A song written for performance at Vauxhall. This edition includes the original orchestral accompaniment; a version for keyboard reduction is also available.

Lyrics: The Reverend Mr Woty

Serene is the morning; the lark leaves his nest,
And sings a salute to the dawn;
The sun with his splendour embroiders the east,
And brightens the dew on the lawn;
Whilst the sons of debauch to indulgence give way
And slumber the prime of their hours,
Let us, my dear Stella, the garden survey,
And make our remarks on the flow'rs.

The gay gaudy tulip observe as you walk,
How flaunting the gloss of its vest!
How proud! and how stately it stands on its stalk,
In beauty's diversity dress'd;
From the rose, the carnation, the pink and the clove,
What odours incessantly spring!
The south wafts a richer perfume to the grove,
As he brushes the leaves with his wing.

Apart from the rest, in her purple array,
The violet humbly retreats;
In modest concealment she peeps on the day,
Yet none can excel her in sweets;
So humble, that (tho' with unparallel'd grace
She might e'en a palace adorn)
She oft in the hedge hides her innocent face,
And grows at the foot of the thorn.

So beauty, my fair one, is doubly refin'd,
When modesty heightens her charms;
When meekness, like thine, adds a gem to her mind,
We long to be lock'd in her arms;
Tho' Venus herself from her throne should descend,
And the graces await at her call,
To thee the gay world would with preference bend,
And hail thee the violet of all.