A Poem on the Italian woman lately come into England; who sings at the musick-house in York-buildings. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A55256 of text R33471 in the English Short Title Catalog (Wing P2697). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 4 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 A55256 Wing P2697 ESTC R33471 13367393 ocm 13367393 99279 2248537653

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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A55256) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 99279) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1554:8 or 2175:22) A Poem on the Italian woman lately come into England; who sings at the musick-house in York-buildings. 1 sheet ([1] p.). Printed for Ronald Taylor in Stationers-Yard., London, : 1693. In verse. Item at reel 1554:8 incorrectly identified as Wing P2697. Reproductions of originals in the Harvard University Library and Cambridge University Library. eng eebo A poem on the Italian woman lately come into England; who sings at the musick-house in York-buildings. [no entry] 1693 1 559 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 A This text has no known defects that were recorded as gap elements at the time of transcription. 2008-04 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-06 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2008-07 Sampled and proofread 2008-07 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-09 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
A POEM ON THE Italian Woman Lately come into ENGLAND ; Who Sings at the MUSICK-HOUSE in YORK-BVILDINGS . WHat elevating Notes are these I hear ! A Voice ! or is 't the Musick of the Sphere ? A Charm unusual the rapt Thought does bind ; Thought ever till this Moment unconfind ; Yet happier now in the Restraint is found : So wisely knows this Charmer how to wound . Sleep All ye Instruments , the trembling Lute , The chearful Hoboy , and soft-sounding Flute : The Trumpet too and Viol now be still , Tho' both so well betray their Master's Skill , That This can speak , and That 's no longer shrill , Something Sublimer now , and more refin'd Than these , strikes the glad Sense , and wings the Mind ; Pleasures unknown before it does impart , That warm the Spirits and dissolve the Heart . Methink's the Air 's Perfum'd , while all around The little Atoms fly to catch the sound . Sure the charm'd Soul anticipates her Bliss , For ne'er was heard below a Strain like this . 'T is then the Language of some pitying Saint , Who with the Joys of Heav'n does Earth acquaint . ( How blest are we ! Alive to taste of Heav'n , Which is not before Death to others giv'n ! ) The ravish'd World lends an Attentive Ear , Wou'd never speak , so it might always hear . Not softest Whispers interrupt their Bliss ; All talk is out of tune and time but This. Applause it self 's suspended ; for 't wou'd wrong The listning Ear , and dies upon the Tongue : And that minutest Noise may have no part , Time is not beaten with the Hand but Heart . Thus without mixture to the Sense it flies ; And every Note 's a stab before it dies . See , see th' Effect 't has wrought , how All appear So much like that ( alas ) which once they were , All Tender , Innocent , Serene , and Mild As sleeping Seas , or the rock'd happy Child . How gentle are the Thoughts which it inspires ? What inward Bleedings , languishing Desires ? The cruel Nymph who never yet did give Her dying Swain one Look to bid him live ; All softn'd now by the prevailing Sound , She sighs , and pants , insensibly grows kind , And meeting his fond Eye , she looks it blind . But hold : A gentle Pause ; the Sacred Hymn Is done ; and see where stands the sweet-tongu'd SERAPHIN . How well is all our Expectation paid . This is that dear inchanting Latian Maid We all so wish'd for , Mistress to controul Our Discord , and new-tune the Soul . Welcome , thrice welcome , pretty Chanticleer , That dost so sweetly usher in the Year : Tho' methought all the while I heard Thee sing , It was not Winter with us , but the Spring . Here , PHOENIX , build thy Nest ; but ever live , For we 'll not trust thy Ashes to revive . FINIS .

London , Printed for Randal Taylor in Stationers-Yard . 1693.