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 |
Maurice Greene
(1696 - 1755)
The merchant, to secure his treasure
(Song)
Full score (PDF), €0.00 for unlimited copies Download this item(1696 - 1755)
The merchant, to secure his treasure
(Song)
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.
Page 1 of 3
This work, Greene : The merchant, to secure his treasure : scoreid 148253, 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=148253. Permissions beyond the scope of this licence may be available at https://www.notamos.co.uk/index.php?sheet=about.
| Enquire about this score |
| About Maurice Greene |
| Full Catalogue |
| About us | Help, privacy, cookies |
| About Maurice Greene |
| Full Catalogue |
| About us | Help, privacy, cookies |
Probably performed at the London pleasure gardens; published in "Clio and Euterpe, or British Harmony", London 1762.
Lyrics: Matthew Prior
The merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrowed name;
Euphelia serves to grace my measure,
But Cloe is my real flame.
My softest verse, my darling lyre,
Upon Euphelia's toilette lay;
When Cloe noted her desire
That I should sing, that I should play.
My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,
But with my numbers mix my sighs;
And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes.
Fair Cloe blushed; Euphelia frowned;
I sung and gazed; I played and trembled;
And Venus to the Loves around
Remarked how ill we all dissembled.
The merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrowed name;
Euphelia serves to grace my measure,
But Cloe is my real flame.
My softest verse, my darling lyre,
Upon Euphelia's toilette lay;
When Cloe noted her desire
That I should sing, that I should play.
My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,
But with my numbers mix my sighs;
And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes.
Fair Cloe blushed; Euphelia frowned;
I sung and gazed; I played and trembled;
And Venus to the Loves around
Remarked how ill we all dissembled.