Unaw'd by pow'r, and unappal'd by fear,
With honest thrift I held my honour dear:
But this vile hour disperses all my store,
And all my hoard of honour is no more;
For, ah! too partial to my life's decline,
Cæsar persuades, submission must be mine;
Him I obey, whom heav'n himself obeys,
Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclin'd to please.
Here then at once I welcome ev'ry shame,
And cancel at threescore a life of fame;
No more my
titles shall my children tell,
The old buffoon will fit my name as well;
This day beyond its term my fate extends,
For life is ended when our honour ends.

PROLOGUE

TO THE

TRAGEDY OF ZOBEIDE.

IN these bold times, when learning's sons explore
The distant climates, and the savage shore;
When wise astronomers to India steer,

And quit for Venus many a brighter here;
While botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling,
Forsake the fair, and patiently-go simpling;
Our bard into the general spirit enters,
And fits his little frigate for adventures.

With Scythian stores and trinkets deeply laden,
He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading-
Yet ere he lands has order'd me before,

To make an observation on the shore.

Where are we driven? our reck'ning sure is lost! This seems a rocky and a dangerous coast.

N

Lord! what a sultry climate am I under!

Yon ill-foreboding cloud seems big with thunder: [Upper gallery.

There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen

'em

[Pit.

Here trees of stately size-and billing turtles in

'em

Here ill-condition'd oranges abound—

[Balconies.

[Stage.

[Tasting them.

And apples, bitter apples, strew the ground:

Th' inhabitants are cannibals I fear:

I heard a hissing-there are serpents here!
O, there the people are best keep my distance;
Our captain (gentle natives) craves assistance;

Our ship's well stor❜d-in yonder creek we've laid her,

His honour is no mercenary trader.

This is his first adventure; lend him aid,

And we may chance to drive a thriving trade.

His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far,

Equally fit for gallantry and war.

What, no reply to promises so ample?

-I'd best step back-and order up a sample.

EPILOGU E,

SPOKEN BY

MR. LEE LEWES,

IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN, AT HIS BENEFIT

HOLD! prompter, hold! a word before your non

sense;

I'd speak a word or two to ease my conscience.
My pride forbids it ever should be said,
My heels eclips'd the honours of my head;
That I found humour in a pyeball vest,
Or ever thought that jumping was a jest.

[Takes off his mask.

Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth?
Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth;

In thy black aspect ev'ry passion sleeps,

The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps.
How hast thou fill'd the scene with all thy brood,
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursu'd !
Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses;
Whose only plot it is to break our noses;
Whilst from below the trap-door demons rise,
And from above the dangling deities.
And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew?
May rosin'd lightning blast me, if I do!
No-I will act-I'll vindicate the stage:
Shakspeare himself shall feel my tragic rage.
Off! off! vile trappings! a new passion reigns!
The mad❜ning monarch revels in my veins.
Oh! for a Richard's voice to catch the theme:
Give me another horse! bind up my wounds!-
soft-'twas but a dream.

Aye, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreat

ing;

If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating.

'Twas thus that Æsop's stag, a creature blameless, Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless,

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