ARIADNE Deserted by Theseus, And Found and Courted by BACCHUS. A dramatic Piece Apted for Recitative music. Written and Composed by RICHARD FLECKNO.  
LONDON, Printed Anno Dom. MDCLIV.   

DEDICATED To the Duchess of Richmond and Lenox, her Grace.  
Madam,  
ACcording to my Accustomances of making my Addresses always to the Noblest and Worthiest wheresoever I come; permit me, I beseech your Grace, in the most humblest and respective manner, to present this model of my Recitative music to your fair Hands, as I shall shortly my music itself, to your admirable faculty of judging and understanding it, as also to subscribe myself,  
Madam, Your Graces most Humble, most Obedient, and most Devoted Servant, Richard Fleckno,   

The PREFACE.  
Declaring the Excellency of Recitative music,  
'tIs many years since I proposed unto a sovereign Prince the congruity, that as their persons, so their music should be elevated above the Vulgar, and made not only to delight the ear but also their understandings; not patched up with Songs of different subjects, but all of one piece, with design and plot, accommodated to their several dispositions, and ocasions; which they then graciously pleased to be inclined to hearken to, when the intervening of certain unexpected accidents, diverted their ears from it, and me from farther thought thereof, till travelling into Italy I found that music I intended to introduce, exceedingly in vogue, and far advanced towards its perfection, which made me also more study the perfectioning myself therein, I mean Recitative music, being a compound of music and Poetry together, affecting the mind and sense with redoubled delight, since if a thing but barely pronounced has such force to move the Soul, how much more forcible must it be, when the Harmony of music is added to the pronunciation?  
And this music it is,( and no other) that hath wrought all those miracles recorded in ancient Story; this 'tis that preserved Penelope chaste, and Alexander valorous, that expels evil spirits, and appeases troubled minds; and that finally hath caused all those admirable effects of music( whether real, or figurative) performed by Amphion, Arton, and Orpheus, &c.  
All your ancient Musicians having been Poets too, as your poet's Musicians,( having by it a main advantage of best expressing their own fancies and conceptions) and so they were called lyrics, and the Muses and music, perhaps, were but reciproque denominations: Nay, not only almost all the Erudition of those Times, but even the Religion too was delivered in music, witness the Canticles of Morses, the Psalms of David, the hymns of Orpheus, and finally the Druads Songs, and the Ballads of the British Bards, &c.  
Which Ballads( such was the Barbarism of ensuing times) was in manner the sole relict of this divine Science, until Claudio Montanendo( in our father's days) principally, revived, it shall I say? or renewed it again by his admirable Skill( like another Prometheus) conjoining in one body again the scattered limbs of Orpheus( music & Poetry) which the ignorance of Poets and Musicians had separated, and disseered: The Italian of all other Languages being most happy in it, in having their Tongue and Genius apted to it; the Spanish Genius not lying that way, though there Tongue be fit enough; nor our Tongue fit for it, though the Genius be not wanting. Now the advantage the Italian tongue hath of ours in it, is chiefly, as I conceive, in the strength of their words, they being composed more of the A, and O,( the sinewousness of a Tongue) as also the length of them, whereby each one is able to sustain itself; whereas our Language is so debile and weak, as our words die in a manner as soon as born, not being able scarcely to brook the air; Ending also so faintly and feebly for want of length, as they are forced to fall upon the next following for their support, whence comes the difficulty of pronouncing our words distinctly, or understanding our Language when it is sung; which Inconvenience to Remedy, I concluded first, That your long discourses, and periods, were carefully to be avoided by us, in Recitative music, that so the often coming to a close, might make up in the full stop, our words want of length, and by several reprises more strengthen them. Next, your curious recerched words out of the way of common understanding, were carefully to be avoided, since the main Reason, why commonly we understand not so well when one sings, as when they write, is, because the delightsomness of the Harmony, takes part of the Attention away from the understanding of the words; whence the words consequently are to be made as facile as may be, the better to be understood.  
Where I cannot but note their want of judgement, who have endeavoured to imitate at all parts in our language the Italian Recitative music, not considering, that the music of all Nations is cast in the mould of their language, whence there being great difference betwixt their verbosity, and our concised speech, it consequently follows, that that difference should also be betwixt their music and Poetry, and ours.  
To conclude then, you may observe in this composition of mine, a particular way of Recitative, different from the Italian, as our language is different; insomuch, as though others, both in Italian and English, have composed upon this subject, I am confident yet, whosoever peruses them will absolve me of theft from either, so have I endeavoured short periods, and frequent rhythms, with words smooth and facile, such as most easily might enter into the mind, and be digested by the understanding; studying nothing so much, as that my words should not at all appear studious, your difficiles nugae, or difficil toys, being in nothing more ridiculous than in this; with finally a pathetickness in lieu of all other rhetoric, having observed, that your Italian Orators, with an Oh or a Misericordia, do more move their Auditors to tears and compunction, than with all their curious rhetoric besides.  
Of the composition of the music, I shall defer to speak, until the publishing of it, as shortly I intend to do▪ with a Treatise of the Air of music, and of this in particular, to show, that as no composition seems more easy to the ignorant than it, so none is more hard to those who understand it.  
Hoping that I shall not appear to have ill merited of my Country, in studying music and Concord, whilst others study only discord & dissension; and in striving to delight rather than contristat it, in the sad and sorrowful condition wherein it is.   

