THE FAIR STRANGER', A SONG. H I. APPY and free, fecurely bleft; II. Till you defcending on our plains, III. Your smiles have more of conqu❜ring charms, Than all your native country arms: Their troops we can expel with ease, Who vanquish only when we please. IV. But in your eyes, oh! there's the fpell, Yet kill us if you go away. 1 This fong is a compliment to the Dutchefs of Portsmouth on her first coming to England, On On the YOUNG STATESMEN. Written in 1680. ARENDON had law and fenfe, CLAR Clifford was fierce and brave; Bennet's grave look was a pretence, And Danby's matchlefs impudence Help'd to fupport the knave. But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory 2, Protect us, mighty Providence, What would these madmen have ? First, they would bribe us without pence, Deceive us without common fenfe, And without pow'r enflave. Shall free-born men, in humble awe, Who from confent and custom draw The duke fhall wield his conqu❜ring fword, The king fhall pafs his honeft word, And then, come kifs my breech. 2 Laurence Hyde, afterwards earl of Rochefter, is the perfon here called Lory. So So have I feen a king on chefs (Hir rooks and knights withdrawn, A SONG for St. CECILIA's Day, 1687. FROM I. ROM harmony, from heav'nly harmony When nature underneath a heap And cou'd not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high, Then cold, and hot, and moift, and dry, And Mufic's power obey. From harmony, from heav'nly harmony From harmony to harmony Thro' all the compafs of the notes it ran, II. What paffion cannot Mufic raise and quell! When Jubal ftruck the corded shell, His lift'ning brethren ftood around, Lefs Lefs than a God they thought there could not dwell That spoke so sweetly and fo well. What paffion cannot Music raise and quell ? III. The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms, And mortal alarms. The double double double beat Cries, hark! the foes come; Charge, Charge, 'tis too late to retreat. IV. The foft complaining flute The woes of hopeless lovers, Whofe dirge is whifper'd by the warbling lute. V. Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs, and defperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depth of pains, and height of paffion, For the fair, difdainful, dame. VI. But oh! what art can teach, What human voice can reach, The facred organ's praise ? Notes infpiring holy love, Notes that wing their heav'nly ways VII. Orpheus cou'd lead the favage race; But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder higher: When When to her organ vocal breath was giv'n, Grand CHORUS. As from the pow'r of facred lays So when the last and dreadful bour The TEARS of AMYNTA, for the DEATH of DAMON. SONG. I. Na bank, befide a willow, Heav'n her cov'ring, earth her pillow, Sad Amynta figh'd alone: From the chearless dawn of morning Joys are vanish'd, Damon, my belov'd, is gone! II. Time, |