Perform’d in an Entertainment made for His Grace the Duke of Marlborough, Nobility, and General Officers, by the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor, the Honourable Court of Aldermen, at Vitners-Hall, in the City.

The Words by Mr. D’Urfey, Set to Musick by Mr. Weldon, and Sung by Mr. E[?] and Mr. Leveridge, December, the 19^th, 1706

Mars. With Violins

From Glorious Toyls of War,
With dazzling Honours, brought from far;
Behold, Behold,
Thou Potent God of Gold;
My Hero, by tye Warriors follow’d, comes:

2d Movement
Prepare a Royal Feast,
To treat the Noble Guest;
Thy Gorgeous Purse untye,
Let Shining Medals fly,
To give ’em Joyful Welcomes to their Homes.
Mammon. If Mammon e’re unlocks his Store,
And Doles to Mortal Hands the Sacred Ore,
The Soul of all things here below:
That battle crowns,
And razes Towns,
The Will controls, and makes a Friend a Foe.

3d Movement
He first must know for what he pays,
Since for Desert alone, he turns the Keys;
Let Merit then inspire, each Voice and Tongue.
Mars. Prepare to hear, for Charming is the Song.
Here both sing the two last lines.

3d Movement, with Trumpets.
Mars. The Power of Gallia shaken,
Ramellies Trophies taken,
Proud Flanders too subjected,
And Belgia protected,
With daily Wonders still more strange and great,
Too high for Praise, too numerous to Repeat.
Mammon. As Noble Merits claim regard;
To prnve [sic] always am prepar’d,
Remeber the Renown’d Eugene.
Mars. I do.
m. How speedy Bounty did your Wish pursue,
And Golden Seraphs to his Sucrour flew,
That sav’d the sinking Cause.
Mars. I do, I do.
All this, ador’d Divinity is true.
Mammon. Beyond the Alpione Mounts of Snow,
Far as the Banks of ancient Po.
The Cordial Coin was sent, Oh happy Chance!
To heal their fainting Troops, and send a Plague to France.
rs. Blest the happy Hour the News was brought;
Mammon. Blest be the great Eugene that bravely fought,

Mars. The Happy Hour.
Mammon. The Great Eugene.
Mars. The Happy Hour.
With Trum[pets]
Mammon. The Great Eugene.
Blest be the Happy Hour, &c.
Both sing the last Line.

Mammon and Mars together with two Parts.

Now, Sons of Art, ye Tuneful Muses, call,
And sing the Gallick Tyrant’s Fall,
In soaring Alts his grand Ambition show,
Then let your Basses sink him down as low.
In Consort next, Caelestial Voices raise,
And be the Chorus still, our Godlike Generals P[raise]
In Consort next, &c.
Both sing the last Lines.

Mars. By him, to my Prophetick Soul appea[rs,]
A lasting Joy that Crowns the succeeding Years,
The Valiant, the Successful Deeds,
Of him and the Renown’d he leads,
Will be Eterniz’d to the utmost Shore;
Mammon. Then to regale the Chiefs take all my Store,
All, All my Wealth is a reward too poor.
Sweet Peace like Paradice is blooming,
Another movement with Flutes.
And Halcyon days in prospect coming:
The Rural Swains with War affrighted,
With Rosie Nymphs shall sing delighted,
And whilst their harmless Flocks are bleating,
Soft Tales of Love be still repeating.
Mars. But first bring Gallia down.
Mammon. And fix the Spanish Crown.
Mars. From Bourbon keep the Sweed.
Mam. Drive Philip from Madrid.
Mars. Let Scotland banish Spleen.
mammon. And Albion guard their Queen.

Here both Sing together, with a General Chorus of Instruments.

These Joys that as a Vision now appear,
All, All shall come to pass, and crown the approaching Glorious year.