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Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has follow'd her
When she has walk'd before.
But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found when she was dead
Her latt disorder mortal.
Let us lament, in sorrow fore,
For Kent-street well may say,
That had she liv'd a twelvemonth more
She had not died to-day.
Amidst the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart, Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasure ftart. O, Wolfe! to thee a streaming flood of woe,
Sighing, we pay, and think even conquest dear Quebec in vain shall teach the breast to glow,
Whilst thy fad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear. Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,
And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes; Yet they shall know thou conquereft, though dead!
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.
O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain,
To former joys, recurring ever,
And turning all the past to pain ;
Thou, like the world, the oppreft opprefsing,
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe;
And he who wants each other blessing,
In thee must ever find a foe.
INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Ah, me! when shall I marry me?
Lovers are plenty; but fail to relieve me.
He, fond youth, that could carry me,
Offers to love, but means to deceive me.
But I will rally, and combat the ruiner:
Not a look, not a smile Mall my passion discover.
She that gives all to the falfe one pursuing her,
Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover.
FROM THE ORATORIO OF CAPTIVITY.
The wretch condemn’d with life to part,
Still, ftill on hope relies;
And every pang that tends the heart,
Bids expectation rise.
Hope, like the glimm’ring taper's light,
Adorns and cheers the way;
And fill, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.
TO THE TRAGEDY OF ZOBEIDE.
In these bold times, when Learning's fons explore
The distant climates, and the savage shore;
When wise astronomers to India fteer,
And quit for Venus many a brighter here;
While botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling,
Forsake the fair, and patiently-go fimpling;
Our bard into the general spirit enters,
And fits his little frigate for adventures:
With Scythian stores, and trinkets deeply laden,
He this way lteers his course, in hopes of trading-
Yet ere he lands, he'as 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.
Loped! what a sultry climate am I under!
Yon ill-forboding cloud seems big with thunder!
(Upper Gallery.) There mangroves spread and larger than I've seen’em
(Pit.) Here trees of fiately size, and billing turtles id 'em
(Balconies.) Here ill-condition'd oranges abound- (Stage.) And apples, bitter apples firew the ground:
(Tasting them.) The inhabitants are canibals I fear: I heard a hilling—there are serpents here ! 0, there the people are—best keep my distance; Our captain (gentle natives) craves assistance : Our ship's well fior'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.
WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE POET LABERIUS,
A ROMAN KNIGHT,
WHOM CÆSAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE.
What! no way left to shun th’inglorious stage,
And save from infamy my sinking age!
Scarce half alive, oppress’d with many a year,
What in the name of dotage drives me here?
A time there was, when glory was my guide,
Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside
Unaw'd by power, and unappal'd by fear,
With honeft 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 perfuades-submission must be mine;
Him I obey, whom Heaven itself obeys,
Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclin’d to please.
Here then at once I welcome every shame,
And cancel at threescore a life of fame;
No more my titles shall
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.
SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES, AT HIS BENEFIT,
IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN.
HOLD! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense;
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 pye-ball veft,
Or ever thought that jumping was a jeft.
(Takes off his mask.)
Whence, and what art thou-visionary birth?
Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth-
In thy black afpect every passion fleeps-
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 pursued;
Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses
Whose only plot it is to break our noses;
Whilst from below the trap-door dæmons rise,
And from above the dangling deities.
And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew?-
May rosin'd light’ning blaft me, if I do!
No I will act--I'll vindicate the stage-
Shakespeare himself shall feel my tragic rage.
Off! off! vile trappings!-a new passion reigns
The madd’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 buta dream, for now there's no retreatingIf I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating.