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ARRY a Turk! a haughty, tyrant king!

Who thinks us women born to dress and fing To please his fancy !— see no other man !Let him persuade me to it—if he can: Besides, he has fifty wives; and who can bear To have the fiftieth part her paltry share ?

'Tis true; the fellow 's handsome, strait, and tall; But how the devil should he please us all! My swain is little-true-but, be it known, My pride's to have that little all my own. Men will be ever to their errors blind, Where woman 's not allow'd to speak her mind; I swear this Eastern pageantry is nonsense, And for one man-one wife's enough of conscience.

In vain proud man usurps what 's wonian's dues For us alone, they honour's paths pursue: Inspir'd by us, they glory's heights ascend; Woman the source, the object, and the end. Tho' wealth, and pow'r, and glory, they receive, These all are trifles to what we can give. For us the statesman labours, hero fights, Bears toilsome days, and wakes long tedious nights, And, when blest peace has filenc'd war's alarıns, Receives his full reward in beauty's arms.

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PRO LOGU E,
SPOKEN by Mr. GARRICK, APRIL 5, 1750,

Before the MASQUE of COMUS.
Acted at Drury-LANE THEATRE, for the Benefit of

MILTON's Grand-Daughter *.

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E patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame,
Yenymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's name,

,
Whofe gen'rous zeal, unbought by flatt’ring rhymes,
Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times,
Immortal patrons of succeeding days,
Attend this prelude of perpetual praise ;
Let wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage
With close malevolence, or publick rage,
Let study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore,
Behold this theatre, and grieve no more.
This night, distinguish'd by your siniles, shall tell
That never Britain can in vain excel;
The flighted arts futurity shall trust,
And rising ages hasten to be just.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays
Fill the loud voice of universal praise ;
And baffled spite, with hopeless anguish dumb,
Yields to renown the centuries to come;
With ardent haste each candidate of fame,
Ambitious, catches at his tow'ring name;
He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth bestow
Those pageant honours which he scorn'd below, ,
While crowds aloft the laureat bust behold,
Or trace his form on circulating gold.

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P R O LO GUE,
Spoken by Mr. GARRICK, APRIL 5, 1750,

Before the MASQUE of COMUS.
Acted at DRURY-LANE THEATRE, for the Benefit of

Milton's Grand-Daughter*.

Y

,

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E patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame,

Yenymphs, whose bosomis beat at Milton's name,
Whose gen’rous żeal, unbought by flatt’ring rhymes,
Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times,
Immortal patrons of succeeding days,
Attend this prelude of perpetual praise ;
Let wit, condemn’d the feeble war to wage
With close malevolence, or publick rage,
Let study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore,
Behold this theatre, and grieve no more.
This night, distinguish'd by your finiles, shall tell
That never Britain can in vain excel;
The flighted arts futurity shall trust,
And rising ages hasten to be just.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays
Fill the loud voice of universal praise ;
And baffled spite, with hopeless anguish dumb,
Yields to renown the centuries to come;
With ardent halte each candidate of fame,
Ambitious, catches at his tow'ring name;
He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth befon
Those pageant honours which he scorn'd be on,
While crowds aloft the laureat bust bebo!",
Or trace his form on circulating gold.

* See Vol. IX. p. 139.

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