A

HOW

CRITICAL

MOMENT.

OW capricious were Nature and Art to poor
Nell!

She was painting her cheeks at the time her nofe fell.

EPILOGUE to Mrs. MANLEY'S LUCIUS.

HE Female Author who recites to-day,

THE

Trufts to her fex the merit of her play. Like Father Bayes fecurely the fits down: Pit, box, and gallery, 'gad! all's our own. In ancient Greece, fhe fays, when Sappho writ, By their applause the critics fhew'd their wit, They tun'd their voices to her Lyric ftring; Though they could all do something more than fing. But one exception to this fact we find ;

That booby Phaon only was unkind,

An ill-bred boat-man, rough as waves and wind.
From Sappho down through all fucceeding ages,
And now on French or on Italian ftages,
Rough fatyrs, fly remarks, ill-natur'd fpeeches,
Are always aim'd at Poets that wear breeches.
Arm'd with Longinus, or with Rapin, no man
Drew a fharp pen upon a naked woman.
The bluftering bully in our neighbouring streets
Scorns to attack the female that he meets :
Fearless the petticoat contemns his frowns:
The hoop fecures whatever it furrounds.

The

The many-colour'd gentry there above,
By turns are rul'd by tumult and by love:
And, while their sweethearts their attention fix,
Sufpend the din of their damn'd clattering sticks.
Now, Sirs

To you our author makes her foft request,
Who speak the kindest, and who write the best,
Your fympathetic hearts the hopes to move,
From tender friendship, and endearing love.
If Petrarch's Mufe did Laura's wit rehearse;
And Cowley flatter'd dear Orinda's verse;
She hopes from you-Pox take her hopes and fears!

I plead her fex's claim; what matters hers?
By our full power of beauty we think fit,
To damn the Salique law impos'd on wit:
We'll try the empire who fo long have boasted;
And, if we are not prais'd, we'll not be toasted.
Approve what one of us prefents to-night;

Or every

mortal woman here fhall write :

Rural, pathetic, narrative, fublime,

We'll write to you, and make you write in rhyme;
Female remarks fhall take up all your time.

Your time, poor fouls! we'll take your very money;
Female third-days fhall come fo thick upon you,
As long as we have eyes, or hands, or breath,
We'll look, or write, or talk you all to death.
Unless you yield for better and for worse :
Then the She-Pegasus shall gain the course;
And the grey mare will prove the better horfe.

The

The THIEF and the CORDELIER, a BALLAD; to the Tune of,

King JOHN and the Abbot of CANTERBURY.

WHC

HO 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,
To ease Hero's pains by a halter and gibbet.
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 respect to harsh laws, And for want of falfe witnefs to back a bad caufe, A Norman, though late, was oblig'd to appear: And who to affift, 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.
Derry down, &c.

What frightens you thus, my good fon? says the Priest You murder'd, are sorry, and have been confest. 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:
If the money you promis'd be brought to the cheft,
You have only to die: let the church do the rest.
Derry down, &c.

And what will folks fay, if they fee you afraid?
It reflects upon me, as I knew not my trade :
Courage, friend; for to-day is your period of forrow;
And things will go better, believe me, to-morrow.
Derry down, &c.

To-morrow! our Hero replied in a fright:

He that's hang'd before noon, ought to think of to

night.

Tell your beads, quoth the Prieft, and be fairly trufs'd up, For you furely to-night shall 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,
Would you be fo kind as to go in my place.
Derry down, &c.

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.
Derry down, &c.

Then, turning about to the hangman, he faid,
Dispatch me, I pr'ythee, this troublesome blade:
For thy cord and my cord both equally tie;
And we live by the gold for which other men die.
Derry down, &c.

TO CHLOE.

WHILS

HILST I am fcorch'd with hot defire,
In vain cold friendship you return;

Your drops of pity on my fire,

Alas! but make it fiercer burn.

Ah! would you have the flame fupprefl,
That kills the heart it heats too fast,
Take half my paffion to your breast ;
The reft in mine fhall ever laft.