how the angry Furies howl!
Pluto laughs, and Proserpine is glad,
To see poor Tom of Bedlam mad!

Through the world I wander night and day, to find my straggling senses!

In an angry mood I met old Time, with his pentateuch of tenses.

When me he spies,

Away he flies,

For Time will stay for ne man;

In vain with cries

I rend the skies,

For pity is not common!
Cold and comfortless I be:
Help, help, O help, or else I die!
Hark! I hear Apollo's team;
The carman 'gins to whistle,
Chaste Diana lends her bow,

And the boar begins to bristle.
Come, Vulcan, with tools and with tackles,
To knock off my troublesome shackles';
Bid Charles make ready his wain,
To bring me my senses again!
In my triumphant chariot hurl'd,

I range around the world:

'Tis I, 'tis I, 'tis I, mad Tom, drive all before me!

While to my royal throne I come, Bow down my slaves, and adore me, Your sovereign lord, mad Tom! And though I give law

From beds of straw,

And drest in a tatter'd robe,
The madman can be

More a monarch than he

That commands the vassal globe!

FRIAR OF ORDERS GREY.-GLEE.

PIERCY.

-CALCOTT, LONDON.

Sung at the Public Concerts.

IT was a friar of orders grey,
Went forth to tell his beads;

And he met with a lady fair,
Clad in a pilgrim's weeds.

CALCOTT.

"Now Heav'n thee save, thou holy friar,

"I pray thee tell to me,

"If ever at your holy shrine

"My true-love thou didst see."

And how shall I your true-love know

From many another one?'

"O, by his cockle hat and staff,
"And by his sandal shoone."
'O lady, he's dead and gone!
'Lady, he's dead and gone!

• And at his head a green grass turf,
And at his heels a stone.

Weep no more, lady, weep no more;
'Thy sorrow is in vain ;

For vi'lets pluckt, the sweetest show'rs
• Will neʼer make grow again.
Yet stay, fair lady, rest awhile,
'Beneath yon cloyster's wall;

See thro' the hawthorn the cold wind,
• And drizzly rain doth fall.'
"O stay me not, thou holy friar,
"O stay me not, I pray;
"No drizzly rain that falls on me
"Can wash my fault away."

ANON.

TO ANACREON IN HEAV’N.

-DALE, ETC. LONDON.

Sung by Mr Dignum, &c.

ANON.

TO Anacreon in heav'n, where he sat in full glee, A few sons of harmony sent a petition,

That he their inspirer and patron would be;

When this answer arriv'd from the jolly old Grecian:

"Voice, fiddle, and flute,

"No longer be mute;

"I'll lend you my name, and inspire you to boot; "And, besides, I'll instruct you, like me, to entwine "The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine."

The news through Olympus immediately flew ; When old Thunder pretended to give himself airs : "If these mortals are suffer'd their plans to pursue, "The devil a goddess will stay above stairs. "Hark! already they cry,

"(In transports of joy)

"Away to the sons of Anacreon we'll fly;

"And there, with good fellows, we'll learn to entwine "The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine.

R