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Unknown, unheeded, long his offsping lay,
And want hung threat’ning o'er her slow decay.
What though the shine with no Miltonian fire,
No fav’ring Muse her morning dreams inspire ;
Yet softer claims the melting heart engage,
Her youth laborious, and her blameless

age ;
Hers the mild merits of domestick life,
The patient sufferer, and the faithful wife.
Thus, grac'd with humble virtue's native charms,
Her grandfire leaves her in Britannia's arms;
Secure with peace, with competence, to dwell,

, While tutelary nations guard her cell. Yours is the charge, ye fair, ye wise, ye brave ! 'Tis yours to crown defert-beyond the

grave.

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REST by the load of life, the

weary mind
Surveys the gen’ral toil of human kind,
With cool submiffion joins the lab'ring train,
And social sorrow loses half its pain;
Our anxious bard without complaint may share
This bustling season's epidemick care;
Like Cæsar's pilot dignify'd by fate,
Toft in one common storm with all the great ;

Distres

Diftreft alike the statesman and the wit,
When one a Borough courts, and one the Pit.
The busy candidates for

power

and fame Have hopes, and fears, and wishes, just the same; Disabled both to combat and to fly, Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply. Uncheck'd on both, loud rabbles vent their

rage, As mongrels bay the lion in a cage. Th’offended burgess hoards his angry tale, For that blest year when all that vote may rail ; Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss, Till that glad night when all that hate may hiss.

“ This day the powder'd curls and golden coat, Says swelling Crispin, “ begg'd a cobler's vote.” “ This night our wit,” the pert apprentice cries, Lies at my feet ; I hiss him and he dies." The great, 'cis true, can charm th' electing tribe; The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe. Yet, judg’d by those whose voices ne'er were sold, He feels no want of ill-persuading gold ; But, confident of praise, if praise be due, Trufts without fear to merit and to you.

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PR
P R O L OG U

TO THE COMEDY OF

A WORD TO THE WISE*,

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SPOKEN by Mr. Hull.
His night presents a play which public rage,
Or right, or wrong, once hooted from the

ftaget.
From zeal or malice, now no more we dread,
For English vengeance wars not with the dead.
A generous foe regards with pitying eye
The man whom fate has laid where all must lic.

To wit reviving from its author's dust,
Be kind ye judges, or at least be just.
For no renew'd hostilities invade
Th' oblivious grave's inviolable shade.
Let one great payment every claim appease,
And him, who cannot hurt, allow to please;
To please by scenes unconscious of offence,
By harmless merriment, or useful sense.
Where aught of bright, or fair the piece displays,
Approve it only-'tis to late too praise.
If want of skill, or want of care appear,
Forbear to hiss—the poet cannot hear.
By all like him must praise and blame be found,
At best a fleeting gleam, or einpty sound,

* Performed at Covent-Garden theatre in 1777, for the benefit of Mrs. Kelly, widow of Hugh Kelly, Esq. (the author of the play), and her children.

* Upon the first representation of this play, 1770, a party affembled to damn it, and succeeded,

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Yet then shall calın reflection bless the night,
When liberal pity dignified delight;
When Pleasure fir'd her torch at virtue's flame,
And mirth was bounty with an humbler name.

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S Forbears the long continued

Arife; TERN Winter now, by Spring repress’d, And Nature on her naked breast

Delights to catch the gales of life. Now o'er the rural kingdom roves

Soft pleasure with the laughing train, Love warbles in the vocal groves,

And vegetation plants the plain. Unhappy! whom to beds of pain,

Arthritick * tyranny configns; Whom smiling nature courts in vain,

Tho' rapture fings and beauty shines.
Yet tho'my limbs disease invades,

Her wings Imagination tries,
And bears me to the peaceful shades,
Where's humble turrets rise.

. Here stop, my soul, thy rapid flight,

Nor from the pleafing groves depart, Where first great nature charmed' my fight,

Where wisdom first inform’d my heart.

* The author being ill of the gout,

K4

Here SCENE XIII.

HASAN, CARAZA, MUSTAPHA, MURZA.

MUSTAPHA TO MUR Z A.

What plagues, what tortures, are in store for thee,
Thou sluggish idler, dilatory flave!
Behold the model of consummate beauty,
Torn from the mourning earth by thy neglect !

MURZA. Such was the will of Heav'n-A band of Greeks That mark'd my course, suspicious of my purpose, Rufh'd out and seiz'd me, thoughtless and unarm’d, Breathlefs, amaz’d, and on the guarded beach Detain'd me tili Deinetrius set me free.

MUST A PH A.

So sure the fall of greatness rais'd on crimes !
So fix'd the justice of all-conscious Heav'n!

When haughty guilt exults with impious joy,
Mistake shall blast, or accident destroy ;
Weak man with erring rage may throw the dart,
But Heav'n shall guide it to the guilty heart.

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