A CRITICAL MOMENT. HOW capricious were Nature and Art to poor Nell! She was painting her cheeks at the time her nose fell. EPILOGUE to Mrs. MANLEY'S LUCIUS. HE Female Author who recites to-day, ΤΗ Trufts to her fex the merit of her play. An ill-bred boat-man, rough as waves and wind. } The The many-colour'd gentry there above, To you our author makes her foft request, She hopes from you-Pox take her hopes and fears! I plead her fex's claim; what matters hers? We'll write to you, and make you write in rhyme; } Your time, poor fouls! we 'll take your very money; } The The THIEF and the CORDELIER, a BALLAD; to the Tune of, King JOHN and the Abbot of CANTERBURY. WHO has e'er been at Paris, muft needs know the Greve, The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave; Where Honour and Juftice moft oddly contribute, Derry down, down, hey derry down. There Death breaks the fhackles which Force had put on; And the Hangman compleats what the Judge but begun; There the Squire of the Pad, and the Knight of the Poft, Find their pains no more balk'd, and their hopes no more croft. Derry down, &c. Great claims are there made, and great fecrets are known; And the king, and the law, and the thief, has his own; But my hearers cry out, What a duce doft thou ail? Cut off thy reflections; and give us thy tale. Derry down, &c. 'Twas there then, in civil refpect to harsh laws, And for want of false witness to back a bad caufe, A Norman, though late, was oblig'd to appear: And who to allift, but a grave Cordelier ? Derry down, &c. VOL. I. T The The Squire, whofe good grace was to open the scene, Seem'd not in great hafte that the show should begin : Now fitted the halter, now travers'd the cart; And often took leave, but was loth to depart. What frightens you thus, my good fon? fays the Priest; You murder'd, are forry, and have been confeft. O father! my forrow will scarce fave my bacon: For 'twas not that I murder'd, but that I was taken. Derry down, &c. Pough! pr'ythee ne'er trouble thy head with fuch fancies: Rely on the aid you fhall have from Saint Francis : And what will folks fay, if they see you afraid? To-morrow! our Hero replied in a fright: He that's hang'd before noon, ought to think of tonight. Tell your beads, quoth the Prieft, and be fairly trufs'd, up, For you furely to-night fhall in Paradise fup. Derry down, &c. Alas! Alas! quoth the Squire, howe'er fumptuous the treat, Parbleu! I fhall have little ftomach to eat ; I should therefore esteem it great favour and grace, That I would, quoth the Father, and thank you to boot; But our actions, you know, with our duty must fuit. The feaft I propos'd to you, I cannot taste; For this night, by our order, is mark'd for a fast. Then, turning about to the hangman, he faid, то WHILS снLO E. HILST I am fcorch'd with hot defire, Your drops of pity on my fire, Alas! but make it fiercer burn. Ah! would you have the flame supprest, |