Who was it this smart little lady could please?
Who was it that whined and went down on his knees?
Who was it that ask'd her a comical question?

It was you, it was you, and not old Colley Weston.

(Mills.)

GLEE, for 4 Voices.-S. WEBBE.

(Soprano, Alto, Tenor, and Bass.)

WHOм call ye gay? that honour has been long
The boast of mere pretenders to the name:
The innocent are gay-the lark is gay,
That dyes his feathers, saturate with dew,
Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams
Of day-spring overshoot his humble nest:
The peasant, too, a witness of his song,
Himself a songster is, as gay as he.

But save me from the gaiety of those

Whose head-ache nails them to a noon-day bed;

And save me, too, from those whose haggard eyes
Flash desperation, and betray their pangs

For property stript off by cruel chance;
From gaiety that fills the bones with pain,
The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with woe.

Posthumous Collection. (Novello.)

Words by Cowper.

QUARTET.-Air by Dr. ARNE, harmonized by

W. JACKSON.

(2 Sopranos, Tenor, and Bass.)

WHY, Chloe, still these jealous heats,
And why that falling tear?

The heart that to a thousand beats

To one may be sincere.

To sweeten autumn's milder reign
The sultry summer glows,

And chilling dews and beating rain
Give freshness to the rose.

Thus I, my Chloe to endear,

To meaner beauties stray,
And call December to my year,

To brighten all the May.

Then grieve not that my heart's inclined
To every face that's new;

I wander, to return more kind,
And change but to be true.

ELEGY, for 4 Voices.-W. HORSLEY, Mus. Bac. (Soprano, Alto, Tenor, and Bass.)

WHY droops the Muse? ah why unstrung the lyre
Which erst awaken'd music's sweetest strains?

From their gay haunts the choral train retire,
And seek the shades where pensive silence reigns.

[throng,

No more at eve, these sylvan scenes among,
Is heard the inspiring glee or dulcet lay;
Hush'd are those strains which charm'd the tuneful
And sweetly stole the listening hours away.

Beloved, lamented, o'er the sacred urn,

Where in yon hallow'd shade Webbe's ashes sleep, Fair Science, Genius, Virtue, Friendship mourn, And the lorn Muse dejected there shall weep. "When winds breathe soft" at evening's peaceful hour, Let Harmony her richest tribute bring;

And sighing Elegy shall gently pour

Her plaintive strains his requiem to sing.

Words to the memory of Samuel Webbe, by the Rev. T. Beaumont. (Lonsdale.)

GLEE, for 5 Voices.-SPOFFORTH.

(2 Altos, 2 Tenors, and Bass.)

WHY flows the Muse's mournful tear

For thee, cut down in life's full prime?
Why sighs for thee the parent dear,
Cropt by the scythe of hoary Time?

Lo this, my boy, 's the common lot;
To me the memory entrust,
When all that's dear shall be forgot,

I'll guard thy venerated dust.

From age to age, as I proclaim
Thy learning, piety and truth,
Thy great example shall inflame,

And emulation raise in youth.

Written on the death of the Hon. Philip Carteret, at the age of nineteen, by Dr. Friend.

Warren's Collection, No. 30.

GLEE, for 3 Voices.-BATTISHILL.

(Alto, Tenor, and Bass.)

WHY, Harry, what ails you? why look you so sad? To think, and ne'er drink, will make you stark mad; "Tis the mistress, the friend and the bottle, old boy, Which create all the pleasure poor mortals enjoy; But wine of the three 's the most cordial brother, For one it relieves, and it strengthens the other. Battishill's First Collection.

Words by Prior.

GLEE, for 5 Voices.-C. MuSTON.

(2 Sopranos, Alto, Tenor, and Bass.)

WHY mourns my friend, why weeps his downcast eye-
That eye where mirth, where fancy used to shine?
Thy cheerful meads reprove that swelling sigh;
Spring ne'er enamell'd fairer meads than thine.
(Hawes.)

Words by Shenstone.

MADRIGAL, for 4 Voices.-T. MORLEY.

(2 Sopranos, Alto, and Tenor.)

WHY sit I here alone complaining,

With sobs and groanings, my disdaining?

Oh this mirth contenteth,

Whom grief of mind tormenteth;

Ah cease, alas, this weeping:

Fool, alas! she does this but to prove me;

[me,

Away, false comfort! no, thou canst not move me;
You that saw too much mine shall dearly buy it,
That made my heart believe I did espy it;
Hence, away, false comfort! in vain thou seek'st to ease
Away, I say, then! oh no, thou canst not please me.
(Novello)

GLEE, for 4 Voices.-Lord BURGHERSH.

(1st verse, 3 Tenors and Bass;-2nd verse, Alto, 2 Tenors, and Bass.)

WHY SO pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail?

Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?

Prithee, why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do 't?

Prithee, why so mute?