« ПретходнаНастави »
petty tribe, among whom it is lamentable, as Gray
d blows at not to have been so wholly destinad
lection might be made from his works, that would discover his talents to be no legitimate object of contempt; and there is not a trait of arrogance or vanity, in any one of his compositions, that deserved to be publicly humiliated. He was not a satirist ; but he wanted rather the gall than the ingenuity that is requisite for the character. If his heart had been full of spleen, he was not so wholly destitute of humour, as not to have been able to deal some hard blows at Churchill, whose private character was a broad mark; and even whose writings had many vapid parts that were easily assailable. Had Whitehead done so, the world would probably have liked him the better for his pugnacity. As it was, his name sunk into such a by.word of contempt, that Garrick would not admit his “ Trip to Scotland” on the stage, unless its author was concealed. He also found it convenient to publish his pleasing tale, entitled “ Variety," anonymously. The public applauded both his farce and his poem, because it was not known that they were Whitehead's.
In 1769 he obtained an unwilling permission from Lord Jersey to remove to private lodgings; though he was still a daily expected guest at his lordship’s table in town; and he divided his summers between the country residences of the Jersey and Harcourt families. His health began to decline about his seventieth year, and in 1785'he was carried off by a complaint in his chest. His death was sudden, and his peaceable life was closed without a groan.
PLEASE you, great queen, In yon pavilion to repose, and wait Th’ arrival of the king. Creusa.
Ilyssus. The servant of the god who guards this fane.
Ilyssus, gracious queen,
I have no country;
Who were thy parents ? Thy father, mother?
Ilyssus. Ever honour'd queen,
Creusa. How cam’st thou hither?
Eighteen years are past
Eighteen years! good heaven!
That fatal time recals a scene of woem
I have been told
Unhappy child ! But more, O ten times more unhappy they Who lost perhaps in thee their only offspring ! What pangs, what anguish, must the mother feel, Compell’d, no doubt, by some disastrous fate-But this is all conjecture. Ilyssus.
O great queen, Had those from whom I sprung been form'd like thee, Had they e'er felt the secret pangs of nature, They had not left me to the desart world So totally expos'd. I rather fear I am the child of lowliness and vice, And happy only in my ignorance.
Why should she weep? O if her tears can fall For ev'n a stranger's but suspected woes, How is that people blest where she presides As queen, and mother!—Please you, I retire ?
Creusa. No, stay. Thy sentiments at least bespeak A gen'rous education. Tell me, youth, How has thy mind been form’d? Ilyssus.
In that, great queen, I never wanted parents. The good priests And pious priestess, who with care sustain'd
My helpless infancy, left not my youth
Aletes, said'st thou?
It is, great queen, For yet he lives, and guides me by his counsels.
Creusa. What did he teach thee?
To adore high heaven,
-- What things were those ? Ilyssus. They were for exercise, and to confirm My growing strength. And yet I often told him The exercise he taught resembled much What I had heard of war. He was himself A warrior once.
Creusa. And did those sports delight thee?