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Let me wander not unseen,
By hedge-row elms on hillocks green;
There the plowman, near at hand,
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milk-maid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,
And ev'ry shepherd tells his tale,
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Or let the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound,
To many a youth and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd shade.

CONCERTO 10th.

Corelli.

King.

GLEE. Masters TIDMAN and CARTER,

and Mr. LIDDELL.
Lady, as the lily fair,

Ah! whither dost thou stray?
O'er the mountains, bleak and bare,

A wild and dreary way.
See the clouds the storm foretell-

A lonely man am I;
Lady, shelter in this cell,

Until the tempest fly.

Hermit, spare thy friendly care,

O let me wander on;
Mountains, bleak and stormy air,

I never more will shun.
Alas! my bosom knows no rest,

And faded is my form;
For Henry, thou thy Emma's breast

Hast steeld against the storm.
Weeping wand'rer-dost thou then

Bewail thy Henry's flight?
Dost thou seek him once again?

Would he glad thy sight?
He thought thee faithless, these sad tears

Prove he wrong'd thy heart;
Beneath this cowl thy love appears-

We never more will part.
Lady, as the lily fair,

Ah! now no longer stray
O'er the mountains, bleak and bare,

A wild and dreary way.
See the clouds the storm foretell-

A lonely man am I;
Lady, shelter in my cell,

And never, never fly.

OVERTURE and MARCH to Hercules.

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Love the source of pleasing fears,
Sorrow smiling through her tears;
And mindful of the past employ,
Mem’ry, bosom spring of joy:

GLEE. Masters TIDMAN and CARTER, and

*Messrs. HALDON, and LIDDELL. Horsley.

See the chariot at hand here of love,

Wherein my lady rideth;
Each that draws is a swan or a dove,

And well the car love guideth.
As she goes all hearts do duty

Unto her beauty;
And enamour'd do wish (so they might

But enjoy such a sight)
That they still were to run by her side
Thro' swords, thro' seas, whither she would ride.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow,

Before rude hands have pluckt it?
Ha’ you mark'd but the fall of the snow,

Before the soil hath smutch'd it?
Ha' you felt the wool o' the beaver,

Or swan's down ever?
Or have tasted the bag o' the bee?

Oh! so white, so soft, so sweet is she.

SIMPHONY.

Pleyel.

SONG.

Master TIDMAN.

Handel.

(Accompanied on the Violoncello by Mr. REINAGLE.)

.

Gentle airs, melodious strains,

Call for raptures out of woe;
Lull the regal mourner's pains,

Sweetly soothe her as you flow.

GRAND CONCERTO.

Handel.

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