Shakespeare's garland: Being a collection of new songs, ballads, roundelays, catches, glees, comic-serenatas, &c. Performed at the jubille [sic] at Sratford [sic] upon Avon. The musick by Dr. Arne, Mr. Barthelimon, Mr. Ailwood, and Mr. Dibdin.

Table of contents

- [halftitle]

- [titlepage]

- THE MORNING ADDRESS. To the Ladies.

- WARWICKSHIRE. A SONG.

- SWEET WILLY O. A SONG.

- SHAKESPEARE'S MULBERRY-TREE. Sung with a Cup in his Hand made of the Tree.

- ROUNDELAY. For the Jubilee, in Honour of SHAKESPEARE.

- CHORUS FROM THE CHURCH.

- TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF SHAKESPEARE

- THE DRAMATIC RACE. A CATCH.

- CHORUS FOR THE PAGEANT AT STRATFORD.

- A CATCH.

- CATCH IN AS YOU LIKE IT.

- A GLEE.

- QUEEN MAB. A CANTATA.

- THE COUNTRY GIRL. A COMIC SERENATA.

SHAKESPEARE'S GARLAND.

FINIS.

SHAKESPEARE'S GARLAND.

SHAKESPEARE'S GARLAND.

BEING A COLLECTION OF NEW SONGS, BALLADS, ROUNDELAYS, CATCHES, GLEES, COMIC-SERENATAS, &c.

PERFORMED AT THE JUBILEE AT SRATFORD UPON AVON.

THE MUSICK BY DR. ARNE, MR. BARTHELIMON, MR. AILWOOD, AND MR. DIBDIN.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR T. BECKET, AND P. A. DE HONDT, IN THE STRAND. MDCCLXIX.

THE MORNING ADDRESS.
To the Ladies.

LET beauty with the sun arise;

To SHAKESPEARE tribute pay,

With heavenly smiles and speaking eyes;

Give grace and lustre to the day.

Each smile she gives protects his name;

What face shall dare to frown?

Not Envy's self can blast the fame,

Which Beauty deigns to crown.

WARWICKSHIRE.
A SONG.

By Mr. G_+

I.

YE Warwickshire lads, and ye lasses,

See what at our Jubilee passes,

Come revel away, rejoice and be glad,

For the lad of all lads, was a Warwickshire lad,

Warwickshire lad,

All be glad,

For the lad of all lads, was a Warwickshire lad.

II.

Be proud of the charms of your county,

Where Nature has lavish'd her bounty,

Where much she has giv'n, and some to be spar'd,

For the bard of all bards, was a Warwickshire bard,

Warwickshire bard,

Never pair'd,

For the bard of all bards, was a Warwickshire bard.

III.

Each shire has its different pleasures,

Each shire has its different treasures;

But to rare Warwickshire, all must submit,

For the wit of all wits, was a Warwickshire wit,

Warwickshire wit,

How he writ!

For the wit of all wits, was a Warwickshire wit.]

IV.

Old Ben, Thomas Otway, John Dryden,

And half a score more we take pride in,

Of famous Will Congreve, we boast too the skill,

But the Will of all Wills, was Warwickshire Will,

Warwickshire Will,

Matchless still,

For the Will of all Wills, was a Warwickshire Will.

V.

Our SHAKESPEARE compar'd is to no man,

Nor Frenchman, nor Grecian, nor Roman,

Their swans are all geese, to the Avon's sweet swan,

And the man of all men, was a Warwickshire man,

Warwickshire man,

Avon's swan,

And the man of all men, was a Warwickshire man.

VI.

As ven'son is very inviting,

To steal it out bard took delight in,

To make his friends merry he never was lag,

And the wag of all wags, was a Warwickshire wag,

Warwickshire wag,

Ever brag,

For the wag of all wags, was a Warwickshire wag.

VII.

There never was seen such a creature,

Of all she was worth, he robb'd Nature;

He took all her smiles, and he took all her grief,

And the thief of all thieves, was a Warwickshire thief,

Warwickshire thief,

He's the chief;

For the thief of all thieves, was a Warwickshire thief.

SWEET [*] WILLY O.
A SONG.

By Mr. G_+

I.

THE pride of all nature was sweet Willy O,

The first of all swains,

He gladden'd the plains,

None ever was like to sweet Willy O.

II.

He sung it so rarely did sweet Willy O,

He melted each maid,

So skillful he play'd,

No shepherd e'er pip'd like the sweet Willy O.

III.

