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Elizabeth Turner
(fl.1750 - 1756)
At Windsor, where Thames glides
(S./T.2Vn.Continuo)
Score, part(s) and cover page (PDF), €0.00 for bundled copies Download this item(fl.1750 - 1756)
At Windsor, where Thames glides
(S./T.2Vn.Continuo)
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Published in "A Collection of Songs with Symphonies", London, c.1756.
Lyrics: The words by a gentleman
At Windsor, where Thames glides so smoothly along,
Lives the wish of my heart, the dear girl of my song.
Her name all the day I with raptures repeat
And am bless'd if the shepherds but talk of my Kate.
When my fair one is by, the whole village is gay,
For 'tis she, not the sun, that enlivens the day;
The lads are all happy while round her they wait,
And the lasses learn beauty by watching my Kate.
Should I join the pale lily, or blush-painted rose,
And with pinks and sweet woodbines a garland compose?
More lovely to sight are her looks, and more sweet
Is the fragrance that dwells on the lips of my Kate.
Hush, ye vain warblers, no more crowd the spray,
Nor think to delight with your love-liven'd lay;
With success may each tune the sweet strain to his mate,
But your notes are all harsh to the voice of my Kate.
As she sits on the bank by the side of a stream,
The fish, without fear, feed and play by the brim,
And why should they not; they can dread no deceit,
Such truth is confess'd in the looks of my Kate.
The shepherds bring posies of flow'rs, but the maid
Cries: these are but emblems that I too must fade;
But myrtles I'll bring and in their happy date
Shew the unfading charms of the maid of my Kate.
At Windsor, where Thames glides so smoothly along,
Lives the wish of my heart, the dear girl of my song.
Her name all the day I with raptures repeat
And am bless'd if the shepherds but talk of my Kate.
When my fair one is by, the whole village is gay,
For 'tis she, not the sun, that enlivens the day;
The lads are all happy while round her they wait,
And the lasses learn beauty by watching my Kate.
Should I join the pale lily, or blush-painted rose,
And with pinks and sweet woodbines a garland compose?
More lovely to sight are her looks, and more sweet
Is the fragrance that dwells on the lips of my Kate.
Hush, ye vain warblers, no more crowd the spray,
Nor think to delight with your love-liven'd lay;
With success may each tune the sweet strain to his mate,
But your notes are all harsh to the voice of my Kate.
As she sits on the bank by the side of a stream,
The fish, without fear, feed and play by the brim,
And why should they not; they can dread no deceit,
Such truth is confess'd in the looks of my Kate.
The shepherds bring posies of flow'rs, but the maid
Cries: these are but emblems that I too must fade;
But myrtles I'll bring and in their happy date
Shew the unfading charms of the maid of my Kate.