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Still importunate and vain,
And turning all the past to pain;
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe;
In thee must ever find a foe.
INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY
OF SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
FROM THE ORATORIO OF CAPTIVITY.
The wretch condemn’d with life to part,
Still, stiil on hope relies;
Bids expectation rife.
Adorns and cheers the way ;
Emits a brighter ray.
Weeping, murmuring, complaining,
Loft to every gay delight-
Fears th' approaching bridal night:
Or dim thy beauty with a tear ?
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-
I don't think he'll wish to come back.
* Who translated Voltaire's Henriade.
TO THE TRAGEDY OF ZOBEIDE.
In these bold times, when Learning's fons explore
(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
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 firit adventure-lend him aid,
A ROMAN KNIGHT,
What! no way left to fhun th’ inglorious stage,
IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN.
Hold! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense;
head That I found humour in a pye-ball vest, Or ever thought that jumping was a jelt.
(Takes off his mas.) Whence, and what art thou-visionary birth? Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirthIn thy black aspect every passion NeepsThe joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps. How hast 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 stagem 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 but a dream, for now there's noretreatingIf I cease Harlequin, I ceafe from eating.