THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT. GLEE for Four Voices. FORCED from home, and all its pleasures, Afric's coast I left forlorn; To increase a stranger's treasures, O'er the raging billows borne. Men from England bought and sold me, Still in thought are free as ever; What are England's rights, I ask, Me from my delights to sever, Woolly locks and black complexion, Cannot alter Nature's claim; Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same. Why did all-creating nature, Make the plant for which we toil; Tears must water, sighs must nurture, Blood of ours must till the soil. J. DANBY. Think ye, Master! iron-hearted, Is there, as you sometimes tell us, He perceiving what vexations, Where his whirlwinds answer no. Deem us link'd with brutes no longer, Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings, Cowper. GLEE for Three Voices. FAIR Flora decks the flow'ry ground, And plants the bloom of May, Whilst ev'ry hill, and ev'ry dale, Appears unusual gay. The pretty warblers of the grove, Lead on, my Celia, quit the town, To breathe the rural air. J. DANBY, DUET-FAIR AURORA. From Artaxerxes by Dr. ARNE. FAIR Aurora prithee stay, O retard unwelcome day ; Think what anguish rends my breast, Thus caressing and caress'd : Forced at thy approach to part, Think what anguish rends my heart. Translated from Metastasio by Dr. Arne. MADRIGAL for Four Voices. FORD.-1656. FAIR, Sweet, cruel, why dost thou fly me ? O go not from thy dearest, Tho' thou dost hasten I am nigh thee; When thou seem'st far, then I am nearest : Tarry then and take me with you. Fie sweetest, here is no danger, Thy scorn with fresher hope renews me : GLEE for Four Voices. Harmonized by S. HARRISON. FAIR Ellen like a lilly grew, Was beauty's favourite flower; Till falsehood changed her lovely hue, She wither'd in an hour. Antonio in her virgin breast, First rais'd a tender sigh; His wish obtain'd, the lover blest, Then left the maid to die. T. Dibdin. INVOCATION for Four Voices. S. WESLEY. FATHER of light and life! thou good supreme! O teach me what is good.-Teach me thyself. From every low pursuit; and feed my soul With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure: Sacred, substantial, never fading bliss. Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and lasses must, All follow thee, and turn to dust. No exorciser harm thee! Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Shakspeare's Cymbeline. |