ARIADNE.  the Landscapt, or Prospect of a desert Isle discovered, with a Ship afar off sailing from thence; when Ariadne, awaked out of sleep, by sad( but delicate) music,( supposed the harmony of the celestial minds) and finding herself deserted by Theseus, thus expresses first, in recitative music, The Confusion of her Thoughts, and her distracted passions. Ariadne. 

AY me! and is he gone!  
And I left here alone!  
Ah Theseus stay—  
But see he sails away,  
And never minds my moan—  
Yet sure he does not fly me,  
But only does it to try me;  
And he'll return again—  
Oh no! that hope is vain,  
he's gone, he's gone,  
And I left here alone,  
Poor wretch! the most forlorn,  
As ever yet was born,  
With killing dolours more than Tongue can speak,  
O heart, why dost not break?   Here the Winds and Seas seeming moved with her sighs and Tears,( the supposed Companions of her Solitude and Affliction) the first represented by the Aeolides, or winged heads, puffing out of big-swoln clouds, and the second by the Nereids, or sea-nymphs, siren-like, Sing this in Chorus. 

'tIs still the Heavens peculiar care,  
Of all that's nobly Good, and Fair,  
That when they suffer, every one  
Claims right to soft compassion;  
So th' liquid Waves do weep, and moan,  
The gentle Winds do sigh, and groan,  
While th' Rocks with echoes measure keep  
To th' music of the Air, and of the Deep;  
Only Theseus, more hard, more cruel far than they,  
Ne'er minds her grievous plaints, but sails away.   Here she starts up, and first expresses her Rage and Anger, next her pitiful Lamentations and Grief. Ariadne. 

BUt why thus weep I, for that perfidious, who  
Abandons, and leaves me so?  
Let him weep rather, so perfidiously  
Leaves and Abandons me.  
" Only for proper gild,  
" Tears should be spilt.  
And so they shall, if there be any powers  
Beyond this Sphere of ours,  
In heaven, or the Abyss,  
To punish crimes like this.  
As 'tis your interest, O ye powers divine!  
As well as mine:  
For let him pass unpunished, and who shall  
Hereafter think there's any Gods at all?  
But you' r too pitiful, and are not bent  
Cruelly enough;— I'll be his punishment;  
If there be any magic in a Curse,  
Dire Imprecations, horrid vows, or worse,  
I'll thunder Tempests on his catif head,  
That now is fled,  
I'll storm, and whirlwinds of my breath,  
Mixed with the angry lightning of mine Eyes,  
More violent by far  
Than those that darted are  
From the enraged Skies,  
Shall hurry him to death,  
My Anger's sacrifice:  
When thou pale trembling Theseus then,  
Wretchedst of Men,  
Shalt find, when 'tis too late,  
" Nothing 's more cruel than a Lovers hate.   Chorus. 

