Слике страница
PDF
ePub

ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX,

MRS. MARY BLAIZE.

Good people all, with one accord,

Lament for madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word

From those who spoke her praise. The needy seldom pass'd her door,

And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor,

Who left a pledge behind.
She strove the neighbourhood to please,

With manners wond'rous winning:
And never followed wicked ways-

Unless when she was sinning. At church, in silks and satins new,

With hoop of monstrous size ; She never slumber'd in her pew,

But when she shut her eyes.
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 last disorder mortal.

Let us lament in sorrow sore,

For Kent-street well may say,
That had she lived a twelve-month more,

She had not dy'd to-day.

SPOKEN BY

MR. LEE LEWES,
In the character of Harlequin, at his benefit.

HOLD!

! Prompter, hold! a word before your non

sense ;
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 pyeball vest,
Or ever thought that jumping was a jest.

[Takes off his mask:
Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth?
Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth,
In thy black aspect every passion sleeps,
The joy that dimples, and the wo that weeps.
How hast thou fill’d the scene with all thy brood,
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursu'd !
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 lightning blast me, if I do!
No-I will act, I'll vindicate the stage :
Shakspeare 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 but a dream, for now there's no retreating, If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating. 'Twas thus that Æsop's stag, a creature blameless, Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless, Once on the margin of a fountain stood, And cavilld at his image in the flood. « The deuce confound,” he cries, “ these drumstick

6 shanks, « They never have my gratitude nor thanks; « They're perfectly disgraceful ! strike me dead!

But for a head, yes, yes, I have a head. “ How piercing is that eye ! how sleek that brow! « My horns! I'm told horns are the fashion now." Whilst thus he spoke, astonish'd! to his view, Near, and more near, the hounds and huntsmen drew. Hoicks! hark forward ! came thundering from be

hind,
He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind :
He quits the woods, and tries the beaten ways;
He starts, he pants, he takes the circling maze.
At length his silly head, so priz'd before,
Is taught his former folly to deplore ;
Whilst his strong limbs conspire to set him free,
And at one bound, he saves himself, like me.

[Taking a jump through the stage door.

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 start. O WOLFE, to thee a streaming flood of wo,

Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear; Quebec in vain shall teach our breast to glow,

Whilst thy sad 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 conquerest, though dead!

Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.

ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH,

Struck blind by Lightning.
SURE 'twas by Providence design'd

Rather in pity than in hate,
That he should be, like Cupid, blind,

To save him from Narcissus' fate.

A SONNET. WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,

Lost to every gay delight; Myra, too sincere for feigning,

Fears th' approaching bridal night. Yet why impair thy bright perfection!

Or dim thy beauty with a tear? Had Myra follow'd my direction,

She long had wanted cause of fear.

END OF VOL. I..

« ПретходнаНастави »