Never ending, ftill beginning, Take the good the gods provide thee. VI. RECITATIVE. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Who caus'd his care, And figh'd and look'd, figh'd and look'd,. At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd,, DUETT O. 1. Phœbus, patron of the lyre, 2. Cupid, god of foft defire, 1. Cupid, god of foft defire, 2. Phoebus, patron of the lyre, 1 & 2. How victorious are your charms ? Crown'd with conquest, Full of glory, 1. 2. 1 & 2. See a monarch fall'n before ye, Chain'd in beauty's clasping arms! VII. RE VII. RECITATIVE. Now ftrike the golden lyre again; A louder yet, and yet a louder strain : Rouze him, like a rattling peal of thunder. Has rais'd up his head, As awak'd from the dead, And amaz'd he ftares around! AIR [with fymphonies.] Revenge, Revenge, Alecto cries, See the furies arife! See the fnakes that they rear, How they hifs in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! VIII. RECITATIVE. Behold a ghastly band, Each a torch in his hand! Thofe are Grecian ghofts, that in battle were flain, And unbury'd remain, Inglorious on the plain. Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew. Behold how they tofs their torches on high, AIR. The princes applaud with a furious joy; And the king feiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to destroy; Thais led the way, To light him to his prey, And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy. IX. RECITATIVE. Thus, long ago, Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, Could fwell the foul to rage, or kindle foft defire. Inventrefs of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast, from her facred store, And added length to folemn founds, With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. AIR. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown; He rais'd a mortal to the skies, She drew an angel down. SONGS. 1 O N G S. I. T HY origin 's divine, I fee, Of mortal race thou can'ft not be; Thy lip a ruby lustre shows; Thy purple cheek outshines the rofe, Thy fordid way of life defpife, II. ONSTANTIA, fee, thy faithful flave, Ah! gentle nymph, no longer try From fond purfuing love to fly. Thy pity to my love impart, A wedded wife if thou would't be, III. THRICE lov'd Conftantia, heavenly fair, For thee a fervant's form I wear; Though bleft with wealth, and nobly born, My love, that ne'er will cease, my love E TERNAL are the chains which here When Hymen joins our hands, we fwear And when, by death, the fair are snatch'd away, Left we our folemn vows fhould break, ANO. |