Transcriber's Note

fancy rule

HERE,Chloehear,And do not turn away,From my Desire, but quench my Fire.And my Love's flames allay:And let my Song go along,Unto Compassion move;And make you kind,And bend your mind,And melt you into Love.IfChloeLoves, and Constant proves,Oh! happy, happy then am I;But if that she unconstant be,And do's delight to rove:As sure as Gun,I am undone,And shan't have power to move.

HERE,Chloehear,

And do not turn away,

From my Desire, but quench my Fire.

And my Love's flames allay:

And let my Song go along,

Unto Compassion move;

And make you kind,

And bend your mind,

And melt you into Love.

IfChloeLoves, and Constant proves,Oh! happy, happy then am I;But if that she unconstant be,And do's delight to rove:As sure as Gun,I am undone,And shan't have power to move.

IfChloeLoves, and Constant proves,

Oh! happy, happy then am I;

But if that she unconstant be,

And do's delight to rove:

As sure as Gun,

I am undone,

And shan't have power to move.

music

ATthe break of morning light,When the marbled Sky look gay;Nature self all perfect bright,Smil'd to see the God of Day:Charming prospect, verdant Trees,Azure Hill, enamell'd Sky;Birds with warbling Throats to please,Striving each which shall outvey.Lisbeathen with wond'rous hast,O'er a green sword Plain she flew;Thus my Angel as she past,The Eyes of ev'ry Shepherd drew:When they had the Nymph espyed,All amazed cry'd there she goes;Thus by blooming Beauty tryed,Thought a second Sun arose.Ev'ry Swain the Sun mistook.Dazled by refulgent Charms;And with Joy their Flocks forsook,For to follow Love's Alarms:All 'till now were perfect Friends,Bound by Innocence and Truth;'Till sly Love to gain his ends,Made a difference 'twixt each Youth.Each expected which should be,Made the happy Man by Love;While for want of Liberty,None could truly happy prove:But at length they all arriv'd,To a charming easie Grove;Where the Nymph had well contriv'd,To be happy with her Love.There in amorous folding twin'd,Strephonwith hisLisbealay;Both to mutual Joys enclin'd,Let their Inclinations stray:As the curling Vines embracing,Fondly of the Oak around;So the blooming Nymphs caressing,Of her Swain with pleasure crown'd.How surpriz'd were ev'ry Swain,When they found the Nymph engaged;Disappointment heighten'd Pain,'Till it made them more enraged:Arm your self with Resolution,Cry'd the most revengeful he;We'll contrive her Swains Confusion,Let him fall as much as we.Several Punishments they Invented,For to Torture helpless he;All revengeful, ne'er contented,Cruel to a vast Degree:One more envious in the rear,Thus his Sentiments let slip;Make him like the Cavalier,And for theOperahim Equip.

ATthe break of morning light,

When the marbled Sky look gay;

Nature self all perfect bright,

Smil'd to see the God of Day:

Charming prospect, verdant Trees,

Azure Hill, enamell'd Sky;

Birds with warbling Throats to please,

Striving each which shall outvey.

Lisbeathen with wond'rous hast,O'er a green sword Plain she flew;Thus my Angel as she past,The Eyes of ev'ry Shepherd drew:When they had the Nymph espyed,All amazed cry'd there she goes;Thus by blooming Beauty tryed,Thought a second Sun arose.

Lisbeathen with wond'rous hast,

O'er a green sword Plain she flew;

Thus my Angel as she past,

The Eyes of ev'ry Shepherd drew:

When they had the Nymph espyed,

All amazed cry'd there she goes;

Thus by blooming Beauty tryed,

Thought a second Sun arose.

Ev'ry Swain the Sun mistook.Dazled by refulgent Charms;And with Joy their Flocks forsook,For to follow Love's Alarms:All 'till now were perfect Friends,Bound by Innocence and Truth;'Till sly Love to gain his ends,Made a difference 'twixt each Youth.

Ev'ry Swain the Sun mistook.

Dazled by refulgent Charms;

And with Joy their Flocks forsook,

For to follow Love's Alarms:

All 'till now were perfect Friends,

Bound by Innocence and Truth;

'Till sly Love to gain his ends,

Made a difference 'twixt each Youth.

Each expected which should be,Made the happy Man by Love;While for want of Liberty,None could truly happy prove:But at length they all arriv'd,To a charming easie Grove;Where the Nymph had well contriv'd,To be happy with her Love.

