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Condemn'd in fight a hapless end to meet,
Beneath his royal conquʼring rival's feet;
Ev'n where his lance had given the erring wound,
His own undaunted body preft the ground:
Greatly he fell! but Emma, weeping maid,
The victor-princes from the field convey'd ;

While

angry Monmouth's tears were seen to flow,
To hear the beauteous rebel's tale of woe.,
He charg'd his guards with tender care to bear,
To Morcar's houfe, the fadly mourning fair;
But ere fhe reach'd the hofpitable dome,

Her once much-lov'd, and dear, delightful home,
Her father's clay-cold corfe, a weeping train,
Bore to her feet, by his own poniard flain;
For rumour's tongue had spread his son's fad fate,
And Henry victor in the stern debate,

Small hope of Emma's forfeit life could yield,
Ev'n if the 'fcap'd the horrors of the field.
Defpairing thus, the aged chieftain fell,

And bade, with fighs, a wretched world farewell.
Thus prefs'd with grief, in all her wishes crofs'd,
Her fire, her brother, and her lover loft,
Fix'd, motionless the stood, nor filence broke,
(As one who feels th' avenging thunder's ftroke)
At length, (fear adding ftrength) the virgin-
bride,

Burft from her train, and fought the Severn's fide; Ev'n there, where once the young Sabrina brave Peifh'd, indignant, in the foaming wave;

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With ftreaming eyes and agonizing woe,
The damfel plung'd her in the deep below..
For her no trophy'd hearfe, no torches bright,
Gild the dun horrors of the confcious night;
But weeping heav'n pours fast a rushing show'r,
And Severn lifts his waves, diftain'd with gore;
Loud thunders roll, and livid light'nings play,
The fimple fwains with horror mark the day;
Some fay, that by the moon's pale light they
view'd

Her fhade afcending from the angry flood,

Till in the clouds fhe met her lover's form, And with him foar'd to heav'n, amid the bellowing storm,

And still the ruftics to their fons relate,

The difmal ftory of fair Emma's fate,

As oft as" in long winter nights" they tell, How Monmouth fought, how gallant Percy fell.

J. H.

ALLEN.

ON

ALLEN AND ELLA,

A FRAGMENT.†

N the banks of that crystalline stream
Where Thames, oft, his current delays;
And charms, more than poets can dream,
In his Richmond's bright villa surveys.

Fair

A furreptitious copy of this appeared (agreeable to the date below) under the names of COLIN and LUCY: and, at a time when all modern productions were decryed, this piece, by means of the following preface, met with an approbation which otherwife, no doubt, it would have failed of.

To the READER.

The MS. bears date (anno 1609), at Eaft-Sheene in Surry, the then bright refidence of a maiden queen, and her royal court. Who the perfonages were, concealed under the fimple characters of ALLEN and ELLA, does not rightly appear; but, as lady of the noble family of Hungerford is recorded to have drowned herself much about that period, 'tis more than probable it gave birth to the above fo affecting tale; and the reader is left to judge, how far the productions of that refined age would have exceeded those of the prefent, had more of them been, fortu nately, preferved.

It is hoped, that time has not so injured other pieces, as to pre vent their being presented to the public hereafter. What parts of this were unintelligible, are only gueffed at: for the editor, as he would not dare the adding to, chofe alfo, not to diminish from, fo valuable a FRAGMENT.

Richmond, May 1, 1755.

Fair Ella! of all the gay throng

The fairest that nature had seen, Now drew ev'ry village along,

From the day fhe firft danc'd on the green.

Ah! boaft not of beauty's fond pow'r,
For fhort is the triumph, ye fair!
Not fleeter the bloom of each flow'r;
And hope is but gilded despair,

His affection each fwain now, behold,
By riches endeavours to prove;
But Ella ftill cries, what is gold,

Or wealth, when compar'd to his love?

Yes, Allen, together we'll wield
Our fickles in fummer's bright day;
Together we'll leaze o'er the field,
And fmile all our labours away.

In winter I'll winnow the wheat,

As it falls from thy flail on the ground: That flail will be mufic as fweet,

When thy voice in the labour is drown'd.

How oft wou'd he speak of his blifs!
How oft wou'd he call her his maid;
And Allen would feal with a kiss

Ev'ry promise and vow that he laid.

But,

But, hark! o'er the grafs-level land,
The village bells found on the plain;
Falfe Allen this morn gave his hand,
And Ella's fond tears are in vain.

Sad Ella, too foon, heard the tale,
Too foon the fad cause she was told,
That his was a nymph of the vale,

That he broke his fond promife for gold.

As the walk'd by the margin so green,

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How oft' fhe was languishing feen!

How oft' wou'd fhe gaze on the tide !

By the clear river, then, as fhe fate,
Which reflected herself and the mead;
Awhile fhe be-wept her fad fate,

And the green turf ftill pillow'd her head.

There, there! is it Ella I fee?
'Tis Ella, the loft, undone maid !
Ah! no, 'tis fome Ella like me,
Some hapless young virgin betray'd.

Like me, she has forrow'd and wept,
Like me fhe has fondly believ'd;
Like me her true promife fhe kept,
And, like me, too, is juftly deceiv'd.

Moft likely the village of Petersham.

I come,

In the original (much damaged in this particular place) it feems to be: "Which be.ringes that fweet river's fide."

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