Shall we the whilst contribute nothing to  
Her rage, as well as to her woe?   Winds. 

Yes, first we'll murmur, and hiss him unto scorn,  
Then rage, and crowd ourselves into a Storm.   Sea. 

And up we'll bear him, till he touch the Skies,  
Then down, till buried in the Deep he lies.   Winds. 
Away, away, then let 's about it strait.  Sea. 
Stay, yet her farther pleasure let's await.  Ariadne. 

BUt alas! what can I do?  
But only wish and wish, and scarcely too,  
For I recall them, would to Heaven, withal,  
I Theseus but as easily could recall;  
I repent me of them too, would thou couldst tell,  
O Theseus, to repent thee but as well;  
Then should poor Ariadne not complain,  
As now, alas! she does, nor burst again  
With thronging sobs and sighs, more than she e'er can vent,  
For thy grieved loss, more than she can lament.   Here, after sad music, she falls into a passion of sighing, weeping, and lamenting. Ariadne. 

BLow, blow, my Sighs,  
Flow, flow, my Tears then, till you overflow,  
And drown me so;  
And then congeal, till Ariadne be  
A colder Stone than Niobe;  
And so become  
Her own sad Tomb:  
Or let my pining Grief consume me so,  
Hereafter none may ever know,  
Unto her foul disgrace,  
Ariadne ever was:  
Or chaage me to a thin unbodied Ghost,  
Some airy spirit, or substance, or at most  
An Animated groan,  
And an Eternal moan.   Here lively, and sprightly music is heard afar off, by degrees approaching the Place, and at last the Bacchanti, or forerunners of Bacchus, appear, in Ovant Triumph, with their Timbrels, Systrums, thyrsises, and other Ensigns of Bacchus orgies. When suddenly they fall into this drinking Catch, 

COme Children o'th' Bottle, and let's have a round  
As long as but liquor in the Bottles is sound,  
Drink, merrily drink,  
Whilst the flagons do clink,  
And glasses do think,  
And each one does think  
That the world turns round a, round a,  
And no sober be found a.  
Fill the Cups full,  
Fill the Cups full boys,  
And say what they wull,  
Say what they wull boys,  
There is no life but in Liquor.  
For Aesculape  
's but Phoebus' Ape,  
And Phoebus but Bacchus' Vicar.   Here Bacchus appears, habited like a conqueror, with his Lynxes or leopard's Skin fastened on one shoulder, and hanging down under the other Arm, crowned with Ivy, and his Thyrses intwined and wreathed with Vine leaves in his hand, followed by the Satyrs and Sileni, &c. whilst the Chorus sings. Chorus. 

IO, Lyaeus, Evan, Bacchus,  
Nysaeus, Bromius, and Jacchus,  
Twice-born, to show, Divinity  
Was redoubled in thee;  
Whilst all th' Inhabitants o'th' Skies  
Besides, are simple Deities.   

Io, Lyaeus, Evan, Bacchus,  
Nysaeus, Bromius, and Jacchus,   Here Bacchus spies Ariadne weeping, and stands amazed. Bacchus. 

O All ye Heavenly Deities!  
What lovely grief and sorrow 's this,  
At once mine eyes, and admiration draw?  
Surpassing far  
All ravishing joys that are,  
Or yet I ever saw!  
And can those sighs be breathed into air,  
From lips so fair, and sweet,  
But we must straightway see it:  
Ambrosique sweet, as rosy fair?  
And can those Tears, let fall  
From her bright eyes, not strait congeal withal  
To Pearls, we more than Oriental call?—  
Divine beauty, compared to whom,  
Divinity does less become,  
Who hast un-godded Bacchus, and  
Made him here thy Suppliant stand,  
Doubtful whenever any thing he be,  
Till it be determined of by thee.  
Neither would he be divine,  
Farther than he may be thine—  
Behold a God falls down before thee,  
Lowly prostrate to adore thee.   He knelt, whilst the Chorus sings. Chorus. 

