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SPOKEN AT EDINBURGH, BY MRS. BELLAMY, TO THE
Tragedy of Antony and Cleopatra.
The flame our hero felt for his Egyptian
The man of sense disdains the softening passion;
[them; So nice, that nothing but themselves can charm
But hold—I run too fast, without reflection (Each general rule admits of some exception). Here' 'tis allow'd imperial beauty governs, And there’ the conquer'd sex adore their sove
reigns. Let me-to wave this bagatelle--declare The grateful homage of a heart sincere : I feel your favours with refined delight, And glory in my patrons of to-night.
SPOKEN AT EDINBURGH, IN THE CHARACTER OF
FANCY, we're told, of parentage Italic,
The fertile soil grew fond of this exotic,
[per; Her loll-her lispher saunter-stare-her simAll outrés, all-no native charm about her, And Ridicule would soon expire without her.
Look for a grace, and Affectation hides it; If Beauty aims an arrow, she misguides it: So awkwardly she mends unmeaning faces, To Insipidity she gives—grimaces.
Without her dear coquettish arts to aid them, Fine dies would be just as-Nature made them, Such sensible-sincere-domestic creatures, The jest of modern belles and petits-maîtres.
Safe with good sense, this circle's not in danger: But as the foreign phantom 's--here a stranger, I gave her portrait, that the fair may know her, And if they meet, be ready to forego her: For trust me, ladies, she'd deform your faces, And with a single glance destroy the graces.
SPOKEN AT NORWICH, IN THE CHARACTER OF
IN ‘Love In A VILLAGE.'
AFTER the dangers of a long probation,
In maxims sage, in eloquence how clever !
that toast, that culprit, nobus corum, "Tis done-and she's demolish'd in turrorum,
If an old maid 's a dragoness on duty, To guard the golden fruit of ripening beauty; 'Tis right, for fear the giddy sex should wander, To keep them in restraint by decent slander. When slips are made, 'tis easy sure to find them; We can detect before the fair design’d them.
As for the men, whose satire oft hath stung us, Many there are that may
be rank'd among us. Law, with long suits and busy mischiefs laden, In rancour far exceeds the ancient maiden. 'Tis undenied, and the' assertion's common, That modern physic is a mere old woman. The puny fop that simpers o'er his tea-dish, And cries—Indeed--Miss Deborah's-quite old
Of doubtful sex, of undetermined nature,
Jesting apart, and moral truths adjusting!
-Deborah Woodcock said it.
TO · THE MUSE OF OSSIAN.'
In fond romance let fancy reign creative!
When Honour callid, the youth disdain'd to
If the bold youth was in the field vindictive, The bard, at home, had every power descriptive; He swelld the sacred song, enhanced the story, And raised the warrior to the skies of glory.
That northern lads are still unconquer'd fellows, The foes of Britain to their cost can tell us; The sway of northern beauty, if disputed, Look round, ye infidels! and stand confuted:
And for your bards, the letter'd world have known
[them. They're such—the sacred Ossian can't disown
To prove a partial judgment does not wrong you, And that your usual candour reigns among you, Look with indulgence on this crude endeavour, And stamp it with the sanction of your favour.
A LADY-let me recollect—whose night is 't?
• A wife reclaim'd, and by a husband's rigour,
Prudence, although the company be good,
* Ye giddy group of fashionable wives, That in continued riot waste your lives;