by Henry Carey (1687? - 1743)

Polly’s birthday
Language: English 
'Tis wond'rous hard
A licensed bard
Can only now be witty,
Or dare rehearse
In hide bound verse
His lamentable ditty.
So I'll not sing
Of George our King,
But of angelick Polly.
'Tis her birthday,
Let all be gay,
Let ev'ry soul be jolly.

Within her face
Shines ev'ry grace
Can give beholders pleasure.
Her heav'n born mind
Is most refin'd,
'Tis truth and virtue's treasure.
Of all approv'd,
By all belov'd,
Most noble is her spirit;
So he's an ass
That baulks his glass
To so much worth and merit.


Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):

Research team for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Joost van der Linden [Guest Editor]

This text was added to the website: 2021-02-23
Line count: 24
Word count: 92