Season, 1827 Songs, Duets and Glees, Sung in the open Orchestra, at the Royal Gardens, Vauxhall [by W. T. Thomas] |
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 | Season, 1827 |  |
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THE ROSE OF AFFECTION.
Of all the sweet flowers that bloom in the spring,
Of all the gay birds that float on the wing,
Give me the pure violet and lily so pale,
The thrush and the linnet, the pride of the vale;
But the queen of all flowers, whose worth I'll impart,
Is the rose of affection that blooms in the heart.
Of all the gay birds that float on the wing,
Give me the pure violet and lily so pale,
The thrush and the linnet, the pride of the vale;
But the queen of all flowers, whose worth I'll impart,
Is the rose of affection that blooms in the heart.
Then give me the girl with a heart that's sincere,
And the eye that can drop an affectionate tear:
Thus the rose and the lily shall gracefully twine
An emblem of beauty, where virtues combine;
For the queen of all flowers, whose worth I'll impart,
Is the rose of affection that blooms in the heart.
And the eye that can drop an affectionate tear:
Thus the rose and the lily shall gracefully twine
An emblem of beauty, where virtues combine;
For the queen of all flowers, whose worth I'll impart,
Is the rose of affection that blooms in the heart.
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LOVE'S REIGN.
—Polacca.
Oh! Love, young sovereign
Of all that moveth,
The sun discovering
No heart but loveth;
Where'er thy pinion
Its progress bendeth,
There thy dominion
Love extendeth.
Yes, Love, young sovereign
O'er all thou reigneth,
Despotic hovering
Each heart thou chaineth;
Oaths, vows, and prayers,
Thy favour gain;
But fears and cares
Await thy reign.
Thou rul'st below, thou rul'st above,
Thou'rt lord of all, tyrannic Love!
Of all that moveth,
The sun discovering
No heart but loveth;
Where'er thy pinion
Its progress bendeth,
There thy dominion
Love extendeth.
Yes, Love, young sovereign
O'er all thou reigneth,
Despotic hovering
Each heart thou chaineth;
Oaths, vows, and prayers,
Thy favour gain;
But fears and cares
Await thy reign.
Thou rul'st below, thou rul'st above,
Thou'rt lord of all, tyrannic Love!
Oh! Love, young sovereign,
All bend the knee,
No armour covering
Hearts from thee;
Tears, pangs, and sighs,
Thy rites impart,
But still he dies
Who flies thy dart.
Oh! Love, young sovereign,
We bow before thee,
Thy power discovering
To adore thee;
Thy priestess beauty,
Despotic boy,
We find thy duty
Rapturous joy.
Thou rul'st below, thou rul'st above,
Thou'rt lord of all, tyrannic Love!
All bend the knee,
No armour covering
Hearts from thee;
Tears, pangs, and sighs,
Thy rites impart,
But still he dies
Who flies thy dart.
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We bow before thee,
Thy power discovering
To adore thee;
Thy priestess beauty,
Despotic boy,
We find thy duty
Rapturous joy.
Thou rul'st below, thou rul'st above,
Thou'rt lord of all, tyrannic Love!
CHAPTER OF CLOAKS.
—Comic Song.
When I came to town lately, I found, 'tis no joke,
Young and old, men and women, each wearing a cloak;
So thinks I, I will e'en do as other folks do,
To be in the fashion I'll have a cloak, too.
Tol de rol, &c.
Young and old, men and women, each wearing a cloak;
So thinks I, I will e'en do as other folks do,
To be in the fashion I'll have a cloak, too.
Tol de rol, &c.
Why not? for I'll prove, in the course of life's pother,
We all of us wear a cloak some time or other;
For there's none but must own, howe'er great be his pride,
He has something 'tis sometimes convenient to hide.
Tol de rol, &c.
We all of us wear a cloak some time or other;
For there's none but must own, howe'er great be his pride,
He has something 'tis sometimes convenient to hide.
Tol de rol, &c.
The Dandy, en militaire, still wears his cloak,
And thinks a cigar 'tis the tippy to smoke;
With his fine frill and brooches he makes a great shew,
But take off his cloak, 'tis all dickey, you know.
Tol de rol, &c.
And thinks a cigar 'tis the tippy to smoke;
With his fine frill and brooches he makes a great shew,
But take off his cloak, 'tis all dickey, you know.
Tol de rol, &c.
