ODE FOR THE CONSORT AT YORK-BUILDINGS, Upon the DEATH Of Mr. Henry Purcell.  

I.  
WEEP, all ye Muses, weep over Damon's hearse,  
And pay the grateful Honours of your Verse;  
Each Mournful Strain in softest Accents dress,  
His Praises, and your Sorrows to express.  
Ye Sons of Art, lament your Learned Chief  
With all the Skill and Harmony of Grief:  
To Damon's hearse your Tuneful Tribute bring,  
Who taught each Note to speak, and every Muse to Sing.   

II.  


1st Accompanyment.   



Flat Trumpet.    
Hark! How the Warlike Trumpet groans!  
The Warlike Trumpet sadly moans,  
Instructed once by Damon's Art   



Sharp Trumpet.    
To warm the Active soldiers Heart,  
To soften Danger, sweeten Care,  
And smooth the rugged Toils of War,   



Flat Trumpet.    
Now with Shrill Grief, and Melancholy Strains  
Of Damon's Death, and Albion's Loss complains.    



accompaniment.    



Hautbois and Violin.    
The sprightly Hautbois, and gay Violin  
By Damon taught to Charm the listening Ear,  
To fill the echoing Theatre,  
And with rich Melody to adorn each Scene,  
Forget their Native cheerfulness,  
Their wonted Air, and Vigour to express,  
And in Dead doleful Sounds a Tuneless Grief confess.   



Chorus.    
W●ep, all ye Muses, weep over Damon's hearse,  
And pay the grateful Honours of your Verse.     

III.  



〈…〉    



F●●e and Th●●●bo.    
Mark how the Melancholy Flute,  
joins in sad Consort with the amorous Lute,  
Lamenting Damon's hapless Fate:  
From him they learned to tell the Lover's Care,  
With soft Complaints to move the cruel Fair,  
To calm her Anger, and to change her Hate.    



4th Accompanyment.    



Organ.    
The various Organ taught by Damon's Hand  
A Nobler Passion to Command,  
The roving Fancy to refine,  
And raise the ravished Soul with Charms Divine,  
Now in deep Sighs employs its Tuneful Breath,  
And bids each secret Sound Conspire  
To mourn its Darling Damon's Death,  
And with consenting Grief to form one numerous Choir.   



Chorus.    
Weep, all ye Muses, weep over Damon's hearse,  
And pay the grateful Honours of your Verse.     

IV.  
Cease, cease, ye Sons of Art, forbear  
To aggravate your sad Despair!  
Cease to lament your Learned Chief  
With fruitless Skill, and hopeless Grief:  
For sure, if Mortals here below  
Ought of Diviner Beings know,  
Damon's large Mind informs some active Sphere,  
And circles in Melodious Raptures there,  
mixed with his Fellow Choristers above  
In the bright Orbs of Harmony and Love.  



Grand Chorus:    
Cease, cease, ye Sons of Art, &c.     

Printed for Francis Saunders, at the Blew Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New Exchange. 1695.