Ma che farò, la smania mi rapisce a me stessa
E qui fra tanto irresoluta;

E in pianto inutil resto ah nò vanne; ma dove?
Sfortunata Cimene! ah Dove mai

Si tremante e smarrita ove n'andrai.

AIR.

Andar dovrei,

Ma come?

Se moto il pie nontra,
Trovar vorrei,

Ma dove?

Da chi sperar pieta?

Padre infelice!

Misero amante!

Sorte spietata !

Ah, che non ho consiglio
Ah, che il fatal periglio

Gia delirar mi fà.

CHORUS.

When his loud voice in thunder spoke,
With conscious fear the billows broke,

Observant of his dread command.
In vain they roll their foaming tide;
Confin'd by the almighty pow'r,
That gave them strength to roar,

They now contract their boist'rous pride,
And lash with idle rage the laughing strand.

с

Handel.

ACT II.

TRIO. Master CARTER, and Messrs. HALDON

and LIDDELL.

Disdainful of danger, we'll rush on the foe;

Handel.

That thy pow'r, O JEHOVAH, all nations may know.

SONG. Miss WALKER.

'Midst silent shades and purling streams

The god of love supinely dreams;

In rosy and fantastic chains

He leads deluded maids and swains:
But if the trumpet's loud alarms
Excite to deeds of manly arms,
As the tremendous sounds arise,
The coward boy in terror flies:
On silken wings he cuts the air,
Scar'd at the thunder of the war.

Bach.

SONG.

Mrs. SALMON.

In sweetest harmony they liv'd,

Nor death their union could divide:

Handel.

The pious son ne'er left the father's side,

But him defending bravely died—

A loss too great to be surviv'd!

FOURTH CONCERT,

MONDAY, NOV. 16, 1807.

ACT I.

OVERTURE, Ptolomy.

Handel.

SONG. Miss WALKER.

While o'er thy cheek, desponding maid,

The tear of sorrow hangs so pale;

Callcott.

Why mov'st thou towards the mournful shade?
Why stray thy steps to yonder vale?

Where, rapt in love's delightful dream,
We sang beneath the fairy glade;
When trembling o'er the silver stream
The yellow moon-beams form'd shade.

Thy lover, at the wonted hour,

Chides not thy stay with tender haste; His gentle form in yonder bower

Is now to earth's cold pillow prest:

Pale as the flower, whose snowy bell,
Hangs weeping near the winding wave;
He lies in yonder lonely vale-
He sleeps in yonder dewy grave.

With tender songs to soothe his shade,
The muses throng'd around his bier;
On yonder shrine pale pity bled,

And friendship shed her warmest tear:
And still his fate the tear will move,

While virtue lives his worth to own,
Whose heart was the abode of love,
And meek compassion's tender throne.

GLEE. Masters TIDMAN and CARTER, and

Mr. LIDDELL.

Horsley.

Sweet to the morning traveller the skylark's early song, Whose twinkling wings are seen at fits the dewy light among; And cheering to the traveller the gales that round him play, As faint and wearily he drags along his noon-tide way.

And when the ev'ning light decays, and all is calm around, There is sweet music to his ear in the distant sheep bell's sound; And sweet the neighb'ring church's bell, that marks his journey's borne,

But sweeter is the voice of love that welcomes his return.

SIMPHONY.

Haydn.