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With her trumpet-tongues proclaim

The loved, revered, immortal name, Shakspeare! Shakspeare! Shakspeare!

AIR.

Sweetest bard that ever sung,
Nature's glory, Fancy's child;
Never sure did witching tongue
Warble forth such wood-notes wild !

Come each Muse, and sister Grace,
Loves and Pleasureshither come;
Well you know this happy place,
Avon's banks were once your home.

Bring the laurel, bring the flowers,
Songs of triumph to him raise ;
He united all your powers,
All uniting, sing his praise !

Tho' Philip's famed unconquer'd son,'
Had every blood-stain'd laurel won
He sigh'd--that his creative word
(Like that which rules the skies)
Could not bid other nations rise,
To glut his yet unsated sword:

· But when our Shakspeare's matchless pen, Like Alexander's sword had done with men; He heaved no sigh, he made no moan,

Not limited to human kind,

He fired his wonder-teaming mind,
Raised other worlds, and beings of his own!

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PROLOGUE TO TASTE. Spoken by Mr. Garrick, in the Character of an

Auctioneer.

Before this court I Peter Puff appear, .
A Briton born, and bred an Auctioneer ;
Who for myself, and eke a hundred others,.
My useful, honest, learned, bawling brothers,
With much humility and fear implore ye,
To lay our present desperate case before ye,-

'Tis said this night a certain wag intends
To laugh at us, our calling, and our friends ;
If lords and ladies, and such dainty folks,
Are cured of auction-hunting by his jokes;

Should this odd doctrine spread throughout thie

land, Before you buy be sure to understand, Oh think on us what various ills will flow, When great ones only purchase—what they know, What ! laugh at Taste? It is a harmless fashion, And quite subdues each detrimental passion; The fair one's hearts will ne'er incline to man, While thus they rage for-china and japan. The virtuoso too, and connoisseur, Are ever decent, delicate, and pure; The smallest hair their looser thoughts might hold, Just warm when singlemand when married cold; Their blood at sight of beauty gently flows; Their Venus must be old, and want a nose ! No amourous passion with deep knowledge

thrives; 'Tis the complaint indeed of all our wives! 'T'is said Virtû to such a height is grown, All artists are encouraged—but our own. Be not deceived, I here declare on oath, I never yet sold goods of foreign growth: Ne'er sent commissions out to Greece or Romeo My best antiquities are made at home. I've Romans, Greeks, Italians, near at hand, Free Britons all--and living in the Strand.

I ne'er for trinkets rack my pericranium,
They furnish not my room from Herculaneum.

But hush -
Should it be known that English are employ'd,
Our manufacture is at once destroy'd;
No matter what our countrymen deserve,
They'll thrive as antients, but as moderns starve.
If we should fail, 10 you it will be owing ;
Farewel to Arts—they're going, going, going;
The fatal hammers' in your hand, oh Town !
Then set Us up--and knock the Poet down.

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Dr. Langhorne was Rector of Blagden, in Somersetshire,

and is well known as the translator of Plutarch's Lives. He was also author of several other literary productions.

Hymn to Humanity.

Parent of virtue, if thine ear

Attend not now to sorrow's cry ;
If now the pity-streaming tear

Should haply on thy cheeks be dry;
Indulge my votive strain, O sweet Humanity,

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