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SONGS.
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 opprest oppressing,

Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe;
And he who wants each other blessing,

In thee must ever find a foe.

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY

OF SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Ah, 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 passion discover.
She that gives all to the false 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, stiil on hope relies;
And every pang that rends 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.

1

A SONNET.

Weeping, murmuring, complaining,

Loft to every gay delight-
Myra, too sincere for feigning,

Fears th' approaching bridal night:
Yet why impair thy bright perfection,

Or dim thy beauty with a tear ?
Had Myra follow'd my direction,

She long had wanted cause of fear.

THE CLOWN'S REPLY.

John Trott was desir’d by two witty peers, To tell them the reason why asses had ears? • An't please you,' quoth John,'I'm not given to letters,

Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters; • Howe'er from this time I shall ne'er see your graces, • As I hope to be fav’d, without thinking on asies.'

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.

* Who translated Voltaire's Henriade.

PROLOGUE

TO THE TRAGEDY OF ZOBEIDE.

In these bold times, when Learning's fons explore
The distant climates, and the favage 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 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 steers 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 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 largerthanI've seen’em

(Pit.) Here trees of stately size, and billing turtles in 'em

(Balconies.) Here ill-condition'd

oranges

abound (Stage.) And apples, bitter apples strew the ground:

(Tasting them.) The inhabitants are canibals I fear: I heard a hissing—there are serpents here! O, there the people are—best keep my distance; Our captain (gentle natives) craves assistance; Our ship’s well stor'd—in yonder creek we've laid her, His honour is no mercenary trader.

This is his first 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 promises so ample!
I'd best step back-and order up a sample.

A PROLOGUE*,
WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE POET LABERIUS,

A ROMAN KNIGHT,
WHOM CESAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE.

WH

HAT! no way left to fhun th’ inglorious stage, And fave 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 asideUnaw'd by power, and unappal'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. 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. * Preserved by Macrobius-translated and printed in 1759.

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EPILOGUE,
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 said,
My heels eclips’d the honours of my head
That I found humour in a pye-ball vest,
Or ever thought that jumping was a jest.

(Takes off his mask.)
Whence, and what art thou—visionary birth?
Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth-
In thy black aspect every passion sleeps
The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps.
How halt thou fill'd the scene with all thy brood
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursued!
Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses
Whose only plot it is to break our noses;
Whilst from below the trap-door dæmons rise,
And from above the dangling deities.
And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew!
May rosin'd lightning blast 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 passion reigns
The madd’ning monarch revels in my

veins!
Oh, for a Richard's voice to catch the theme
“ Give me another horse!-bind up my wounds!"-

soft-'twas but a dream. Aye-'twas buta dream, for now there's noretreatingIf I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating.

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