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NOTES AND QUERIES. [io* s. n. OCT. i, IQM.

equivalent of Castilian manzana) means heavy would gain in weight. It is mine ; but many Basks have accepted it as reasonable. The apple is, in proportion to its size, one of the heaviest and solidest of fruits. Sagar= apple is, to my mind, a word derived from sakar=heavy. Sakar is used to describe heavy, oppressive, sultry, dose weather, such as that which Castilians describe as podrido, when it neither rains nor " suns."

E. SPENCER DODGSON.

PURCELL'S MUSIC-FOR X THE TEMPEST.' (10 th S. ii. 164.)

MY life of Purcell, published in 1881, con- tains matter which subsequent research has enabled me to correct. The date 1690, assigned to 'The Tempest' music, is however right. Matthew Locke published his music for ' The Tempest ' in 1675 ; I possess that publication, which consists of instrumental music only, and in the preface Locke says he has "omitted, by the consent of their author Seignior Gio. Baptista Draghi, the tunes of the Entries and Dances." We thus learn that Draghi was associated with Locke in the com- position of the instrumental music. Locke makes no mention of vocal music, doubtless because that in vogue had been composed by earlier musicians. In 1660 Dr. Wilson, the music professor of Oxford, published at Oxford 'Cheerful Ayres or Ballads,' and in this collection, of which I have a copy, there are musical settings by Eobert Johnson of two of 'The Tempest' songs, "Full fathom five" and "Where the bee sucks." In 1675 or 1676 Playford published " The Ariel's Songs in the Play call'd the Tempest"; this I also possess, and find the following : " Come unto these yellow sands," "Dry those eyes," the echo song " Go thy way," and " Full fathom five," all composed by Mr. Banister ; there are also "Adieu to the pleasures and flowers of love," by Mr. James Hart, and "Where the bee sucks," by Mr. Pelham Humphreys. Playford was a devoted admirer of Purcell, and if at this period Purcell had composed any music for 'The Tempest,' we may be quite sure he would have included it in the forenamed publication.

In 1680 Pietro Reggio published a collec- tion of songs, Italian and English ; amongst them is a " Song in the Tempest. The words by Mr. Shadwell," commencing " Arise, ye subterranean winds." We may fairly assume that if Purcell's magnificent setting of these

lines had then existed, Reggio would not have adventured his piece in competition with it. This collection of Reggio's is of great value, and to my mind affords ample proof that up to 1680 Purcell had never collaborated with Shadwell. The volume of music is prefaced with various addresses and eulogiums, after the manner of the time. The following some- what lengthy effusion by Shadwell is of special interest :

To my Much Respected Master, and Worthy Friend, Signior Pietro Reggio, On the Publishing his Book of Songs.

If I could write with a Poetick fire

Equal to thine in MUSICK, I 'd admire,

And Praise Thee fully : now my Verse will be

Short of thy Merit, as I short of Thee.

But I by this advantage shall receive,

Though to my Numbers I no Life can give,

Yet they by thy more lasting Skill shall live.

Thou canst alone preserve my perishing Fame,

By joyning Mine with Thy Immortal Name.

Heroes and Conquerours by Poets live ;

Poets, from Men like Thee, must Life receive,

Like Thee ! where such a Genius shall we find ;

So Quick, so Strong, so Subtile, so Refin'd

'Mongst all the Bold Attempters of thy kind ?

Till I such MUSICK hear, such Art can see,

I ne'r shall think that thou canst equal'd be.

My only doubt is now, which does excell,

Or thy Composing, or Performing well ;

And Thou 'rt in both, so exquisitely Rare,

We Thee alone can with thy self compare.

Thou dost alike, excell in every Strain,

And never fail'st to hit the Poet's Vein.

The Author's sense by Thee is ne'r perplext,

Thy MUSICK is a Comment on his Text.

Thou Nobly do'st not only give what 's due

To every Verse, but dost Improve it too.

Poetick Gems are rough within the Mine,

But Polisht by thy Art, with Lustre shine;

Even COWLEY'S Spirit is advanc'd by thine.

Good English Artists (to their Judgements true,)

Admire thy Works, and will respect thee too ;

Thy Worth, and Skill, great Jenkins lov'd, and knew;

The Worthiest Master of my Youthful days,

Whom Thou so justly honour'st with thy Praise.

But the Pretenders of this Quacking Age,

Who, (with their Ditties,) plague the Town and

Stage,

If their dull Notes will but the Numbers fit, Ne'r mind the Poet's Spirit, or his Wit ; But think All 's done, if it be true by Ilule, Though one may write true Grammar like a Fool : Still in their Beaten Road they troll along, And make alike the sad and cheerful Song : The Past'ral, and the War-like are the same ; The Dirge, and Triumph differ but in Name. Such their Performance is : Nay, not so good ; A Funeral Song they Chaunt with cheerful Mood, And Sigh and Languish in a Drunken Ode. In Martial Ones they're soft, in Am'rous rough ; And never think they Shake and Grace enough. Each Shake and Grace so harshly too, tlv express, A Horse's Neighing does not please me less. We cannot call this Singing, but a Noise ; Not Gracing, but a Jogging of the Voice : And this is in such narrow Compass too, That in one Song we hear all they can do :