« VorigeDoorgaan »
TRAGEDY OF ZOBEIDE.
In these bold times, when Learning's sons explore
And quit for Venus many a brighter here;
With Scythian stores and trinkets deeply laden,
To make an observation on the shore.
Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is lost!
There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen 'em
Here trees of stately size-and billing turtles in 'em
Here ill-conditioned oranges abound-
The inhabitants are cannibals I fear:
I heard a hissing-there are serpents here!
Our ship's well stored-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?
MR. LEE LEWES,
IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN, AT HIS BENEFIT.
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 eclipsed the honours of my head;
Takes off his mask.
Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth?
Whilst from below the trap-door demons rise,
Ay, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreating;
'Twas thus that Æsop's stag, a creature blameless, Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless, Once on the margin of a fountain stood,
And cavilled at his image in the flood:
"The deuce confound," he cries, "these drumstick shanks! They neither have my gratitude nor thanks:
They're perfectly disgraceful! strike me dead!
But for a head-yes, yes, I have a head:
How piercing is that eye! how sleek that brow!
Whilst his strong limbs conspire to set him free,
[Taking a jump through the stage door.
MRS. CHARLOTTE LENOX'S
COMEDY OF THE SISTERS.
WHAT! five long acts--and all to make us wiser!
Had she consulted me, she should have made
Warmed up each bustling scene, and in her rage
What if I give a masquerade?—I will.
But how? ay, there's the rub! [pausing,] I've got my cue: The world's a masquerade! the maskers, you, you, you. [To boxes, pit, and gallery.
Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses!
False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses!
Patriots in party-coloured suits that ride 'em.
These, in their turn, with appetites as keen,
Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon,
Flings down her sampler, and takes up the woman;
Strip but this vizor off, and sure I am
Perhaps, to vulgar eyes, bestrides the state;
If with a bribe his candour you attack,
He bows, turns round, and whip-the man's in black! Yon critic, too-but whither do I run?
If I proceed, our bard will be undone!
Well, then, a truce, since she requests it too:
Do you spare her, and I'll for once spare you.