Thou only, Goddess, firft could't tell
The mighty Charms in Numbers found;
And didft to Heav'nly Minds reveal
The fecret force of tuneful Sound.
When firft Cyllenius form'd the Lyre,
Thou didst the God infpire;
When firft the vocal Shell he ftrung,
To which the Mufes fung:
Then first the Mufes fung; melodious Strains Apollo
And Mufick firft began by thy aufpicious Aid.
Hark, hark, again Urania fings!
Again Apollo ftrikes the trembling Strings!
And fee, the lift'ning Deities around
Attend infatiate, and devour the Sound.
Chor. Hark, hark, again Urania fings!
Again Apollo ftrikes the trembling Strings!
And fee, the liftning Deities around
Attend infatiate, and devour the Sound.
IV.
Defcend Urania, Heav'nly Fair,
To the relief of this afflicted World repair;
See how with various Woes oppreft,
The wretched Race of Men is worn;
Confum'd with cares, with doubts diftreft,
Or by conflicting Paffions torn.
Reafon in vain employs her Aid,
The furious Will on Fancy waits;
While Reason ftill by Hopes or Fears betray'd,
Too late advances or too foon retreats.
Mufick alone with fudden Charms can bind
The wand'ring Senfe, and calm the troubled Mind,
Chor. Mufick alone with fudden Charms can bind
The wand'ring Senfe, and calm the troubled Mind.
Begin the pow'rful Song, yee Sacred Nine,
Your Inftruments and Voices join;
Harmony, Peace, and fweet Defixe
In ev'ry Breast inspire,
Revive the melancholy drooping Heart,
And soft Repose to restless Thoughts impart.
Appeafe the wrathful Mind,
To dire Revenge and Death inclin'd:
With balmy Sounds his boiling Blood affwage,
And melt to mild Remorfe his burning Rage.
"Tis done; and now tumultuous Paffions ceafe;
And all is hufht, and all is Peace.
The weary World with welcome Eafe is bleft,
By Musick lull'd to pleasing Rest.
Chor, 'Tis done ; and now tumultuous Passions cease;
And all his husht, and all is Peace.
The weary World with welcome Eafe is bleft,
By Mufick lull' d to pleasing Reft.
Ah, sweet Repose, too soon expiring!
Ah, foolish Man, new Toils requiring!
Curs'd Ambition, Strife pursuing,
Wakes the World to War and Ruin.
See, fee, the Battle is prepar'd;
Behold the Hero comes!
Loud Trumpets with fhrill Fifes are heard,
And hoarfe refounding Drums.
War, with difcordant Notes and jarring Noise,
The Harmony of Peace deftroys.
Chor. War, with difcordant. Notes and jarring Noife,
The Harmony of Peace deftroys.
See the forfaken fair, with ftreaming Eyes
Her parting Lover mourn;
She weeps, the fighs, despairs and dies, And watchful waftes the lonely livelong Nights, Bewailing paft Delights
That may no more, no never more return,
O footh her Cares
With fofteft, fweeteft Airs,
'Till Victory and Peace leftore
Her faithful Lover to her tender Breaft,
Within her folding Arms to reft,'
Thence never to be parted more,
No never to be parted more.
Chor. Let Victory and Peace restore
Her faithful Lover to her tender Breast,
Within her folding Arms to reft,
Thence never to be parted more,
No, never to be parted more.
VIII.
Enough, Urania, heav'nly fair,
Now to thy Native Skies repair,
And rule again the Starry Sphere;
Cecilia comes, with holy Rapture fill'd,
To ease the World of Care.
Cecilia, more than all the Mufes skill'd!
Phoebus himself to her muft yield,
And at her Feet lay down
His Golden Harp and Lawrel Crown;
The foft enervate Lyre is drown'd
In the deep Organ's more majestick Sound.
In peals the fwelling Notes afcend the Skies;
Perpetual Breath the fwelling Notes supplies,
And lafting as her Name,
Who form'd the tuneful Frame,
Th' immortal Mufick never dies. Grand Chor. Cecilia, more than all the Mufes skill'd! Phoebus himself to her muft yield,
And at her Feet lay down
His Golden Harp and Lawrel Crown;
The foft enervate Lyre is drown'd
In the deep Organ's more majestic Sound.
In peals the fwelling Notes afcend the Skies;
Perpetual Breath the fwelling Notes Supplies,
And lafting as her Name,
Who form'd the tuneful Frame,
Th' immortal Mufick never dies.
The HYPOCRITE, written upon
in the Year 1678.
By Mr. CARRYL.
Hou'rt more inconftant than the Wind or Sea,
Or that ftill veering Sex, out-done by thee:
Reeling from Vice to Vice, thou haft run through
Legions of Sins more than the Cafuifts know:
Of whom thy Friends were wont to fay, Poor Devil,
At least he was not conftant to his Evil.
Dealing fo long in Sins of Pomp and Glory,
Who wou'd have thought (to make up Gufman's
Hypocrifie at laft fhou'd enter in,
And fix this floating Mercury of Sin.
All his old Sins, like Miffes out of Date,
Turn Penfioners to this new Mifs of State :
His Actions, Looks, and Garb, take a new Frame,
And wear the Liv'ry of this fullen Dame:
Plain Band, and Hair, and Cloaths disguise the Man,
All but his Dealing and his Heart, is plain.
Not Ovid's Stories, nor the Wife of Lot,
Can boaft a Change beyond our State Biggot:
All on the fudden, in one fatal Morn,
Our Courtier did to a stark Quaker turn.
Some think
He does, as Criminals who would defeat
The Courfe of Juftice, Madness counterfeit :
No Godliness, that once much pity'd thing,
Of his new Fiddle is the only String.
For the poor Church is all his tender Care,
And Pop'ry's growth he founds in ev'ry Ear:
At which the dirty Rout run grunting in,
As when the old Wifes Kettle rings the Swine.
So the Court Dame, who in her Youthful Pride
No pleasure to her craving Senfe deny'd,
But, unreserv'd, with ev'ry fresh Delight,
Did prodigally feaft her Appetite.
Age drawing on, when thro' her Youth's decay,
Her Servants with her Beauty drop away:
For Winter Quarters, the Religion takes,
And of Neceffity a Virtue makes.
And when the Wrinkles of her Face, no Cure
Will longer from the help of Art endure,
Cov'ring the worn-out Sinner with the Saint,
As once her Face, fhe now her Soul does Paint.
Since Churches are not, muft Religion be
Of guilty Perfons ftill the Sanctuary?
When Great Men fall, or Popular Men wou'd rife,
Both from Religion borrow their Disguise.
Then like Achilles in his Fate-proof Arms,
They boldly march, guided with holy Charms,
And Brow-beat Cafar, and defie his Laws;
Who dare refift the Champion of God's Cause?
But when the Place, or Penfion is your own,
When the oppofing Party is run down,
Religion and God's Cause afide are caft,
Like Actors Habit, when the Play is past.
This Dame Hypocrifie, with a four Face,
Does fit fupply old Mother Mofely's place:
She for his Body did Provifion find,
This caters for the Letch'ry of his Mind,
And for his vaft Ambition, and his Pride,
And his infatiate Avarice does provide;
His Body thus and Soul together vie,
In Vice's Empire, for the Sov'reignty.
In Ulcers that, this does abound in Sin,
Lazar without, and Lucifer within,
The Silver Pipe is no fufficient Drain
For the Corruption of this little Man;
Who, tho' he Ulcers have in ev'ry part,
Is no where fo corrupt as in his Heart.
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