Each expected which should be,

Made the happy Man by Love;

While for want of Liberty,

None could truly happy prove:

But at length they all arriv'd,

To a charming easie Grove;

Where the Nymph had well contriv'd,

To be happy with her Love.

There in amorous folding twin'd,Strephonwith hisLisbealay;Both to mutual Joys enclin'd,Let their Inclinations stray:As the curling Vines embracing,Fondly of the Oak around;So the blooming Nymphs caressing,Of her Swain with pleasure crown'd.

There in amorous folding twin'd,

Strephonwith hisLisbealay;

Both to mutual Joys enclin'd,

Let their Inclinations stray:

As the curling Vines embracing,

Fondly of the Oak around;

So the blooming Nymphs caressing,

Of her Swain with pleasure crown'd.

How surpriz'd were ev'ry Swain,When they found the Nymph engaged;Disappointment heighten'd Pain,'Till it made them more enraged:Arm your self with Resolution,Cry'd the most revengeful he;We'll contrive her Swains Confusion,Let him fall as much as we.

How surpriz'd were ev'ry Swain,

When they found the Nymph engaged;

Disappointment heighten'd Pain,

'Till it made them more enraged:

Arm your self with Resolution,

Cry'd the most revengeful he;

We'll contrive her Swains Confusion,

Let him fall as much as we.

Several Punishments they Invented,For to Torture helpless he;All revengeful, ne'er contented,Cruel to a vast Degree:One more envious in the rear,Thus his Sentiments let slip;Make him like the Cavalier,And for theOperahim Equip.

Several Punishments they Invented,

For to Torture helpless he;

All revengeful, ne'er contented,

Cruel to a vast Degree:

One more envious in the rear,

Thus his Sentiments let slip;

Make him like the Cavalier,

And for theOperahim Equip.

fancy rule

music

THERosey Morn lukes blith and Gay,The Lads and Lasses on the Plain;Her bonny, bonny sports pass o'er the Day,And leave poorJennytol complain:MySawndy'sgrown a faithless Loon,And given, givenMoggythat wild Heart;Which eance he swore was aw my own,But now weese me I've scarce a part.Gang thy gate then perjur'dSawndy,Ise nea mere will Mon believe;Wou'd Ise nere had trusted any,They faw Thieves will aw deceive:But gin ere Ise get mere Lovers,Ise Dissemble as they do;For since Lads are grown like Rovers,Pray why may na Lasses too.

THERosey Morn lukes blith and Gay,

The Lads and Lasses on the Plain;

Her bonny, bonny sports pass o'er the Day,

And leave poorJennytol complain:

MySawndy'sgrown a faithless Loon,

And given, givenMoggythat wild Heart;

Which eance he swore was aw my own,

But now weese me I've scarce a part.

Gang thy gate then perjur'dSawndy,Ise nea mere will Mon believe;Wou'd Ise nere had trusted any,They faw Thieves will aw deceive:But gin ere Ise get mere Lovers,Ise Dissemble as they do;For since Lads are grown like Rovers,Pray why may na Lasses too.

Gang thy gate then perjur'dSawndy,

Ise nea mere will Mon believe;

Wou'd Ise nere had trusted any,

They faw Thieves will aw deceive:

But gin ere Ise get mere Lovers,

Ise Dissemble as they do;

For since Lads are grown like Rovers,

Pray why may na Lasses too.

music

THERestauration now's the Word,A blessed Revolution;That has secur'd the Church, the Crown,AndEngland'sConstitution:May ev'ry Loyal Soul rejoice,MayWhigsand Canters mourn, Sir;Who ever thought thatCoventry,Shou'd make a due Return, Sir.We Rally'd the Church-Militant,And fell to work ding-dong, Sir;CravenandGeryare the Names,That do adorn our Song, Sir:Beaufort,Ormond,Rochester,And more than we can tell, Sir;Are Themes that well deserve the Pen,Of braveSacheverell, Sir.The glorious Sons ofWarwickshire,May justly be commended;There's ne'er a Member now Elect,That ever has offended:DenbighandCravenwe esteem,A Loyal Noble pair, Sir;And hope to see our worthy Friend,GreatBromlyin the Chair, Sir.

THERestauration now's the Word,

A blessed Revolution;

That has secur'd the Church, the Crown,

AndEngland'sConstitution:

May ev'ry Loyal Soul rejoice,

MayWhigsand Canters mourn, Sir;

Who ever thought thatCoventry,

Shou'd make a due Return, Sir.

