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From "Eight Glees compos'd by W.B.Earle, Esqr." London, c.1780.
Earle was an aristocrat and philanthropist who lived much of his life in the Close, Salisbury. He was a keen amateur musician who wrote several well-crafted glees.
Earle was an aristocrat and philanthropist who lived much of his life in the Close, Salisbury. He was a keen amateur musician who wrote several well-crafted glees.
Lyrics: Edmund Waller
Whilst I listen to thy voice,
Chloris, I feel my life decay;
That powerful noise
Calls my fleeting soul away;
Oh, suppress that magic sound,
Which destroys without a wound.
Peace, Chloris, peace, or singing die;
That together you and I
To heav'n may go;
For all we know
Of what the blessed do sbove
Is, that they sing and that they love.
Whilst I listen to thy voice,
Chloris, I feel my life decay;
That powerful noise
Calls my fleeting soul away;
Oh, suppress that magic sound,
Which destroys without a wound.
Peace, Chloris, peace, or singing die;
That together you and I
To heav'n may go;
For all we know
Of what the blessed do sbove
Is, that they sing and that they love.