'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.
- by Henry Carey (1687? - 1743), "Polly’s birthday" [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by Imogen Clare Holst (1907 - 1984), "Polly’s birthday", 1953 [ voice and piano ] [sung text not yet checked]
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