Madrigal And Trulletta A Mock-Tragedy |
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 | Madrigal And Trulletta |  |
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SCENE III.
A Parlour.Trulletta mournful on a couch; Sculliona and Scourella attending: Buttonelli playing on a Jew's Harp, Thimbletono on a Strum.
Scul.
See where she weeps!—lost even to musick's power—
Scourella! try—strain every varied note:
First, in low sympathy of sorrow's softness
Sooth her desponding soul—then start at once
To swells of joy, and storm attention's ear.
Scourella
sings.
Air 1. Accompanied by the Jews harp.
Vain hoper, begone—stay, despair:
Despair, stay—vain hoper, go, go.
For sorrow no accents should hear,
But those of lamenting and woe.
Believing, farewel—the sure road
Is death all deceiving to shun;
Till plac'd in our clay-cold abode,
Joy flies man's pursuit like a nun.
Despair, stay—vain hoper, go, go.
For sorrow no accents should hear,
But those of lamenting and woe.
Believing, farewel—the sure road
Is death all deceiving to shun;
Till plac'd in our clay-cold abode,
Joy flies man's pursuit like a nun.
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Away with your tears, where enjoyment should flow;
Bid defiance to pain—let her go, let her go:
Do the gods love complainers? No, no.
Away with your tears, from your eyes, have them bang'd:
Bid defiance to pain, let her go and be hang'd;
Let her go, let her go, let her go, let her go,
Let her go, and be hang'd, let her go, let her go:
Do the gods love complainers? No, no.
Bid defiance to pain—let her go, let her go:
Do the gods love complainers? No, no.
Away with your tears, from your eyes, have them bang'd:
Bid defiance to pain, let her go and be hang'd;
Let her go, let her go, let her go, let her go,
Let her go, and be hang'd, let her go, let her go:
Do the gods love complainers? No, no.
Scul.
Away—she rises—angels, that have tun'd,
Reward the vocal magic of thy pipe.
See where the lone majestick mourner weeps!
Merope.
Lost even to musick's power—try, strain each note—
[OMITTED]
First in low sympathy of sorrow's softness
Sooth her dejected soul—then start at once
To swells of joy, and storm attention's ear.
This, and the following air, were extracted from that inimitable musical dialogue, between Messieurs Flute and Trumpet in the same tragedy.
Flute.Stay, stay, despair—be gone, vain hoper, go;
Sorrow can hear no voice, but that of woe.
Trumpet.
Away with your tears where enjoyment should flow.
Did defiance to pain—let her go, let her go.
Do the gods love complainers? No, no, no.
Flute.
Ah! 'tis in vain to strive!—farewel, believing;
Death is the sure short road—to shun deceiving. [OMITTED]
Rest and the grave will meet—but ah!—till then
Joy flies, the vain pursuit of hopeless men.
As our author hath borrowed so largely from the above tragedy, I would refer the reader to the opening of that play; which, if he apply to the bookselller for, let me advise him in the cautionary phrase of our modern advertisers, to be careful to ask for Hill's Merope.
| Madrigal And Trulletta | |