Sovereign Beauty, hast the power,  
To conquer that great conqueror  
Of all the Indies far and wide,  
And all th' adjacent world beside;  
Sing we of all the Gods above,  
The mightiest of all is Love,  
In Heaven and Earth, when e'r he please,  
Can do such mighty things as these.   Bacchus. 

SOrrow does so heavy sit  
Upon her, as she moves not yet:  
Sing then again, and with a merrier lay,  
Chase her importunater grief away.   Chorus. 

THen let us sing to make her merry,  
And laugh till our cheeks be as red as a cherry  
And make all laugh as well as we,  
With ho, ho, ho, and he, he, he.   

1.  
Laughter every one does love,  
From him below, to him above,  
Appearing still with countenance gay,  
Chasing care and grief away,  
Cheering with her cheerful face;  
Whilst your melancholy Ass,  
Who smiles just as his Lips were starched,  
Or his mouth burnt up and parched,  
Nor does ever laugh outright,  
But when Dogs, perchance, do fight,  
Or some other mischief 's done,  
Is hated for't by every one.   Chorus. 

LEt those then care and sorrow love,  
Weeping-Heraclites approve,  
Laughing-Democritus for me,  
With ho, ho, ho, and he, he, he.   

2.  
He who laughs not at a Jest,  
's like him who eats not at a Feast,  
Either of them, you must grant,  
Does both wit, and stomach want;  
I'd not give a pin for him,  
Cannot laugh at every thing,  
At the wagging of a Feather,  
Or Straw's motion( choose ye whether)  
And but fall, and there is laughter  
For a week or fortnight after.  
Who say Fools only laugh, do lie,  
I say th' are only Fools who cry.   Chorus. 

LEt those then care and sorrow love,  
Weeping-Heraclites approve,  
Laughing-Democritus for me,  
With ho, ho, ho, and he, he, he.   Here she looks up, appearing a little comforted, when Bacchus thus makes his Address to her. Bacchus. 

FAirer than fairest, if your eyes,  
clearer than the clearer skies,  
●ign to look upon a Lover,  
●●o this bold Truth dares discover  
What he loves, and loves most true,  
〈◊〉 withal loves only you,  
●old none of th' ignoblest I,  
And here, could boast a Deity,  
〈◊〉 that I hold it greater boast,  
vaunt that I love you the most—  
In pledge of which love, deign O fairest,  
Sweetest, dearest, and the rarest,  
T' accept of this poor Crown you see,  
And with it of Immortality;  
Since after once 'tis dignified  
By you, it shall strait be stellified,  
And in the clearest Skies appear,  
Exalted to the highest Sphere,  
The brightest Constellation there  
What says my dearest?   Ariadne. 

What should I say?  
But where the God's command, there Mortals must obey.   Bacchus. 

LEad on in Triumph then, and let the Fame  
Of brightest Ariadne's name,  
Whilst with glory she is crowned,  
From Earth to highest heaven resound,  
From t'one to tother Pole be known,  
From the Suns rise, t' his going down.   Here, whilst they go off in Triumph, the Chorus sings this Triumphant Song. Chorus. 

Ne'er was conjunction more sweet,  
Than where Divine and Fair do meet.  
Nor ever were this happy pair,  
Happier than now they are,  
In his blessed Consortship she,  
And in her Emoraces' he.  
Let Bacchus and Ariadne's name,  
Be ever( then) i' mouth of fame,  
And ever fill the world's large ear,  
And in Accents loud and clear,  
From t'one to tother Pole be known,  
From th' Suns rise, to his going down.   
FINIS