We Rally'd the Church-Militant,And fell to work ding-dong, Sir;CravenandGeryare the Names,That do adorn our Song, Sir:Beaufort,Ormond,Rochester,And more than we can tell, Sir;Are Themes that well deserve the Pen,Of braveSacheverell, Sir.

We Rally'd the Church-Militant,

And fell to work ding-dong, Sir;

CravenandGeryare the Names,

That do adorn our Song, Sir:

Beaufort,Ormond,Rochester,

And more than we can tell, Sir;

Are Themes that well deserve the Pen,

Of braveSacheverell, Sir.

The glorious Sons ofWarwickshire,May justly be commended;There's ne'er a Member now Elect,That ever has offended:DenbighandCravenwe esteem,A Loyal Noble pair, Sir;And hope to see our worthy Friend,GreatBromlyin the Chair, Sir.

The glorious Sons ofWarwickshire,

May justly be commended;

There's ne'er a Member now Elect,

That ever has offended:

DenbighandCravenwe esteem,

A Loyal Noble pair, Sir;

And hope to see our worthy Friend,

GreatBromlyin the Chair, Sir.

fancy rule

SUCHan happy, happy Life,Ne'er had any other Wife;As the looseCorinnaknows,Between her Spark,Her Spark and Spouse:The Husband lies and winks his Eyes,The valiant makes Addresses,The wanton Lady soon complies,With tenderest Caresses.The Wife is pleas'd,The Husband eas'd,The Lover made a drudge,His Body's drain'd, his Pocket's squeez'd;And who'll his Pleasure grudge,Such an happy, &c.Corinna'sgay,As Flow'rs inMay,And struts with slanting Ayre;The Lovers for her Pride doth pay,The Cuckold's free from Care,Such an happy, &c.

SUCHan happy, happy Life,

Ne'er had any other Wife;

As the looseCorinnaknows,

Between her Spark,

Her Spark and Spouse:

The Husband lies and winks his Eyes,

The valiant makes Addresses,

The wanton Lady soon complies,

With tenderest Caresses.

The Wife is pleas'd,The Husband eas'd,The Lover made a drudge,His Body's drain'd, his Pocket's squeez'd;And who'll his Pleasure grudge,Such an happy, &c.

The Wife is pleas'd,

The Husband eas'd,

The Lover made a drudge,

His Body's drain'd, his Pocket's squeez'd;

And who'll his Pleasure grudge,

Such an happy, &c.

Corinna'sgay,As Flow'rs inMay,And struts with slanting Ayre;The Lovers for her Pride doth pay,The Cuckold's free from Care,Such an happy, &c.

Corinna'sgay,

As Flow'rs inMay,

And struts with slanting Ayre;

The Lovers for her Pride doth pay,

The Cuckold's free from Care,

Such an happy, &c.

music

DESPAIRINGbesides a clear stream,A Shepherd forsaken was laid;And whilst a false Nymph was his Theme,A Willow supported his Head:The Winds that blew over the Plain,To his Sighs with a Sigh did reply;And the Brook in return of his Pain,Ran mournfully murmuring by.Alas silly Swain that I was,Thus sadly complaining he cry'd;When first I beheld that fair Face,'Twere better by far I had dy'd:She talk'd, and I blest the dear Tongue,When she smil'd 'twas a Pleasure too great;I listned, and cry'd when she Sung,Was Nightingale ever so sweet.How foolish was I to believe,She cou'd doat on so lowly a Clown;Or that a fond Heart wou'd not grieve,To forsake the fine Folk of the Town:To think that a Beauty so gay,So kind and so constant wou'd prove;Or go clad like our Maidens in Gray,Or live in a Cottage on Love.What tho' I have skill to complain,Tho' the Muses my Temples have crown'd;What tho' when they hear my soft Strains,The Virgins sit weeping around:AhCollinthy Hopes are in vain,Thy Pipe and thy Lawrel resign;Thy false one inclines to a Swain,Whose Musick is sweeter than thine.And you my Companions so dear,Who sorrow to see me betray'd;Whatever I suffer forbear,Forbear to accuse my false Maid,Tho' thro' the wide World we shou'd range,'Tis in vain from our Fortunes to fly;'Twas hers to be false and to change,'Tis mine to be Constant and die.If whilst my hard Fate I sustain,In her Breast any Pity is found;Let her come with the Nymphs of the Plain,And see me laid low in the Ground;The last humble Boon that I crave,Is to shade me withCypressandYew;And when she looks down on my Grave,Let her own that her Shepherd was true.Then to her new Love let her go,And deck her in Golden Array;Be finest at every fine Show,And Frolick it all the long Day:WhilstCollinforgotten and gone,No more shall be talk'd of or seen;Unless that beneath the Pale Moon,His Ghost shall glide over the Green.