All Nature obey'd him, this sweet Willy O,

Wherever he came,

Whate'er had a name,

Whenever he sung follow'd sweet Willy O,

IV.

He won'd be a [*] soldier, this sweet Willy O,

When arm'd in the field,

With sword and with shield,

The laurel was won by the sweet Willy O.

V.

He charm'd 'em when living, the sweet Willy O,

And when Willy dy'd,

'Twas Nature that sigh'd,

To part with her all in her sweet Willy O.

Notes

*
SHAKESPEARE.
↵

*
Writer of Tragedy.
↵

SHAKESPEARE'S MULBERRY-TREE.
Sung with a Cup in his Hand made of the Tree.

By Mr. G_+

I.

BEHOLD this fair goblet, 'twas carv'd from the tree,

Which, O my sweet SHAKESPEARE, was planted by thee;

As a relick I kiss it, and bow at the shrine,

What comes from thy hand must be ever divine!

All shall yield to the Mulberry-tree,

Bend to thee,

Blest Mulberry,

Matchless was he

Who planted thee,

And thou like him immortal be!

II.

Ye trees of the forest, so rampant and high,

Who spread round their branches, whose heads sweep the sky,

Ye curious exotics, whom taste has brought here,

To root out the natives, at prices so dear,

All shall yield to the Mulbery-tree, &c, &c.

III.

The Oak is held royal, is Britain's great boast,

Preserv'd once our king, and will always our coast;

But of Fir we make ships; we have thousands that fight,

While One, only One, like our SHAKESPEARE can write,

All shall yield to the Mulberry-tree, &c, &c.

IV.

Let Venus delight in her gay mirtle bowers,

Pomona in fruit trees, and Flora in flowers,

The garden of SHAKESPEARE all fancies will suit;

With the sweetest of flowers, and fairest of fruit,

All shall yield to the Mulberry-tree, &c, &c.

V.

With learning and knowledge the well-letter'd Birch;

Supplies Law and Physick, and Grace for the church;

But Law and the Gospel in SHAKESPEARE we find,

And he gives the best Physick for body and mind.

All shall yield to the Mulberry-tree, &c, &c.

VI.

The fame of the patron gives fame to the tree,

From him and his merits this takes its degree;

Let Phoebus and Bacchus their glories resign,

Our tree shall surpass both the Laurel and Vine.

All shall yield to the Mulberry-tree, &c, &c.

VII.

The Genius of SHAKESPEARE out-shines the bright day,

More rapture than wine to the heart can convey,

So the tree which he planted, by making his own,

Has Laurel, and Bays, and the Vine all in one.

All shall yield to the Mulberry-tree, &c, &c.

VIII.

Then each take a relick of this hallow'd tree,

From folly and fashion a charm let it be;

Fill fill to the planter, the cup to the brim,

To honour the country, do honour to him.

All shall yield to the Mulberry-tree,

Bend to thee,

Blest Mulberry,

Matchless was he

Who planted thee,

And thou like him immortal be!

ROUNDELAY.[3]
For the Jubilee, in Honour of SHAKESPEARE.

By Mr. J_+

I.

SISTERS of the tuneful strain!

Attend your parent's jocund train,

'Tis Fancy calls you, follow me,

To celebrate the Jubilee.

II.

On Avon's banks, where SHAKESPEARE's bust

Points out, and guards his sleeping dust,

The sons of Scenic Mirth decree

To celebrate this Jubilee.

III.

* By Garrick led, the grateful band,

Haste to their Poet's native land,

With rites of sportive revelry,

To celebrate his Jubilee.

IV.

* Come daughters then, and with you bring

The vocal reed, and sprightly string,

Wit, and Joke, and Repartee,

To celebrate our Jubilee.

V.

Come, daughters, come, and bring with you

Th' Aerial Sprite and Fairy Crew,

And the Sister-Graces three,

To celebrate our Jubilee.

VI.

Hang around the sculptur'd tomb

The broider'd vest, the nodding plume,

And the mask of comic glee,

To celebrate our Jubilee.

VII.

From Birnam Wood, and Bosworth's Field,

Bring the standard, bring the shield,

With drums, and martial symphony,

To celebrate our Jubilee.

VIII.

In mournful numbers now relate

Poor Desdemona's hapless fate,

With frantic deeds of Jealousy,

To celebrate our Jubilee.

IX.

Nor be Windsor's wives forgot,

With their harmless, merry plot,

The whit'ning mead, and haunted tree,

To celebrate our Jubilee.