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Young Miss, with her beauty-spots, rouge, airs, and graces,
In the hood of her cloak often carries two faces;
Her Lover still swears she's an angel uncommon,
Till she throws off her cloak, when he finds she's a woman!
Tol de rol, &c.
In the hood of her cloak often carries two faces;
Her Lover still swears she's an angel uncommon,
Till she throws off her cloak, when he finds she's a woman!
Tol de rol, &c.
The Lover, till wed, seems to court beauty's sway,
And swears he but lives her commands to obey;
But once tightly noos'd in the conjugal yoke,
'Tis do this and that, ma'am! for off goes his cloak
Tol de rol, &c.
And swears he but lives her commands to obey;
But once tightly noos'd in the conjugal yoke,
'Tis do this and that, ma'am! for off goes his cloak
Tol de rol, &c.
The Lawyer a cloak wears, as well as the lover,
So many old suits he has always to cover;
His cloak once thrown off shews a great deal of evil,
For 'stead of the Lawyer, oh! dear, there's the Devil!
Tol de rol, &c.
So many old suits he has always to cover;
His cloak once thrown off shews a great deal of evil,
For 'stead of the Lawyer, oh! dear, there's the Devil!
Tol de rol, &c.
THE RIDDLE.
Fair maids and gay youths, your attention I claim,
Come, read me my riddle, and name me my name;
I'm born in a twinkling of beauty's bright eye,
And some people say, quite as quickly I die;
I as old am as Adam, yet still I'm a child,
And have kill'd many scores, though in nature most mild;
I blind am, and yet none more quickly can see;
And have wings, as you must know, if e'er you've known me.
My riddle then read, name my name, ere you go;
You know it, have known, or will very soon know;
As some time to your cost you, believe me, will prove,
For 'tis—do not give it up; guess it;—'tis Love!
Come, read me my riddle, and name me my name;
I'm born in a twinkling of beauty's bright eye,
And some people say, quite as quickly I die;
I as old am as Adam, yet still I'm a child,
And have kill'd many scores, though in nature most mild;
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And have wings, as you must know, if e'er you've known me.
My riddle then read, name my name, ere you go;
You know it, have known, or will very soon know;
As some time to your cost you, believe me, will prove,
For 'tis—do not give it up; guess it;—'tis Love!
Though I conquer the world, I've no clothes to my back,
Yet e'en misers their money yield when I attack;
I my joy show in tears, in a sigh 'tis I speak,
I make fools of the wisest, the strongest make weak;
Make you freeze, make you glow, give you pleasure and pain;
I drive the young mad, make the old young again;
And this, too, I can boast, howe'er arch you may be,
You'll find that you still have an archer in me!
My riddle then read, name my name, ere you go;
You know it, have known, or will very soon know;
As some time to your cost, you, believe me, will prove,
For 'tis—do not give it up; guess it;—'tis Love!
Yet e'en misers their money yield when I attack;
I my joy show in tears, in a sigh 'tis I speak,
I make fools of the wisest, the strongest make weak;
Make you freeze, make you glow, give you pleasure and pain;
I drive the young mad, make the old young again;
And this, too, I can boast, howe'er arch you may be,
You'll find that you still have an archer in me!
My riddle then read, name my name, ere you go;
You know it, have known, or will very soon know;
As some time to your cost, you, believe me, will prove,
For 'tis—do not give it up; guess it;—'tis Love!
BONNY BRAVE ENGLAND.
A PATRIOTIC BALLAD.
Dear England! bright pearl in the bosom of ocean,
Tho' humble the minstrel, now hymning thy worth,
His heart ever throbs with one soul-felt emotion,
And glows for the lov'd land that gave him his birth.
Bright Isle of the world! still the hope and the terror,
Fierce foe of the tyrant—firm friend of the slave;
Thy warfare is justice, with mercy for error,
Ever balming their wounds who their mightiness brave.
Hail! bonny brave England, thou know'st no controling;
Hail! happiest isle, round which ocean is rolling.
Tho' humble the minstrel, now hymning thy worth,
His heart ever throbs with one soul-felt emotion,
And glows for the lov'd land that gave him his birth.
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Fierce foe of the tyrant—firm friend of the slave;
Thy warfare is justice, with mercy for error,
Ever balming their wounds who their mightiness brave.
Hail! bonny brave England, thou know'st no controling;
Hail! happiest isle, round which ocean is rolling.