DESPAIRINGbesides a clear stream,

A Shepherd forsaken was laid;

And whilst a false Nymph was his Theme,

A Willow supported his Head:

The Winds that blew over the Plain,

To his Sighs with a Sigh did reply;

And the Brook in return of his Pain,

Ran mournfully murmuring by.

Alas silly Swain that I was,Thus sadly complaining he cry'd;When first I beheld that fair Face,'Twere better by far I had dy'd:She talk'd, and I blest the dear Tongue,When she smil'd 'twas a Pleasure too great;I listned, and cry'd when she Sung,Was Nightingale ever so sweet.

Alas silly Swain that I was,

Thus sadly complaining he cry'd;

When first I beheld that fair Face,

'Twere better by far I had dy'd:

She talk'd, and I blest the dear Tongue,

When she smil'd 'twas a Pleasure too great;

I listned, and cry'd when she Sung,

Was Nightingale ever so sweet.

How foolish was I to believe,She cou'd doat on so lowly a Clown;Or that a fond Heart wou'd not grieve,To forsake the fine Folk of the Town:To think that a Beauty so gay,So kind and so constant wou'd prove;Or go clad like our Maidens in Gray,Or live in a Cottage on Love.

How foolish was I to believe,

She cou'd doat on so lowly a Clown;

Or that a fond Heart wou'd not grieve,

To forsake the fine Folk of the Town:

To think that a Beauty so gay,

So kind and so constant wou'd prove;

Or go clad like our Maidens in Gray,

Or live in a Cottage on Love.

What tho' I have skill to complain,Tho' the Muses my Temples have crown'd;What tho' when they hear my soft Strains,The Virgins sit weeping around:AhCollinthy Hopes are in vain,Thy Pipe and thy Lawrel resign;Thy false one inclines to a Swain,Whose Musick is sweeter than thine.

What tho' I have skill to complain,

Tho' the Muses my Temples have crown'd;

What tho' when they hear my soft Strains,

The Virgins sit weeping around:

AhCollinthy Hopes are in vain,

Thy Pipe and thy Lawrel resign;

Thy false one inclines to a Swain,

Whose Musick is sweeter than thine.

And you my Companions so dear,Who sorrow to see me betray'd;Whatever I suffer forbear,Forbear to accuse my false Maid,Tho' thro' the wide World we shou'd range,'Tis in vain from our Fortunes to fly;'Twas hers to be false and to change,'Tis mine to be Constant and die.

And you my Companions so dear,

Who sorrow to see me betray'd;

Whatever I suffer forbear,

Forbear to accuse my false Maid,

Tho' thro' the wide World we shou'd range,

'Tis in vain from our Fortunes to fly;

'Twas hers to be false and to change,

'Tis mine to be Constant and die.

If whilst my hard Fate I sustain,In her Breast any Pity is found;Let her come with the Nymphs of the Plain,And see me laid low in the Ground;The last humble Boon that I crave,Is to shade me withCypressandYew;And when she looks down on my Grave,Let her own that her Shepherd was true.

If whilst my hard Fate I sustain,

In her Breast any Pity is found;

Let her come with the Nymphs of the Plain,

And see me laid low in the Ground;

The last humble Boon that I crave,

Is to shade me withCypressandYew;

And when she looks down on my Grave,

Let her own that her Shepherd was true.

Then to her new Love let her go,And deck her in Golden Array;Be finest at every fine Show,And Frolick it all the long Day:WhilstCollinforgotten and gone,No more shall be talk'd of or seen;Unless that beneath the Pale Moon,His Ghost shall glide over the Green.

Then to her new Love let her go,

And deck her in Golden Array;

Be finest at every fine Show,

And Frolick it all the long Day:

WhilstCollinforgotten and gone,

No more shall be talk'd of or seen;

Unless that beneath the Pale Moon,

His Ghost shall glide over the Green.