X.

Now in jocund strains recite,

The revels of the braggar'd Knight,

Fat Knight! and antient Pistol he!

To celebrate our Jubilee.

XI.

But see, in crowds, the gay, the fair,

To the splendid scene repair,

A scene as fine, as fine can be,

To celebrate our Jubilee.

XII.

Yet Colin bring, and Rosalind,

Each shepherd true, and damsel kind,

For well with ours, their sports agree,

To crown the festive Jubilee.

Notes

3
N. B. The Stanzas marked with a * are omitted in the singing.
↵

CHORUS FROM THE CHURCH.

THIS is the day, a holiday! a holiday!

Drive spleen and rançour far away,

This is the day, a holiday! a holiday!

Drive care and sorrow far away.

[*] Here Nature nurs'd her darling boy,

From whom all care, and sorrow fly,

Whose harp the muses strung:

From heart to heart let joy rebound,

Now, now, we tread enchanted ground,

Here SHAKESPEARE walk'd, and sung!

Notes

*
To be sung at the house where SHAKESPEARE was born.
↵

TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF SHAKESPEARE

IMMORTAL be his name,

His memory, his fame!

Nature and her works we see,

Matchless SHAKESPEARE full in thee!

Join'd by everlasting tyes,

SHAKESPEARE but with Nature dies.

Immortal be his Name,

His memory, his fame!

THE DRAMATIC RACE.
A CATCH.

BY A LOVER OF THE TURF.

CLEAR, clear the course—make room—make room I say!

Now they are off, and Jonson makes the play.

I'll bet the odds—done sir, with you and you;

SHAKESPEARE keeps near him—and he'll win it too:

Here's even money—done for a hundred, done—

Now Jonson! now, or never—he has won.

I'll take my oath, that SHAKESPEARE won the prize—

Damme! whoever says he lost it, lies.

CHORUS FOR THE PAGEANT AT STRATFORD.

By Mr. B_+.

HENCE ye prophane! and only they,

Our pageant grace our pomp survey,

Whom love of sacred genius brings;

Let pride, let flattery decree,

Honors to deck the memory,

Of warriors, senators, and kings—

Not less in glory, and desert,

The poet here receives his part,

A tribute from the feeling heart.

A CATCH.

By Mr. B_+.

NYM, Pistol and Bardolph, with merry old Jack,

One morning made sport for their pupil, prince Harry;

When Falstaff cry'd out for a bumper of sack,

To Quickly, his hostess, and bid her not tarry;

Ah! hah! cry'd the prince, honest boy is it so!

The wheels of your wit, must be oil'd as they go.

CATCH IN AS YOU LIKE IT.

WHAT shall he have that kill'd the deer?

His leather skin and horns to wear.

Take thou no scorn

To wear the horn, the horn, the horn:

It was a crest ere thou wast born.

Thy father's father wore it;

And thy father bore it,

The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,

Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.

A GLEE.

By Dr. M_+

COME, nymphs and fawns, where'er ye be,

To this your Father's Jubilee,

With a tivy, tivy, tivy-tivie, ti.

Come elves, and fairies, in a row,

And if you ever sung, sing now,

With a row-dow, row tidow, dow.

Ev'n Caliban, tho' void of art,

With growling base, shall bear a part,

With a Ban, Ban, Cacaliban.

QUEEN MAB.
A CANTATA.

The Words By Mr. B_+.

The Music By Mr. DIBDIN.

RECITATIVE.

NOT long ago, 'tis said, a proclamation,

Was sent abroad through all the Fairy nation;

Mab to her loving subjects—A decree,

At SHAKESPEARE's tomb to hold a Jubilee.

ACCOMPANIED.

The night was come, and now on Avon's side

The pigmy race was seen,

Attended by their queen,

On chafers some, and some on crickets ride.

The queen appear'd from far,

Mounted in a nut shell carr;

Six painted lady-birds the carriage drew;

And now the cavalcade,

In order due array'd,

March'd first,

Where erst,

The sacred Mulb'ry grew,

And there their homage paid:

Next they sought the holy ground,

And while

A thousand glow-worm torches glimmer'd round;

Thus Good Fellow, the herald of his fame,

Did from the alabaster height proclaim,

The poets titles and his stile.

AIR.

SHAKESPEARE, heaven's most favor'd creature,

Truest copier of Nature,

First of the Parnassian train;

Chiefest fav'rite of the muses,

Which soe'er the poet chooses,

Blest alike in ev'ry strain.

