 notAmos Performing Editions 1 Lansdown Place East, Bath BA1 5ET, UK +44 (0) 1225 316145 Performing editions of pre‑classical music with full preview/playback and instant download |
Anon
(c.1785)
Drink to me only
(T.T.B.)
Full score (PDF), €0.00 for unlimited copies Download this item(c.1785)
Drink to me only
(T.T.B.)
Printable cover page (PDF), €0.00 for unlimited copies Download this item
If you have any problem obtaining a PDF, please see our help page. If that does not resolve the issue, please click here.
This work, Anon : Drink to me only : scoreid 146331, as published by notAmos Performing Editions, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. All relevant attributions should state its URL as https://www.notamos.co.uk/detail.php?scoreid=146331. Permissions beyond the scope of this licence may be available at https://www.notamos.co.uk/index.php?sheet=about.
This edition is a transcription of the first known appearance of this popular glee in a collection of six glees "Composed by an amateur and most respectfully inscribed to Miss Fisher", London, c.1785.
This publication pre-dates by some five years its arrangement published by John Wall Callcott, who is often (but clearly erroneously) credited with its composition.
This publication pre-dates by some five years its arrangement published by John Wall Callcott, who is often (but clearly erroneously) credited with its composition.
Lyrics: Ben Jonson
Drink to me only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine,
Or leave a kiss within the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent'st it back to me,
Since when it grows and smells, I swear,
Not of itself but thee!
Drink to me only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine,
Or leave a kiss within the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent'st it back to me,
Since when it grows and smells, I swear,
Not of itself but thee!