EPITAPH

ON

EDWARD PURDON.*

HERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed,

Who long was a bookseller's hack;

He led such a damnable life in this world,
I don't think he'll wish to come back.

AN ELEGY

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.

This gentleman was educated at Trinity-college, Dublin; but having wasted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot-soldier. Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his discharge, and became a scribbler in the newspapers. He translated Voltaire's Henriade.

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 wondrous winning;
And never follow'd 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 liv'd a twelvemonth more,She had not died to-day.

WE

A SONNET.

EEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay.delight;

Mira, too sincere for feigning,

Fears th' approaching bridal night.

Yet why impair thy bright perfection,
Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had Mira follow'd my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear.

FROM THE

ORATORIO. OF THE CAPTIVITY.

SONG.

THE wretch condemn'd with life to part,

Still, still on hope relies;

And ev'ry pang that rends the heart,
Bids expectation rise.

Hope, like the glimm'ring taper's light,
Adorns and cheers the way:

And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.

SONG.

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 opprest oppressing,

Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe?

And he who wants each other blessing,
In thee must ever find a foe.

A PROLOGUE,

Written and spoken by

THE POET LABERIUS,

A ROMAN KNIGHT, WHOM CESAR FORCED

UPON THE STAGE.

Preserved by Macrobius.*

WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage,
And save from infamy my sinking age!
Scarce half-alive, oppress'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 steps aside.
Unaw'd by power, and unappall'd by fear,
With honest 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,
Cæsar persuades, submission must be mine:
Him I obey, whom heaven itself obeys,
Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclin❜d to please.

This translation was first printed in one of our author's earliest works, The Present State of Learning in Europe,' 12mo. 1759.

Here then at once I welcome every shame,
And cancel at threescore a life of fame;
No more my titles shall 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.

PROLOGUE TO ZOBEIDE,

A TRAGEDY.

IN these bold times, when Learning's sons ex

plore

The distant climates, and the savage shore;
When wise astronomers to India steer,
And quit for Venus many a brighter here;
While botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling,
Forsake the fair, and patiently-go simpling;
Our bard into the general spirit enters,
And fits his little frigate for adventures.

With Scythian stores and trinkets deeply laden,
He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading:
Yet, ere he lands, has order'd me before,

To make an observation on the shore.

Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is lost!
This seems a rocky and a dangerous coast.
Lord, what a sultry climate am I under!
Yon ill-foreboding cloud seems big with thunder:

[Upper gallery.

There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen!

'em

[Pit.

Here trees of stately size, and billing turtles in

'em

[Balconies.