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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.

STANZAS

ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC.

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.

SONGS.
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.

2
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.

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PROLOGUE

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.

A PROLOGUE*,
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

iny

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.

* Preserved by Macrobius--trandated and printed in 1759.

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EPILOGUE,
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.

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