SIR, A LETTER. I SEND you a small production of the late Dr. Goldsmith, which has never been published, and which might, perhaps have been totally lost, had I not secured it. He intended it as a song in the character of Miss Hardcastle, in his admirable comedy of 'She Stoops to Conquer,' but it was left out, as Mrs. Bulkley, who played the part, did not sing. He sung it himself, in private companies, very agreeably. The tune is a pretty Irish air, called The Humours of Balamagairy,' to which he told me he found it very difficult to adapt words: but he has succeeded very happily in these few lines. As I could sing the tune, and was fond of them, he was so good as to give me them, about a year ago, just as I was leaving London, and bidding him adieu for that season, little apprehending that it was a last farewell. I preserve this little relic, in his own hand-writing, with an affectionate care. I am, Sir, Your humble servant, JAMES BOSWELL. SONG, INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER." Ан me! when shall I marry me? But I will rally and combat the ruiner: ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING. (Imitated from the Spanish.) SURE 'twas by Providence design'd, That he should be, like Cupid, blind, A PROLOGUE, WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE POET LABERIUS, A ROMAN KNIGHT, WHOM CÆSAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE. Preserved by Macrobius *. WHAT! no way left to shun th'inglorious stage, *This translation was first printed in one of our Author's earliest works, The Present State of Learning in Europe,' 12mo. 1759. For ah! too partial to my life's decline, EPITAPH ON PURDON *. HERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed, He led such a damnable life in this world, *This gentleman was educated at Trinity College, Dublin; but, having wasted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot-soldier. Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his discharge, and became a scribbler in the newspapers. He translated Voltaire's Henriade. EPILOGUE ΤΟ THE COMEDY OF THE SISTERS. WHAT! five long acts-and all to make us wiser! Our authoress sure has wanted an adviser. Have pleas'd our eyes, and sav'd the pain of thinking. Well, since she thus has shown her want of skill, What if I give a masquerade ?—I will. But how? aye, there's the rub! [pausing]— I've got my cue : The world's a masquerade; the masquers, you, you, you. [To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery. |