fancy rule

FAREWELChloe, O farewel,I'll repair to Wars alarms;And in foreign Nations tell,Of your Cruelty and Charms:Come ye briny Billows rowl,And convey me from my Soul,Come ye briny Billows rowl,And convey me from my Soul:Since the cruel Fair,The cause of my Despair,Has forc'd me hence to go,Where stormy Winds do blow;Where raging Seas do toss and mount,With dangers that I can't recount,Forgive me showing thus my Woe;Where raging Seas do toss, &c.When you hear of Deeds in War,Acted by your faithful Swain;Think, oh think, that from afar,'Twas you conquer'd all were slain:For by calling on your Name,I Conquer'd whereso'er I came;Shou'd my Fate not be,To keep my Body free,From Wounds and Bruises too,Whilst Honour I pursue;'Twou'd raise my Reputation,My Pain I'd lose in Passion,And glory that 'twas done for you.Shou'd grim Death once assail me,It cou'd never fright your Slave,Fortune self cou'd never fail me,Only you can make my Grave:My Destiny shou'd grant reprieve,I cou'd not Die, if you said live:Were it to be found,In all the World around,An instance of such Love,As you in me may prove:I'd never ask return,But patiently wou'd burn,Nor more your generous pity move.O my guardian Angel say,Can such proofs your Passion gain;If it can I'll bless the Day,That I venture on the Main:Then with Joy cry Billows rowl,And convey me to my Soul:Return with glory Crown'd,Upon the lowly Ground,Kneel at your Feet a while,And there my Fears beguile:And think my Toyl repaid,If you'd vouchsafe dear Maid,To crown my Labours with a Smile.

FAREWELChloe, O farewel,

I'll repair to Wars alarms;

And in foreign Nations tell,

Of your Cruelty and Charms:

Come ye briny Billows rowl,

And convey me from my Soul,

Come ye briny Billows rowl,

And convey me from my Soul:

Since the cruel Fair,

The cause of my Despair,

Has forc'd me hence to go,

Where stormy Winds do blow;

Where raging Seas do toss and mount,

With dangers that I can't recount,

Forgive me showing thus my Woe;

Where raging Seas do toss, &c.

When you hear of Deeds in War,Acted by your faithful Swain;Think, oh think, that from afar,'Twas you conquer'd all were slain:For by calling on your Name,I Conquer'd whereso'er I came;Shou'd my Fate not be,To keep my Body free,From Wounds and Bruises too,Whilst Honour I pursue;'Twou'd raise my Reputation,My Pain I'd lose in Passion,And glory that 'twas done for you.

When you hear of Deeds in War,

Acted by your faithful Swain;

Think, oh think, that from afar,

'Twas you conquer'd all were slain:

For by calling on your Name,

I Conquer'd whereso'er I came;

Shou'd my Fate not be,

To keep my Body free,

From Wounds and Bruises too,

Whilst Honour I pursue;

'Twou'd raise my Reputation,

My Pain I'd lose in Passion,

And glory that 'twas done for you.

Shou'd grim Death once assail me,It cou'd never fright your Slave,Fortune self cou'd never fail me,Only you can make my Grave:My Destiny shou'd grant reprieve,I cou'd not Die, if you said live:Were it to be found,In all the World around,An instance of such Love,As you in me may prove:I'd never ask return,But patiently wou'd burn,Nor more your generous pity move.

Shou'd grim Death once assail me,

It cou'd never fright your Slave,

Fortune self cou'd never fail me,

Only you can make my Grave:

My Destiny shou'd grant reprieve,

I cou'd not Die, if you said live:

Were it to be found,

In all the World around,

An instance of such Love,

As you in me may prove:

I'd never ask return,

But patiently wou'd burn,

Nor more your generous pity move.

O my guardian Angel say,Can such proofs your Passion gain;If it can I'll bless the Day,That I venture on the Main:Then with Joy cry Billows rowl,And convey me to my Soul:Return with glory Crown'd,Upon the lowly Ground,Kneel at your Feet a while,And there my Fears beguile:And think my Toyl repaid,If you'd vouchsafe dear Maid,To crown my Labours with a Smile.

O my guardian Angel say,

Can such proofs your Passion gain;

If it can I'll bless the Day,

That I venture on the Main:

Then with Joy cry Billows rowl,

And convey me to my Soul:

Return with glory Crown'd,

Upon the lowly Ground,

Kneel at your Feet a while,

And there my Fears beguile:

And think my Toyl repaid,

If you'd vouchsafe dear Maid,

To crown my Labours with a Smile.

music

LOVE, the sweets of Love, are the Joys I most admire,Kind and active Fire,Of a fierce Desire,Indulge my Soul, compleat my Bliss;But th' affected coldnessOfCæliadamps my boldness,I must bow, protest and Vow,And swear aloud, I wou'd be Proud,When she with equal Ardour longs to Kiss:Bring a Bowl, then bring a Jolly Bowl,I'll quench fond Love within it;With flowing Cups I'll raise my Soul,And here's to the happy Minute:For flush'd with brisk Wine,When she's panting and warm;And Nature unguarded lets loose her Mind,In the Amorous moment the Gipsie I'll find,Oblige her and take her by Storm.