To oppressors a sword—to the injured a shield—
Thy women are angels, and heroes thy men;
Thy sons, like thy rocky cliffs, never would yield,
Were their foes like the waves, whose wild dashings they stem.
No humbleness scorning—at no greatness carping,
Thou hast tears for all sorrows, and smiles for all mirth;
And thy minstrel can never forget, in his harping,
To strike one proud string to the land of his birth.
Hail! bonny brave England, thou know'st no controling;
Hail! happiest Isle, round which ocean is rolling.
Thy women are angels, and heroes thy men;
Thy sons, like thy rocky cliffs, never would yield,
Were their foes like the waves, whose wild dashings they stem.
No humbleness scorning—at no greatness carping,
Thou hast tears for all sorrows, and smiles for all mirth;
And thy minstrel can never forget, in his harping,
To strike one proud string to the land of his birth.
Hail! bonny brave England, thou know'st no controling;
Hail! happiest Isle, round which ocean is rolling.
I KNOW WHO.
A BALLAD.
I have a hand for a glove,
And I have a foot for a shoe,
And I have a head full of love,
And a heart for—I know who.
I have a neck for a necklace,
A cap for a top-knot, too,
And a finger I have for a ring,
When given by—I know who.
And I have a foot for a shoe,
And I have a head full of love,
And a heart for—I know who.
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A cap for a top-knot, too,
And a finger I have for a ring,
When given by—I know who.
I have a faith still unshaken,
For one that's sincere and true,
With lips that by siege may be taken,
When storm'd by—I know who.
Oh! sweetly I can smile,
When a certain youth I view,
And as sullenly I can pout,
When I don't meet—I know who.
For one that's sincere and true,
With lips that by siege may be taken,
When storm'd by—I know who.
Oh! sweetly I can smile,
When a certain youth I view,
And as sullenly I can pout,
When I don't meet—I know who.
Oh! I am a comely young maid,
And my name is—but what's that to you?
And my lover's a handsome young man,
And he is—is—I know who.
I'm daughter to Thomas, the thresher,
And niece to old spinstress, Sue,
And gladly will I be a wife,
When the husband is—I know who.
And my name is—but what's that to you?
And my lover's a handsome young man,
And he is—is—I know who.
I'm daughter to Thomas, the thresher,
And niece to old spinstress, Sue,
And gladly will I be a wife,
When the husband is—I know who.
THE ASSIGNATION.
A DUET.
Mr. Horn.When the silver moon is shining,
Will you come, my hopes to bless?
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Ah! no, then in sleep reclining,
I shall dream of nothing less.
Mr. Horn.
Thrilling treasures—heav'nly pleasures,
Shall requite your angel stay;
Miss Graddon.
Thrilling treasures—heavenly pleasures,
That will with the hour away.
Mr. Horn.
Ah! no let my sighs prevail, dear;
Miss Graddon.
No: a seraph's sighs would fail here.
Mr. Horn.
When sweet dews the skies are weeping,
Miss Graddon.
I might weep, were I not sleeping.
Mr. Horn.
The stars shall vouch my honor, then.
Miss Graddon.
Stars they stray as well as men.
Mr. Horn.
Stray their favorites spheres to view, love:
Ah! then do as bright stars do, love.
Miss Graddon.
No: in vain you'd have me roam, sir,
Woman's sphere is still at home, sir.
Mr. Horn.
Why should love e'er meet distrust?
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Why should love e'er prove unjust?
Mr. Horn.
Think you, then, I could deceive you?
Miss Graddon.
Should I, may I, sir, believe you?
Mr. Horn.
Yes, yes, ever.
Miss Graddon.
No, no, never.
Well, for once, I will believe you,—
Will confide in night and you.
Mr. Horn.
Dearest maid, I'll not deceive you,
I'll but sigh a vow or two.
When the abbey clock strikes ten,
You will meet me then, love, then.
Miss Graddon.
Then?
Mr. Horn.
Yes, yes, then.
Miss Graddon.
No, not then.
Mr. Horn.
Yes, yes, then.
Miss Graddon.
Well then—then.
Mr. Horn.
At ten.
Miss Graddon.
At ten.
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Then! then!
Then to end each dubitation,
Then for rapturous explanation,
Hopes fulfilled, doubts vanish'd then;
Hour of uncheck'd acceptation,
Fail not, love's fond assignation,
Then love, then! at ten, love, ten!