Life's great censor, and inspector,

Fancy's treasurer, Wit's director,

Artless to the shame of art;

Master of the various passions,

Leader of all inclinations,

Sov'reign of the human heart.

RECITATIVE.

Then did the queen an acorn take,

Fill'd with morn and ev'ning dew,

Brush'd from ev'ry fragrant brake,

That round the lawns of Stratford grew.

ACCOMPANIED.

And thus said she, libation do I make,

To our friend and father's shade:

'Twas SHAKESPEARE that the Fairies made;

And men shall give us honour for his sake.

AIR.

O happy bard, whose potent skill,

Can give existence where it will.

Let giant wisdom strive to chase,

From man's belief the Fairy race;

Religion stern our pow'r reject,

Philosophy our tales neglect,

Only trusting what 'tis seeing;

Combat us howe'er they list,

In thy scenes we shall exist,

Sure as if Nature gave us being.

THE COUNTRY GIRL.
A COMIC SERENATA.

By Mr. G_+

RECITATIVO.

PRITHEE tell me, cousin Sue,

Why they make so much to do,

Why all this noise and clatter?

Why all this hurry, all this bustle,

Law how they crowd, and bawl and justle,

I caunno' guess the matter:

For whom must all this puther be?

The Emperor of Garmanee,

Or Great Mogul is coming,

Such eating, drinking, dancing, singing,

Such Cannon firing, bells a ringing,

Such trumpetting and drumming!

AIR.

All this for a Poet—O no—

Who liv'd lord knows how long ago?

How can you jeer one,

How can you fleer one,

A poet, a poet, O no,

'Tis not so,

Who liv'd lord knows how long ago:

It must be some great man,

A prince, or a state-man,

It can't be a poet—O no:

Your poet is poor,

And nobody sure,

Regards a poor poet I trow:

The rich ones we prize,

Send 'em up to the skies,

But not a poor poet—O no—

Who liv'd lord knows how long ago.

RECITATIVO.

Yet now I call to mind,

Our larned doctor boasted,

One SHIKSPUR did of all mankind,

Receive from heav'n the most-head—

That he could wonders do,

And did 'em o'er and o'er,

Raise sprites, and lay 'em too,

The like ne'er seen before.

A conjurer was he!

Who with a pen in hond,

Had earth, and air, and sea,

And all things at commaund.

AIR.
1.

O'er each heart he was ruler,

Made 'em warmer or cooler,

Could make 'em to laugh or to cry:

What we lock'd in our breasts,

Tho' as close as in Chests,

Was not hid from the conjuror's eye:

Tho' sins I have none,

I am glad he is gone,

No maid could live near such a mon.

II.

If he sew ye be knew ye,

Would look thro' and thro' ye,

Thro' skin, and your flesh and your cloaths,

Had you vanity, pride,

Fifty follies beside,

He would see 'em, as plain as your nose:

Tho' sins I have none,

I am glad he is gone,

No maid would live near such a mon.

III.

Let us sing it, and dance it,

Rejoice it, and prance it,

That no man has now such an art;

What would come of us all,

Both the great ones, and small,

Should he live to peep now in each heart

Tho' sins I have none,

I am glad he is gone,

No maid could live near such a mon.

Information about this book

Title statement

Shakespeare's garland: Being a collection of new songs, ballads, roundelays, catches, glees, comic-serenatas, &c. Performed at the jubille [sic] at Sratford [sic] upon Avon. The musick by Dr. Arne, Mr. Barthelimon, Mr. Ailwood, and Mr. Dibdin.

Garrick, David, 1717-1779.

Publication

Distributor

University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford University Computing Services
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OX2 6NN
ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk

ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/4176

ID [isbn10]

1106011759

ID [isbn13]

9781106011756

ID [TCP]

K044906.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3309966904

ID [ECLL]

0048000900

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— Shakespeare's garland: Being a collection of new songs, ballads, roundelays, catches, glees, comic-serenatas, &c. Performed at the jubille [sic] at Sratford [sic] upon Avon. The musick by Dr. Arne, Mr. Barthelimon, Mr. Ailwood, and Mr. Dibdin., Garrick, David, 1717-1779.. [4],27,[1]p. ; 8⁰. London :: printed for T. Becket, and P. A. de Hondt,. 1769.. [Anonymous. By David Garrick.] [With a half-title.] [Variant: "jubille" corrected to "jubilee".] [Without the music.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT48013.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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