LOVE, the sweets of Love, are the Joys I most admire,

Kind and active Fire,

Of a fierce Desire,

Indulge my Soul, compleat my Bliss;

But th' affected coldness

OfCæliadamps my boldness,

I must bow, protest and Vow,

And swear aloud, I wou'd be Proud,

When she with equal Ardour longs to Kiss:

Bring a Bowl, then bring a Jolly Bowl,

I'll quench fond Love within it;

With flowing Cups I'll raise my Soul,

And here's to the happy Minute:

For flush'd with brisk Wine,

When she's panting and warm;

And Nature unguarded lets loose her Mind,

In the Amorous moment the Gipsie I'll find,

Oblige her and take her by Storm.

music

HOWhappy's he who weds a Wife,Well practis'd, well practis'd in theLondonLife;Dull Country Brides a Sense may want,To hide the Favours which they grant.How happy's he who weds a Wife,We'll practis'd, well practis'd in theLondonLife;ButLondonWives Coquet by Rule,Discreetly please the Men they Fool.How happy's he who weds a Wife,Well practis'd, well practis'd in theLondonLife.

HOWhappy's he who weds a Wife,Well practis'd, well practis'd in theLondonLife;Dull Country Brides a Sense may want,To hide the Favours which they grant.

HOWhappy's he who weds a Wife,

Well practis'd, well practis'd in theLondonLife;

Dull Country Brides a Sense may want,

To hide the Favours which they grant.

How happy's he who weds a Wife,We'll practis'd, well practis'd in theLondonLife;ButLondonWives Coquet by Rule,Discreetly please the Men they Fool.

How happy's he who weds a Wife,

We'll practis'd, well practis'd in theLondonLife;

ButLondonWives Coquet by Rule,

Discreetly please the Men they Fool.

How happy's he who weds a Wife,Well practis'd, well practis'd in theLondonLife.

How happy's he who weds a Wife,

Well practis'd, well practis'd in theLondonLife.

fancy rule

music

HOWCharmingPhillisis, how Fair,How CharmingPhillisis, how Fair,O that she were as willing,To ease my wounded Heart of Care,And make her Eyes less killing:To ease my wounded Heart of Care,And make her Eyes less killing,To ease my wounded Heart of Care,And make her Eyes less killing,To ease my wounded Heart of Care,And make her Eyes less killing:I sigh, I sigh, I languish now,And Love will not let me rest;I drive about the Park and Bow,Where'er I meet my Dearest.

HOWCharmingPhillisis, how Fair,

How CharmingPhillisis, how Fair,

O that she were as willing,

To ease my wounded Heart of Care,

And make her Eyes less killing:

To ease my wounded Heart of Care,

And make her Eyes less killing,

To ease my wounded Heart of Care,

And make her Eyes less killing,

To ease my wounded Heart of Care,

And make her Eyes less killing:

I sigh, I sigh, I languish now,

And Love will not let me rest;

I drive about the Park and Bow,

Where'er I meet my Dearest.

fancy rule

WHYwillClemene, when I gaze,My ravish'd Eyes reprove;And chide 'em from the only Face,That they were made to Love:Was not I born to wear your Chain,I should delight to rove;From your cold Province of Disdain,To some warm Land of Love.But shou'd a gentle Nymph when try'd,To me prove well inclin'd;My destin'd Heart must yet reside,With you the most unkind;So destin'd Exiles as they roam,While kindly us'd elsewhere;Still languish after Native home,Tho' Death, Death is threatned there.

WHYwillClemene, when I gaze,

My ravish'd Eyes reprove;

And chide 'em from the only Face,

That they were made to Love:

Was not I born to wear your Chain,

I should delight to rove;

From your cold Province of Disdain,

To some warm Land of Love.

But shou'd a gentle Nymph when try'd,To me prove well inclin'd;My destin'd Heart must yet reside,With you the most unkind;So destin'd Exiles as they roam,While kindly us'd elsewhere;Still languish after Native home,Tho' Death, Death is threatned there.

But shou'd a gentle Nymph when try'd,

To me prove well inclin'd;

My destin'd Heart must yet reside,

With you the most unkind;

So destin'd Exiles as they roam,

While kindly us'd elsewhere;

Still languish after Native home,

Tho' Death, Death is threatned there.

