Historic Sheet Music Collection

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The Serenaders, a comic Terzetto,

the Air by Mozart,

written and arranged by a professor,

Boston. Published by C. Bradlee

Some of these resources may contain offensive language or negative stereotypes. Such materials should be seen in the context of the time period and as a reflection of the attitudes of the time. These items are part of the historical record, and do not represent the views of the libraries or the institution.

[Verse One]

[Alto] Wake, dear Lady, nor in vain,
May we chant our numbers,
Let our soft and tuneful strain,
Break thy sweetest slumbers.

Gently wake; unclose thine eyes;
Look on thy true hearted;
May the bond our hearts that ties,
Never more be parted.

[Verse Two]

[Alto] Wake, fair Lady, wake, we pray,
While the stars are gleaming.
Wake, before the dawning day,
From the east comes streaming
Wake! the birds are in their nests,
The dew is on the thorn, love,
Wake, while yet all nature sleeper,
Ere breaks the purple more, love.

[Tenor] Hark! hallo! what noise is that?
Hist! 'tis robbers breaking;
Or my slumbers is the cat,
With her squalls a waking
Ho! ye vagrants! ye vagrants, tell me why,
Tell me why ye make this catterwauling?
Why my sleep , my sleep d'ye terrify,
With your yells and your senseless bawling

[Verse Three]

[Alto]Give one look to make me blest,
Give one blissful token;
Smile up on thy lover, lest
This fond heart be broken
Yet if lull'd in soft repose
Peaceful dreams posess thee,
May no fright thine eyes unclose
Guardian angels bless thee

[Tenor] I'll call the watch, ye noisy drunken wretches,
If this horrid din ye keep up,
With your catgut snapping, your squeeling and your screeches,
For ye'll break the neightbors' sleep up.
Hence, away, ye vagabonds, ye thrumming catterwaulers;
Ye worry me, ye torture past endurance;
Hence, away and leave my door, ye night disturbing brawlers,
Ye miracles of impudent assurance.

[Verse Four]

[Alto] Sleep on now, our song is o'er;
Morning tints are glowing
And the lark her matin song,
High in heav'n is throwing.
Fare-well, then, the moments fly,
Yet no tongue can tell, love,
What I suffer while I sigh
"Love farewell, farewell love."

[Tenor] Fly, ye rogues, or in the jail,
I'll have you all impounded,
If my ears ye still assail,
With such yells and such noises confounded
Haste, begone, or on your heads,
I'll throw this jug of water.
Quick, fly, begone, ye thieves, ye villains all,
Never shall ye have my daughter.



The views expressed in this paper are solely those of the author.