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.
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.
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.
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
Here trees of fiately fize, and billing turtles in 'em
Here ill-condition'd oranges abound
And apples, bitter apples firew the ground:
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.
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.
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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