The Title Page is from the original 1720 printing, byThomas D'Urfey(1653-1723), found at:http://www . archive.org/details/songscompleatple06durfuoft. (ViewTitle Page of Vol. I)

There are around 200 songs in this book. To avoid confusion, the page numbers have been used to identify the songs, and the various accompanying files:

The Alphabetical Table of Songs gave the page numbers for the lyrics. Page numbers for the music scores have been added, for clarification, as often the two are different. Also some songs use the music of other songs in the book, and these page numbers have been given. Some songs do not have music, and some have tunes which are not in this book.

There are numerous apparent errors in the original printed music: missing notes, incorrect note and rest lengths, incorrect accidentals (naturals were not used; a sharp corrected a flat, and a flat corrected a sharp), which have been retained in the images, but have been corrected in the Scorch (Sibelius) web pages, and in the pdf and midi files. The excess accidentals have mostly been retained.

The original Time Signatures have been retained in the Scorch web pages and in the pdf files. A couple of tunes are in Common Time (C). A lot are in "Cut-Common" Time (Cwith a vertical line cutting it: roughly twice as fast as Common Time); and a few have an inverted "Cut-Common" signature: twice as fast as "Cut-Common time. Sibelius has a Prolation symbol for this purpose.

cut commoninverted cut commonprolation sign--inverted cut common

Some Time signatures are simply2, or3. The Signature3usually indicates a faster time than "Cut-Common", especially in the same song.

[Note (from Wikipedia):Prolation is a term used in the theory of medieval music to describe its rhythmic structure on a small scale. The term is derived from the Latin prolatio, first used by Philippe de Vitry in describing Ars Nova, a musical style that came about in 14th-century France.Prolation, together with tempus, corresponds roughly to the concept of time signature in modern music. Prolation describes whether a semibreve (whole note) is equal in length to two minims (half notes) (minor prolation or imperfect prolation) or three minims (major prolation or perfect prolation).Early medieval music was often structured in subdivisions of three, while the note values in modern music are unambiguously subdivided into two parts, meaning that only minor prolation has survived in our time signature system. We now indicate subdivisions of three by modifying note values with dots or triplets. The history of written medieval music shows a gradual shift from major to minor prolation being common.]

[Note (from Wikipedia):

Prolation is a term used in the theory of medieval music to describe its rhythmic structure on a small scale. The term is derived from the Latin prolatio, first used by Philippe de Vitry in describing Ars Nova, a musical style that came about in 14th-century France.

Prolation, together with tempus, corresponds roughly to the concept of time signature in modern music. Prolation describes whether a semibreve (whole note) is equal in length to two minims (half notes) (minor prolation or imperfect prolation) or three minims (major prolation or perfect prolation).

Early medieval music was often structured in subdivisions of three, while the note values in modern music are unambiguously subdivided into two parts, meaning that only minor prolation has survived in our time signature system. We now indicate subdivisions of three by modifying note values with dots or triplets. The history of written medieval music shows a gradual shift from major to minor prolation being common.]

Some readers would still remember the old style of crotchet (quarter note) rest, which was used in this book. Here is an example in compound duple time (2 dotted crotchets or 6 quavers (eighth notes) to the bar). The first image is from the original 1720 book, showing old-style crotchet (quarter note) rests. Note that the minim (half note) rest is used as a half-bar rest.

old crotchet rests

The second image is as we would see it printed nearly 300 years later, using the modern crotchet rest, and a dotted crotchet rest as the half-bar rest.

modern crotchet rests

The bass, or F clef on page 282 is a little different from our modern F clef, but still recognisable as an F clef.

There are many instances of anacruses where the last bar has not been shortened by the length of the anacrusis bar. These have not been corrected, as it would seem to have been a convention at the time.

The lyrics have been added to most of the songs in the .sib and .pdf versions, where the words could reasonably fit the music. This is a 'best guess' interpretation. There may be other interpretations; some interpretation was apparently left to the singer's discretion.

The playable Sibelius Scorch version has been provided as a guide only; it has been furnished with hidden instructions (speeds, repeats, etc.) to allow a comfortable rendition, and is not necessarily historically accurate. (The transcriber is not a musicologist). Speeds may be slowed down or speeded up, using the pointer in the Scorch interface. The Scorch file may be started by clicking the Start button (arrow) or by clicking the first note, or any other note to start in a different place. Stop the Scorch file with the [Esc] button, or by clicking the Stop (black square) button. The midi files should start playing automatically after the link is clicked.

Repeated passsages are indicated in the original by the 'signe' (%). The repeat was from the 'signe' to the next double barline. In the absense of a convenient double barline, a second (end) 'signe' was included.

