Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Charms of melody, or, Siren medley

THE CHARMS OF MELODY,
S19
Love, unfetter'd, is a Eleffing.
Sung in ' The Rhat CanJiJaUf''
LOVE unfetter'd is a bleffing
Nature's cotnmoneis enjoy;
Source of raptures, paft expreffing,
Which no tyrant laws deftroy.
Gome, ye fongfters ! fing around me,
Tell me all ye know of love :
Watchful of your young you've found me ;—
— Hark 1 ihey carol thro' the grove.
The Toper.
Air. — * Shaunbuy,'*
YE lads of true fpirit.
Pay counfliip to claret,
J^cleas'd from the trouble of thinking,
A fool, lonj; ago,
Said, we nothing could know,— •
The fellow knew nothing of drinking.
To pore over Plato,
Or pradife with Cato,
'Dipaflionaie diinces might make us ;
liut men, now more wile,
Self-denif.l defpife.
And live by the kflons of Bacchus.
J Eig-wigg'd, in fine coach,
[T See the dot'lor approach ;
'IJe folemiii; up the flairs puces;
Looks gra\t — fmells his cane —
Appliei finger to vein.
And counts the repeat with grimaces.
As he holds pen in hand.
Life and death are at ftand—
lA tols up which party Ihall take us ;
Away with luch cant —
No prefcripiion we want,
But the nourifijiiig noftrum of Bacchus.'
We joliJly join
In the ])racTice of wine,
'Mhile milers 'nudil plenty are pining;
While ladies are fcorniiig-.
And lovers are mourning.
We laugh at wealth, wenching, and whining.
Drink, drink, now 'tis prime,
Tofs a bottle to Time,
He'll not make fuch halle to o'ertake us ;
His threats we prevent.
And his cracks we cement.
By the llypticai baliam of Bacchus.
What work is there made.
By the newfj^aper trade.
Of this man's, and t'other inan's ftation !
'J he Ins are all bad,
And the Outs are all mad ;
In and Out is the cry of the nation.
The politic palter
Which both parties chatter,
l'"rom bumpering freely fhan't lliake uS-;
With half-pints in hand,
Independent we Hand,
To defend Magna Charu of Bacchus.
Be your motion well tim'd ;
Be all charg'd and all prim'd ;
Have a care— 'ri,t;ht and left — and make ready.
Right hand to glafs join—
At your lijjs reft your wine ;
Be all in your exercife fleady.
Our levels we boaft
When our w omen we toafl ;
May graciouQy they undertake usl
No more we defire —
So drink, and give fire,
A vollev x^ Bcauf and Bacchus.
G. A. Stevciis.
When Fanny, blooming fairo
Air.—' ne Lafi ef Peatfi Mill:
WHEN Fanny, blooming fair,
Firft met my ravifli'd fight,
Caught with her fhape and air,
I felt a flrange delight :
Whilft eagerly I gaz'd,
Admiring ev'iy part.
And ev'ry feature prais'd.
She Hole into my heart.
In her bewitdiing eyes
Young fmiling Loves appear,
There Cupid balking lies,
His fhafts are hoarded there :
Her blooming cheeks are dy'd
With colour all their own,
Excelling far the pride
Of rofes newly blown.
Her well-turn'd limbs ^onfefs
The lucky hand of Jove,
Her features all exprefs
Ths beauteous queen of love :
What flames my nerves invadei
When I behold the breaft
Of that too lovely maid.
Rife, fuing to be piell!
Venus, 'round Fanny's waift
Hath her own Ceftus bouni3,
With guardian Cupids grac'd.
Who fport the circle round:
Hovif happy will he be.
Who Ihall her zone unloofe.
That blifs, to all, but me
May heav'n and ilie refufe.
Lord Chtfierfigld.
The Yellow-haif'd Laddie.
IN April, when primrofes paint the fweet plain.
And lummer approaching rejoiceth the fwain,
The yallow-hair'd laddie would oftentimes go
To wilds and deep glens, where the hawthorn trees
grow.
There under the fliade of an old facred tliorn.
With freedom he fung his love evening and morn;
He lung with fo foft and enchanting a found,
Xhatfylvans, and fairies, unfeen, danc'd around.
The fliepherd thiis'fung " tho' young Maya be fair,
" Her beauty is daih'd with a proud, fcornful air ;
" But Sufy is handfome, and fweetiy can iing,
'' Her breath, like the bree2es,perfura'd in the Iprlng
" That Tehny,in all the gay bloom of heryouth,
"Like the moon is inconflanit, and never fpeaks truth;
" But Siify is faithful, good-humour 'd and free,
" And fair as the goddefs that fprung from the fea.
"My lady's fine daughter, with all her great dow'i,
" Is awkwardly airy, and hequently four :"
Then fighing, he wifli'd that, would parents agree,
The witty, fweet Sufy, his mlfcrefs nught be.
Tell me, my Lute.
Sung in the Comic Opera of ' Ihc Dacrnin.'
TELL me, my lute, can thy, fond Atain
So gently fpeak thy mailer's pain.
So fwe-iily fiiig, fo iKonbiy figh.
That tho' my fl^eping love fhall know
Who fine's, w/io fifihs below,
Her rofy fluiiibevs fliali not I'y ?
Thus niay iome vifion whilper ijioi--
Tiidii ever I dn.''J J jfcaK beloi'j.