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Her love was fought, I do aver,

By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has follow'd her-
When he has walk'd before.

But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found when he was dead-
Her laft diforder mortal.

Let us lament, in forrow fore,

For Kent-ftreet well may say,

That had the 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 foul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasure start.

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,
Whilft thy fad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.

Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,

And faw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes; Yet they fhall 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 oppreffing,
Thy fmiles increase the wretch's woe;
And he who wants each other bleffing,
In thee muft ever find a foe.

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.

Ан, 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 shall my paffion difcover.
She that gives all to the falfe one pursuing her,
Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover.

FROM THE ORATORIO OF CAPTIVITY.

2

THE wretch condemn'd with life to part,

Still, ftill on hope relies;

And every pang that tends the heart,

Bids expectation rife.

Hope, like the glimm'ring taper's light,

Adorns and cheers the way;

And still, as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray.

PROLOGUE

TO THE TRAGEDY OF ZOBEIDE.

IN thefe bold times, when Learning's fons explore
The diftant climates, and the favage shore;
When wife aftronomers to India steer,

And quit for Venus many a brighter here;
While botanists, all cold to fmiles and dimpling,
Forfake 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 fteers 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 fure is loft!
This feems a rocky and a dangerous coast.
Lord! what a fultry climate am I under!
Yon ill-forboding cloud feems big with thunder!

(Upper Gallery.) There mangroves fpread,and larger than I've feen 'em

(Pit.)

Here trees of fiately fize, and billing turtles in 'em

Here ill-condition'd oranges abound

(Balconies.) (Stage.)

And apples, bitter apples firew the ground:

(Tafting them.

The inhabitants are canibals I fear:

I heard a hiffing-there are ferpents here!

O, 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 firft 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 promifes fo ample!-
I'd best step back-and order up a sample.

A PROLOGUE*,

WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE POET LABERIUS,
A ROMAN KNIGHT,

WHOM CESAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE.

WHAT! no way left to fhun th' inglorious ftage,
And fave from infamy my finking age!

Scarce half alive, opprefs'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 fteps afide-
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,
Cæfar perfuades-fubmiffion must be mine;
Him I obey, whom Heaven itself obeys,
Hopeless of pleafing, yet inclin'd to please.
Here then at once I welcome every shame,
And cancel at threefcore a life of fame;
No more my titles fhall my 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---tranflated and printed in 1759.

90 )

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 faid,

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 difowns, and reafon fcorns thy mirth-
In thy black afpect every paffion fleeps-
The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps.
How haft thou fill'd the scene with all thy brood
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursued;
Whofe ins and outs no ray of fenfe difclofes-
Whofe only plot it is to break our noses;
Whilft from below the trap-door dæmons rise,
And from above the dangling deities.
And fhall I mix in this unhallow'd crew?-
May rofin'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 paffion reigns-
The madd'ning monarch revels in my veins!
Oh, for a Richard's voice to catch the theme-
"Give me another horfe!-bind up my wounds!".
foft-'twas but a dream.

Aye-'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreatingIf I ceafe Harlequin, I cease from eating.

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