The Mighty Master smil'd to see 91 100 Softly sweet, in Lydian Measures, Soon he sooth'd his Soul to Pleasures. War, he sung, is Toil and Trouble; Honour but an empty Bubble. Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying, If the World be worth thy Winning, Think, O think, it worth Enjoying. Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the Good the Gods provide thee. The Many rend the Skies, with loud applause; So Love was Crown'd, but Musique won the Cause. The Prince, unable to conceal his Pain, Gaz'd on the Fair Who caus'd his Care, 110 And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : At length, with Love and Wine at once oppress'd, The vanquish'd Victor sunk upon her Breast. CHORUS. The Prince, unable to conceal his Pain, Gaz'd on the fair Who caus'd his Care, And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again; 120 At length, with Love and Wine at once oppress'd, The vanquish'd Victor sunk upon her Breast. Behold a ghastly Band, Each a Torch in his Hand! Enlarg'd the former narrow Bounds, And added Length to solemn Sounds, Those are Grecian Ghosts, that in Battail With Nature's Mother-Wit, and Arts un known before. A SONG. Go tell Amynta, gentle Swain, 2 A Sigh or Tear perhaps she'll give, But love on pitty cannot live. 180 Tell her that Hearts for Hearts were made, Tell her my pains so fast encrease, A SONG. Text from the Miscellany Poems, 1685. Christie wrongly assigned the first edition to 1701. A SONG. HIGH State and Honours to others impart, But give me your Heart: That Treasure, that Treasure alone, I beg for my own. So gentle a Love, so fervent a Fire, That Treasure, that Treasure alone, Your Love let me crave, Give me in Possessing 10 So matchless a Blessing; Love's my Petition, All my Ambition; you discover So faithful a Lover, So real a Flame, I'll die, I'll die, So give up my Game. THE SECULAR MASQUE. Chronos. Then Goddess of the Silver Bow begin. Horns, or Hunting-Musique within. Diana. With Horns and with Hounds I waken the Day, And hye to my Woodland walks away: With shouting and hooting we pierce thro' the Sky; And Eccho turns Hunter, and doubles the Cry. Cho. of all. With shouting and hooting we pierce through the Skie, And Eccho turns Hunter, and doubles the Janus. Then our Age was in it's Prime: THE SECULAR MASQUE. Text from the original but posthumous edition of 1700, except as noted. |