NUMBER XVII.
Reading edition
IRREGULAR ODE FOR MUSIC,
BY THE REV. DR. PRETTYMAN.
The Notes (except those wherein Latin is concerned) by JOHN ROBINSON, Esq.
RECITATIVE, by Double Voices. [1]Hail to the LYAR! whose all-persuasive strain, Wak'd by the master-touch of art, And prompted by th' inventive brain, [2]Winds its sly way into the easy heart.
SOLO. [3]Hark! do I hear the golden tone?— Responsive now! and now alone! Or does my fancy rove? Reason-born Conviction, hence! [4]And phrenzy-rapt be ev'ry sense, With the Untruth I love. Propitious Fiction aid the song; Poet and Priest to thee belong.
SEMI-CHORUS. [5]By thee inspir'd, ere yet the tongue was glib, The cradled infant lisp'd the nurs'ry fib; Thy vot'ry in maturer youth, Pleas'd, he renounc'd the name of truth; And often dar'd the specious to defy, Proud of th' expansive, bold, uncover'd lie.
AIR. Propitious FICTION, hear! And smile, as erst thy father smil'd Upon his first-born child, Thy sister dear; When the nether shades among, [6]Sin from his forehead sprung.
FULL CHORUS. Grand deluder! arch impostor! Countervailing Orde and Foster! Renoun'd Divine! The palm is thine: Be thy name or sung or hist, Alone it stands—CONSPICUOUS FABULIST!
RECITATIVE for the celebrated Female Singer from Manchester. Symphony of Flutes—pianissimo.
Now in cotton robe array'd, Poor Manufacture, tax-lamenting maid, Thy story heard by her devoted wheel, Each busy-sounding spindle hush'd—
FUGUE. Now, dreading Irish rape, Quick shifting voice and shape—
DEEP BASS, from Birmingham. With visage hard, and furnace flush'd, And black-hair'd chest, and nerve of steel, The sex-chang'd listner stood In surly pensive mood.
AIR, accompanied with double Bassoons, &c. While the promise-maker spoke The anvil miss'd the wonted stroke; In air suspended hammers hung, While Pitt's own frauds came mended from that tongue.
PART OF CHORUS REPEATED. Renown'd Divine, &c.
AIR. Sooth'd with the sound the Priest grew vain, And all his tales told o'er again, And added hundreds more; By turns to this, or that, or both, He gave the sanction of an oath, And then the whole forswore. "Truth," he sung, "was toil and trouble, Honour but an empty bubble"— Glo'ster's aged—London dying— Poor, too poor, is simple lying! If the lawn be worth thy wearing, Win, oh! win it, by thy swearing!
FULL CHORUS REPEATED. Grand deluder! arch-impostor, &c.[7]