Poor Bess will return to the place whence she came, Since the world is so mad she can hope for no cure; For love's grown a bubble, a shadow, a name, Cold and hungry am I grown; Does all sorrow prevent; In her thoughts is as great as a king! RENOLDS. SWEETLY, IN LIFE'S, ETC. -GOULDING, LONDON. Sung by Miss Murray. MAZZINGHI, SWEETLY, in Life's jocund morning, Tells me those blest hours are gone, Love, which drew these sorrows on me, The pitying power that has undone me, Pours the balm that heals my grief. Аа What though Memory, so severely, Smile, and all my cares are flown. IN PITY, FOND BOSOM, LIE STILL! FRANKLIN. KELLY, LONDON. Sung by Mrs Mountain. KELLY. YES, now I shall think of that heart-broken maid I have heard her exclaim, as she sadly reclin'd I have heard her exclaim, while she shrunk in the wind, "In pity, fond bosom, lie still!" The youth whom she lov'd had been torn from her arms By a fate too severely unkind; Thus wither'd, alas! was the rose of her charms, Sweet mourner! thy fortunes may haply be mine, Then sad shall I sing, with a sorrow like thine, "In pity, fond bosom, lie still! LOST IN ANXIOUS DOUBTS. ANONYMOUS. PRESTON, LONDON. Sung by Mrs Billington. LOST in anxious doubts, tormenting Heaven, on thee for succour calling, BIANCHI. LOVE SOUNDS THE TRUMPET OF JOY. UPTON. AND -BLAND AND CO. LONDON. Sung by Miss Daniels. I LOVE, but I dare not say who; I grieve when my love is away, REEVE But why, silly girl, do I chide? O tell me, dear Cupid, sweet boy! I will not thee chide any more; 'Tis cruel to wound a fond swain; Than triumph in giving him pain. MILTON. SWEET ECHO. PRESTON, LONDON, DR ARNE, Sung by Mrs Bland. SWEET Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen Within thy airy cell, By slow Meander's margent green, And in the violet-embroider'd vale, Where the love-lorn nightingale Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well. Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair, That likest thy Narcissus are? Oh, if you have Hid them in some flow'ry cave, Tell me but where, Sweet queen of parley, daughter of the sphere; So may'st thou be translated to the skies, And give resounding grace to all Heav'n's harmonies. PENT WITHIN THIS CAVERN DREAR. HOLMAN. JONES, LONDON. Sung by Miss De Camp. PENT within this cavern drear, Ere I mourn'd a fate so dire, Sorrow was an inmate here; Hope display'd, my breast to cheer; The gladd'ning ray she now denies, -DAVY, ON THE LIGHTLY SPORTIVE WING. HOARE. -DALE, LONDON. Sung by Madame Storace. ON the lightly sportive wing, At Pleasure's call, we fly! Hark! they dance, they play, they sing, STORACE. |