The book is not always gramatically correct, e.g.: "There was three Travellers". Odd spellings, and odd grammatical constructions, if they make sense, have been preserved. There is some dialect, which has also been preserved. (e.g.: "Wo'as me poor Lass! what mun I do?")

Apostrophes of ownership are conspicuous by their absence. Spelling is sometimes quaint...'spight' for 'spite', 'dye' for 'die', 'chuse' for choose', 'seaze' for 'seize', 'quere' for 'queer', etc. Where a spelling makes sense, and is merely discretional and not obviously incorrect, it has been retained.

'Their' instead of 'there' has appeared twice (page 4 and page 201), retained, and 'Pharoah' (page 225), retained: itisa drinking song.

pp. 245-246: 'MonsieurGrabeau' (twice) on page 245 becomes MonsieurGrabeu(four times) on page 246.

[Note (from Wikipedia):Louis Grabu, Grabut, Grabue, or Grebus (fl. 1665-1690, died after 1693) was a Catalan-born, French-trained composer and violinist who was mainly active in England.While he was probably born in Catalonia - he was later referred to as 'Lodovicus Grabeu of Shalon in Catalunnia' - details of his early life are lacking. Sometime in his youth he moved to Paris, where he was most likely trained by Lully. At the time of the Restoration he went to England, where French music, especially opera, was much in vogue.Charles II of England appointed him as a composer for his own private music in 1665, and with the death of Nicholas Lanier in 1666 he became the second person to hold the title Master of the King's Musick. He adapted Robert Cambert's opera Ariadne for a London performance in 1674, and wrote music for John Dryden's Albion and Albanius in 1685.In 1693 he left England, the only land where he had achieved any kind of fame, and completely disappeared from historical record.]

[Note (from Wikipedia):

Louis Grabu, Grabut, Grabue, or Grebus (fl. 1665-1690, died after 1693) was a Catalan-born, French-trained composer and violinist who was mainly active in England.

While he was probably born in Catalonia - he was later referred to as 'Lodovicus Grabeu of Shalon in Catalunnia' - details of his early life are lacking. Sometime in his youth he moved to Paris, where he was most likely trained by Lully. At the time of the Restoration he went to England, where French music, especially opera, was much in vogue.

Charles II of England appointed him as a composer for his own private music in 1665, and with the death of Nicholas Lanier in 1666 he became the second person to hold the title Master of the King's Musick. He adapted Robert Cambert's opera Ariadne for a London performance in 1674, and wrote music for John Dryden's Albion and Albanius in 1685.

In 1693 he left England, the only land where he had achieved any kind of fame, and completely disappeared from historical record.]

Consonants were not necessarily doubled where we would now expect. Standardised modern spelling is a fairly recent (mid 19th century) imposition, probably coinciding with the various Public Education Acts. Some spellings may be left over from Middle English, e.g. 'sily' from 'sely', dialect 'seely', from OE 'sælig' (luck, happiness); thus 'sily' (p. 58) may have meant 'lucky' or 'happy' instead of the modern 'silly'. Or 'sily' may be our modern 'silly', with an undoubled middle consonant.

Damaged or missing punctuation has been repaired and sundry indents have been adjusted for consistency.

(Corrections are also indicated, in the text, by a dotted line underneath the correction.

Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text willappear.)

Page 96: 'VVidow' corrected to 'Widow'. (Possibly a printer's error....). ... "Which way to take the Widow Brown,"

Page 103: 'do' corrected to 'to': "They'll hourly study to deceive,"

Page 107: 'VVho' corrected to 'Who': "Who dare not their Grief declare," (... or maybe the printer was short of 'W's).

Sundry other instances of 'VV' have been corrected to 'W'.

Page 131: 'Ny' corrected to 'My': "My Nose takes the burthen...."

Page 161: 'MORTAL's' corrected to 'MORTALs': "Mortals learn your Lives to measure,"

Page 238: 'maguanime' corrected to 'magnanime': "Sat notus pro magnanime"

Page 312: missing 'I' added to last line to complete rhyme: "And Priest and Victim I."

Page 316: 'I'ye' corrected to "I've": "I've lost aHarryGroat,"

[Note: Harry was King Henry; a groat was an old English silver coin, first coined by Henry III in 1249, and by Edward III in 1351. Originally worth one penny, it later rose to the value of fourpence. The groat was revived between 1836 and 1856, and withdrawn from circulation in 1887 (from Collins New Age Encyclopedia, 1963)].

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