Britannia Triumphans In Four Parts ... Sacred to XXVIII May; The Anniversary of the High and Mighty Prince's Birth, George Lewis, by the Grace of God, and Laws of Heaven and Earth, King of Great Britain, France and Ireland ... By Alexander Pennecuik |
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PAN,
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PAN,
A PASTORAL.
- COLIN, Rox.
- MYLINDOR, Roth.
- ADONIS, Had.
- DIDON, Bel.
- Chorus.
SPEAKERS;
Hail happy Day, on which pleas'd Heav'n doth smile,
Auspicious Day which sav'd our sinking Isle.
Aurora leap from Titan's wat'ry Bed,
Thy benign Beams, thro' the wide Ball to spread;
Fair Phœbus shine with an unusual Robe,
Double your Light, and gladen all the Globe:
Ye Quiristers of th' Air, break thro' your Rest,
Tune your shrill Throats, and flicker from the Nest,
Mount towards Heav'n, and chirle your chearful Lays,
To mighty Pan, our God and Guardian's praise.
MYLINDOR.
Draw nigh ye airy Nymphs, ye light-foot Swains,
Who dance Levaltoes on the flow'ry Plains;
Forsake your Flocks, in Throngs come sport and play,
This is your great God, Pan's Festival Day;
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Pan, the great Guardian of our Fields and Flocks,
With Sacrifice to him, our Altars smokes:
He feeds the Suckling and the aged Dam,
Kills the voracious Wolf, would touch the Lamb:
The parched Turf he moistens with the Rain,
Brings to the Fold the Straglers of the Plain,
Tune Oaten Reeds, come trip it on the Ground;
Let ecchoing Rocks reverberate the Sound:
Whilst scaly Flocks on Oozy Beds do play,
Syrens and Mer-maids keep the holy Day.
DIDON.
Ocker and Aller, with your Silver Streams,
Join in the Consort with our Northern Thames,
And when your rapid Floods meet in the Sea,
Cause Neptune keep the high Solemnitie,
Thro' all his wat'ry Courts the News convey,
A joyful Noise be heard from Tyber to the Tay.
COLIN.
Be hush'd ye noisy Winds, blow round ye balmy Breez,
In soft Notes tell your Gladness to the Trees:
The Cedar and the Shrub, no longer shall be dumb,
The Trees a Vocal Forrest shall become:
The aged sapless Oak, a fresh shall Bud,
New Blossoms shall embroider all the Wood.
Of old, as sacred Pages speaks the Thing,
Trees met in Parliament to choose their King;
The Jacks prevail'd, the silly Shrub must Reign,
But ye shall choose our Cedar for your King.
The Lion and the Lamb shall make their Bed,
Under the Covert of his awful Shade,
To shun the stormy Blasts or scalding Heat;
The Sheepherds find his Boughs a bless'd Retreat,
All rest Secure, under his warming Wings,
But his Britannia calls him best of Kings.
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In Flora's rich Attire be deck'd y' enamel'd Meads,
Ye Flowers with vernal Airs erect your bashful Heads,
Mountains and Vales, a greener Liv'ry wear,
All Nature in a wedding Pomp appear:
And with this gladsome Day let us begin our Year.
DIDON.
Approach blyth Bacchus, with thy jolly Face,
Let your big belly'd Orgies, take their Place;
We'll consecrate thy Blood, to this high Feast,
Come Bacchus, and be, St. Cæcilia's Guest:
Musick and Wine shall heighten our Delight,
We'll gambole all the Day and revell all the Night:
Env'ying Angels shall the Gladness see,
Forsake their bless'd Abodes to keep the Jubilee;
We'll mingle Voices with the sacred Throng,
And Pan shall be the Burthen of the Song;
We'll borrow Anthems from the heav'nly Train,
Which shall be learn'd and sung by every Swain;
Seraphick Notes, expressive of our Love,
Angels and Men shall Sing, and Heav'n approve.
COLIN.
On Forth's Meanders the departing Swan,
Turns glade, and sings her dying Notes to Pan;
From golden Beds the wanton Fish do leap,
Wild Savages on Earth, Sea Monsters in the Deep:
Nature with Pomp, the darling Day doth keep,
The Noise awakes, Apelles from his sleep;
Rouz'd with the Joy, he'll start to Life again,
And in immortal Colours draw the Scene.
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Behold! Adonis in yon Myrtle Shade,
Whose Angel Voice, makes dying Lovers glade,
He sings the Battles won, and how the Rebel fled:
Tells, valiant Heroes, tam'd the stubborn Crew,
And made the conquer'd trembling Rebels bow.
Hear how Adonis Sings.
ADONIS.
Fam'd Pan's weak Rival visited the Tay,
Sight and Slept,
Sight and Weept,
Weept and snak'd away:
Groves do Ring,
Sheepherds Sing,
Pan, our King,
Pan, hath won the Day.
CHORUS.
Happy, happy, happy, King;
Only the Brave deserve to Reign.
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