Eighteenth-Century Audio

Source: LibriVox.org. Download Title

All things within this fading world hath end,
Adversity doth still our joys attend;
No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet,
But with death’s parting blow are sure to meet.
The sentence past is most irrevocable,
A common thing, yet oh, inevitable.
How soon, my dear, death may my steps attend,
How soon’t may be thy lot to lose thy friend,
We both are ignorant, yet love bids me
These farewell lines to recommend to thee,
That when the knot’s untied that made us one,
I may seem thine, who in effect am none.
And if I see not half my days that’s due,
What nature would, God grant to yours and you;
The many faults that well you know I have
Let be interred in my oblivious grave;
If any worth or virtue were in me,
Let that live freshly in thy memory
And when thou feel’st no grief, as I no harms,
Yet love thy dead, who long lay in thine arms,
And when thy loss shall be repaid with gains
Look to my little babes, my dear remains.
And if thou love thyself, or loved’st me,
These O protect from step-dame’s injury.
And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse,
With some sad sighs honor my absent Hearse;
And kiss this paper for thy dear love’s sake,
Who with salt tears this last farewell did take.

Source: LibriVox.org.Download Title

Thou ill-form’d offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth did’st by my side remain,
Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true
Who thee abroad, expos’d to publick view;
Made thee in rags, halting to th’ press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge)
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call,
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
Thy visage was so irksome in my sight;
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could:
I wash’d thy face, but more defects I saw,
And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.
I stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet,
Yet still thou run’st more hobbling than is meet;
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But nought save home-spun cloth, i’ th’ house I find.
In this array, ‘mongst vulgars mayst thou roam
In critics hands, beware thou dost not come;
And take thy way where yet thou art not known,
If for thy father askt, say, thou hadst none:
And for thy mother, she alas is poor,
Which caus’d her thus to send thee out of door.

Source: Librivox.org. Text.
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Source: UMW Text.
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FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:
When nature underneath a heap
Of jarring atoms lay,
And could not heave her head,
The tuneful voice was heard from high,
“Arise, ye more than dead.”
Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry,
In order to their stations leap,
And Music’s power obye.
From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began;
From harmony to harmony
Through all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in man.

II.

What passion cannot music raise and quell?
When Jubal struck the chorded shell,
His listening brethren stood around,
And, wondering, on their faces fell
To worship that celestial sound:
Less than a God they thought there could not dwell
Within the hollow of that shell,
That spoke so sweetly, and so well.
What passion cannot Music raise and quell?

III.

The trumpet’s loud clangor
Excites us to arms
With shrill notes of anger
And mortal alarms.
The double, double, double beat
Of the thundering drum
Cries, hark! the foes come:
Charge, charge! ’tis too late to retreat.

IV.

The soft complaining flute,
In dying notes discovers
The woes of hopeless lovers;
Whose dirge is whisper’d by the warbling lute.

V.

Sharp violins proclaim
Their jealous pangs and desperation,
Fury, frantic indignation,
Depth of pains, and height of passion,
For the fair, disdainful dame.

VI.

But oh! what art can teach,
What human voice can reach,
The sacred organ’s praise?
Notes inspiring holy love,
Notes that wing their heavenly ways
To mend the choirs above.

VII.

Orpheus could lead the savage race;
And trees uprooted left their place,
Sequacious of the lyre:
But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher;
When to her organ vocal breath was given,
An angel heard, and straight appeared,
Mistaking earth for heaven.

Grand Chorus

As from the power of sacred lays
The spheres began to move,
And sung the great Creator’s praise
To all the bless’d above;
So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And Music shall untune the sky.

Source: worldlibrary.net, apparently from Literal Systems’s “The Sound of Literary Works.”
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Say, tyrant Custom, why must we obey

The impositions of thy haughty sway?

From the first dawn of life unto the grave,

Poor womankind’s in every state a slave,

The nurse, the mistress, parent and the swain,

For love she must, there’s none escape that pain.

Then comes the last, the fatal slavery:

The husband with insulting tyranny

Can have ill manners justified by law,

For men all join to keep the wife in awe.

Moses, who first our freedom did rebuke,

Was married when he writ the Pentateuch.

They’re wise to keep us slaves, for well they know,

If we were loose, we should soon make them so.

We yield like vanquished kings whom fetters bind,

When chance of war is to usurpers kind;

Submit in form; but they’d our thoughts control,

And lay restraints on the impassive soul.

They fear we should excel their sluggish parts,

Should we attempt the sciences and arts;

Pretend they were designed for them alone,

So keep us fools to raise their own renown.

Thus priests of old, their grandeur to maintain,

Cried vulgar eyes would sacred laws profane;

So kept the mysteries behind a screen:

Their homage and the name were lost had they been seen.

But in this blessèd age such freedom’s given,

That every man explains the will of heaven;

And shall we women now sit tamely by,

Make no excursions in philosophy,

Or grace our thoughts in tuneful poetry?

We will our rights in learning’s world maintain;

Wit’s empire now shall know a female reign.

Come, all ye fair, the great attempt improve,

Divinely imitate the realms above:

There’s ten celestial females govern wit,

And but two gods that dare pretend to it.

And shall these finite males reverse their rules?

No, we’ll be wits, and then men must be fools.

Source: UMW. Download Title

I cannot change, as others do,
Though you unjustly scorn;
Since that poor swain, that sighs for you
For you alone was born.
No, Phyllis, no, your heart to move
A surer way I’ll try:
And to revenge my slighted love,
Will still love on, will still love on, and die.

When, kill’d with grief, Amyntas lies;
And you to mind shall call
The sighs that now unpitied rise;
The tears that vainly fall:
That welcome hour that ends this smart,
Will then begin your pain;
For such a faithful, tender heart
Can never break, can never break in vain.

Source: UMW. Download Title

Source: UMW. Download Title

Source: UMW Download Title

A THOUSAND martyrs I have made,
All sacrificed to my desire,
A thousand beauties have betray’d
That languish in resistless fire:
The untamed heart to hand I brought,
And fix’d the wild and wand’ring thought.

I never vow’d nor sigh’d in vain,
But both, tho’ false, were well received;
The fair are pleased to give us pain,
And what they wish is soon believed:
And tho’ I talk’d of wounds and smart,
Love’s pleasures only touch’d my heart.

Alone the glory and the spoil
I always laughing bore away;
The triumphs without pain or toil,
Without the hell the heaven of joy;
And while I thus at random rove
Despise the fools that whine for love.