Adieu! Adieu!
POWER OF THE LADIES.
Of good queen Bess's golden days
Our histories still ring;
Her reign was never yet surpass'd
By that of any king.
And should our maidens follow
Her example, you'd see, then,
That the Ladies would do all things
Much better than the men.
Tooral looral, &c.
Our histories still ring;
Her reign was never yet surpass'd
By that of any king.
And should our maidens follow
Her example, you'd see, then,
That the Ladies would do all things
Much better than the men.
Tooral looral, &c.
Prime Ministers they'd aptly make,
Each husband will allow;
When petticoats have government
We all of us must bow.
As Rulers, time still proves the fair
Possess the greatest skill;
For, say or do whate'er we can,
The Ladies rule us still.
Tooral looral, &c.
Each husband will allow;
When petticoats have government
We all of us must bow.
As Rulers, time still proves the fair
Possess the greatest skill;
For, say or do whate'er we can,
The Ladies rule us still.
Tooral looral, &c.
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That greatly they'd the Pulpit grace,
Is clear as is the day;
For who'd not soar to Virtue,
When an Angel points the way?
And, that the Woolsack they'd adorn,
I've said, and say again;
For, after all, the Ladies
Are best Judges of the men.
Tooral looral, &c.
Is clear as is the day;
For who'd not soar to Virtue,
When an Angel points the way?
And, that the Woolsack they'd adorn,
I've said, and say again;
For, after all, the Ladies
Are best Judges of the men.
Tooral looral, &c.
That they are best of Counsellors,
Is clear to old and young;
For, how can woman fail,
When she has got to use her tongue?
And that they'd best of Doctors prove
Is equally as sure;
For where's the ill in life, I ask,
A Lady cannot cure?
Tooral looral, &c.
Is clear to old and young;
For, how can woman fail,
When she has got to use her tongue?
And that they'd best of Doctors prove
Is equally as sure;
For where's the ill in life, I ask,
A Lady cannot cure?
Tooral looral, &c.
As Vintners and Distillers,
Who can doubt the Ladies' merits?
For, ah! who like the Ladies still,
Can put a man in spirits.
That good Upholsterers they'd be,
I'll prove, too, in a minute;
For no house can be furnish'd,
If there's not a Lady in it.
Tooral looral, &c.
Who can doubt the Ladies' merits?
For, ah! who like the Ladies still,
Can put a man in spirits.
That good Upholsterers they'd be,
I'll prove, too, in a minute;
For no house can be furnish'd,
If there's not a Lady in it.
Tooral looral, &c.
And thus, I think, I've clearly prov'd
The Ladies all in all;
And while we've them to aid us,
That Old England ne'er can fall.
And 'tis my firm belief they might
Soon bring men to that station,
To be merely kept as make-weights
In the scale of population.
Tooral looral, &c.
The Ladies all in all;
And while we've them to aid us,
That Old England ne'er can fall.
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Soon bring men to that station,
To be merely kept as make-weights
In the scale of population.
Tooral looral, &c.
GOOD WISHES.
—Finale. (OMNES.)
Here's health and long life to our King!
A wish in which all here must join:
The King's name's a host,
And our Monarch's a boast
Which Britons can never decline.
The King! come hail him with three;
All the world love the King,—so do we.
Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!
A wish in which all here must join:
The King's name's a host,
And our Monarch's a boast
Which Britons can never decline.
The King! come hail him with three;
All the world love the King,—so do we.
Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!
Here's health and long life to the Fair!
A wish in which all here must join:
Their aid is a host,
And their charms are a boast
Which Britons can never decline.
The King and the Fair! come hail them with three;
The King loves the Fair,—so do we.
Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!
A wish in which all here must join:
Their aid is a host,
And their charms are a boast
Which Britons can never decline.
The King and the Fair! come hail them with three;
The King loves the Fair,—so do we.
Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!
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Here's success to our dear Native Land!
A wish in which all here must join:
Old England's a host,
And her glory's a boast,
Which Britons can never decline.
The King and Old England! come hail them with three;
The King loves Old England,—so do we.
Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!
A wish in which all here must join:
Old England's a host,
And her glory's a boast,
Which Britons can never decline.
The King and Old England! come hail them with three;
The King loves Old England,—so do we.
Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!
| Season, 1827 | |