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Secure, when to these learned Sears they come, of equal Judgment, and impartial Doom.

Poor is the Player's Fame, whose whole Renown Is but the Praise of a Capricious Town; While with Mock-Majesty, and fancy'd Power, He struts in Robes, the Monarch of an Hour. Oft wide of Nature must he act a Part, Make Love in Tropes, in Bombast break his Heart In Turn and Simile resign his Breath, * And Rhyme and Quibble in the Pangs of Death. We blush, when Plays like these receive Applaufe, And laugh, in secret, at the Tears we cause; With honest Scorn our own Success disdain, A worthless Honour, and inglorious Gain.

No trifling Scenes at OXFORD shall appear; Well, what We blush to Act, may you to hear. To you our fam'd, our Standard PLAYS we bring, The work of Poets, whom you taught to Sing : Tho' crown'd with Fame, they dare not think it Due, Nor take the Laurel 'till bestow'd by You. Great CATO's self, the Glory of the Stage, Who charms, corrects, exalts, and fires the Age, Begs here he may be try'd by ROMAN Laws : To you, O FATHER'S, he submits his Cause; He refts not in the People's Gen’ral Voice, 'Till you, the Senate, have confirm'd his Choice,

Fine is the Secret, delicate the Art,
To wind the Passions and command the Heart;
For fancy'd Ills to force our Tears to flow.
And make the gen'rous Soul in love with Woe;:
'To raise the Shades of Heroes to our View,
Rebuild fall'n Empires, and old Time renew.
How hard the Task! how rare the God-like Rage!
Nong should presume to dietate" to the Stage,
But such as boast a great extensive Mind,
Enrich'd by Nature, and by Art refin'd;
Who from the Ancient Stores their knowledge bringz
And tasted early of the Muse's Spring.
May none pretend upon her Throne to fit,
But such, as sprung from you, are born to Wit:
Chos'n by the Mob, their lawless Claim we flight:
Yours is, the old Hereditary Right.

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T HET tits Princess of WALES,

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Tragedy of CA TO


HE Mufe that oft; with sacred Raptures fir'd,
Hás gen'rous. Thoughts of Liberty inspir’d,
And boldly rifing for Britannia's Laws,

Engag'd great Cato in her country's Cause, ;.
On you submissive waits, with Hopes assurd,
By.whom the mighty Bleffing ftands fecur'd!''
And all the Glories, that our Ageiadornos sin!

' Are promis'd to a People yet unborn.


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No longer fhall the widow'd Land bemoan
A broken Lineage, and a doubtful Throne;
But boast her Royal Progeny's Increase,
And count the Pledges of her future Peace.
O. Born to strengthen and to grace our Ille!
While you, fair PRINCESS, in your Off-spring smile ;
Supplying Charms to the succeeding Age,
Each heavenly Daughter's Triumphs we prefage;
Already see th' Illuftrious Youths complain,
And pity Monarchs doom'd to figh in vain.

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Thou too, the Darling of our fond Desires,
Whom Albion, opening wide her Arms, requires,
With Manly Valour and Attra&ive Air
Shalt quell the Fierce, and captivate the Fair; :
O England's younger Hope! in whom conspire
-The Mother's Sweetnefs, and the Father's Fire

For thee, perhaps, ev'n now, of Kingly Race
Some dawning Beauty blooms in ev'ry Grace,
Some CAROLINA, to Heav'n's Di&tatės true,
Who, while the Scepter'd Rivals vainly fue,
Thy inborn worth with conscious Eyes shall fee,
And light thImperial Diadem for Thee.

Pleas'd with the Profpe&t of fucceffive Reignsgiris": ". The tuneful Tribe no more in daring Strains


Shall vindicate, with pious Fears opprest,
Endanger'd Rights, and Liberty diftreft:
To milder Sounds eachi Muse fhall tune the Lyre,
And Gratitude, and Faith to Kings infpire,
And filial Love, bid impious Discord ceáse,
And footh the madding Factions into Peace;
Or raise Ambitions in more lofty Lays,
And each she Nation their new Monarch's Praise,
Pefcribe his awful Look, and god-like Mind,
And Cafar's Power with Cato's Vertue joynd.

Mean while, bright PRINCESS, who with graceful


And native Majesty, art form'd to please;"
Behold those Arts with a propitious Eye,
That fuppliant to their great Protectress fly!
Then shall they triumph, and the British Stage
Improve her Manners, and refine her Rage,

More noble Chara&ters expose to View,
And draw her finishid Heroines from you;
Nor you the kind Indulgence will refufe,
Skill'd in the Labours of the deathless Mure:
The deathless Muse, with undiminish'd Rays,
Through distant Times the lovely Dame conveys..
To GLORIANA, Waller's Harp was strung,
The Queen still shines, because the Poet sung.
Ev’n all those Graces, in your Frame combin’d,
The common Fate of mortal Charms may find;


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