The NYMPH of TAURIS, an ELEGY.

Written on the Death of Mifs Anne Trelawney, Daughter of Sir Harry Trelawney, who died in Jamaica.

W

HOSE happy funs without a cloud defcend!

Who treads the wild of life, nor meets a thorn ?
To grief is godlike Virtue doom'd to bend;
The turtle eye of Innocence to mourn.

A gentle nymph of Media's green domain,
Where Tauris lifts with pride her hundred tow'rs,
Far from the precincts of her native plain,

Breathes her last figh in 'Spahan's hapless bow'rs.
What Thepherds melt at Nora's facred tomb?
At Nora's tomb, each nymph of 'Spahan fighs;
While fadly sweet along the liftening gloom,
On Sorrow's lyre the dirge complaining dies.
The band of white-rob'd virgins let me join,
And scatter incenfe on the hallow'd ground;
Where waving mournful o'er the lonely fhrine,
The grove in filent horror glooms around.
Tho' far from Tauris thy fair reliques lie,
Thy gentle ghost her grateful daughters mourn;
Her fons in forrow heave the fruitless figh,
And melt in vifions o'er thy diftant urn.
Tho' far from Media's once delightful plain,
In 'Spahan's valley fleeps the gentle maid;
No prowling Arab fhall thy tomb prophane,
Breathe on thy fhrine, and wound thy fhrinking shade.
Far hence the demons of the troubled air,

Shall bid their thunders roll, the tempeft rave:
No livid light'nings through the grove fhall glare,
To blait th' eternal bloom that decks thy grave.
Here fhall the rofe with fofteft fragrance spring,
Heav'n's mildeft dews thy humble bed adorn:
Hence fhall the fongfter mount on early wing,

And warble round thee ere he meets the morn.
Ah! here with woe a fifter's heart fhall heave,
A heart by all the Virtues lov'd in vain!
Pale, on her tears, fhall rise the star of eve,
And midnight hear her pity'd voice complain.

Here

Here shall the luftre of afcending morn,
That wakes to gladnefs all the world below,
In forrow find her o'er thy filent urn,

A melancholy monument of woe.

No beam of Mirth fhall deck her clouded eye:
No Smile, her paly cheek, but of Despair:
To life's laft fand her foul for THEE fhall figh,
For THEE her clofing lids fhall shed the tear.
What heedlefs wanderer through the gloomy vale,
Neglects to spread the flow'ret o'er thy tomb;
From fuch may Fortune fnatch her fav'ring gale,
And demons blaft their hopes of brightest bloom.
Ah! cease to murmur to the midnight air,

Nor bid a drooping BROTHER hafte away;
Think on our lofs in THEE, thou hapless Fair,
And think how fhort is life, one little day!
Too foon fhall Ali join thy beck'ning ghoft,
Too foon his fate fhall make an empire bleed :
What virtues, ah! to Perfia's land are loft,

When fuch lie, number'd with the filent dead!
Too foon fhall Fame th' illumin'd page display,
And fighing blend his facred name with thine,
Where beam the worthy with distinguish'd day,

Where crown'd with glory glows thy ANCIENT LINE.

PROLOGUE to Dr. GOLDSMITH's new Comedy called SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER, or The MISTAKES OF A NIGHT.

E

Wrote by DAVID GARRICK, Efq.

Spoken by Mr. WOODWARD.

XCUSE me, Sirs, I pray-I can't yet fpeak-
I'm crying now-and have been all the week!
'Tis not alone this mourning fuit, good masters,
I've that within-for which there are no plaifters.
Pray, would you know the reason why I'm crying-
The Comic Mufe, long fick, is now a dying!
And if she goes, my tears will never ftop;
For as a play'r I can't fqueeze out one drop;
I am undone, that's all-fhall lofe my bread-
I'd rather, but that's nothing-lofe my head.
When the fweet maid is laid upon the bier,
Shuter and I fhall be chief mourners here.
VOL. XVI.
R

To

To her a mawkish drab of spurious breed,
Who deals in fentimentals, will fucceed!
Poor Ned and I are dead to all intents,
We can as foon speak Greek as fentiments!
Both nervous grown, to keep our spirits up,
We now and then take down a hearty cup.
What fhall we do?-If Comedy forfake us,
They'll turn us out, and no one else will take us.
But why can't I be moral ?-Let me try-
My heart thus preffing-fix'd my face and eye-
With a fententious look, that nothing means,
(Faces are barbers blocks-in moral scenes)
Thus I begin-" All is not gold that glitters,
"Pleasure seems sweet, but proves a glass of bitters.
"When Ign'rance enters, Folly is at hand;

Learning is better far than house or land.

"Let not your virtue trip, who trips may ftumble,
"And virtue is not virtue if the tumble."

I give it up-Morals won't do for me;
To make you laugh I fhould play tragedy.
One hope remains, hearing the maid was ill,
A Doctor comes this night to fhew his skill.
To cheer her heart, and give your muscles motion,
He in five draughts prepar'd prefents a potion:
A kind of magic charm; for be affured,

If y

you will swallow it, the maid is cured':But defperate the Doctor, and her cafe is,

If you feject the dofe, and make wry faces!

This truth he boafts, will boaft it while he lives,
No poisonous drugs are mix'd in what he gives.
Should he fucceed, you'll give him his degree,
If not, within he will receive no fee!
The college you, muft his pretenfions back,
Pronounce him Regular, or dub him Quack.

EPILOGUE to the fame. By Dr. GOLDSMITH.
Spoken by Mrs. BULKLEY.

ELL, having foop'd to conquer with fuccefs,

Still as a bar-maid, I could wish it too,
As I have conquer'd him, to conquer you:
And let me fay, for all your refolution,
That pretty bar-maids have done execution.
Our lite is all a play, compos'd to please,
"We have our exits and our entrances."

The

The first act fhews the fimple country-maid,
Harmlefs and young, of every thing afraid;
Bluthes when hir'd, and with unmeaning action,
I hopes as how to give you fatisfaction.
Her fecond act difplays a livelier scene-
The unblushing bar-maid of a country inn,
Who whisks about the house, at market caters,

Talks loud, coquets the guests, and fcolds the waiters.
Next the scene fhifts to town, and there fhe foars,
The chop-houfe toaft of ogling connoiffeurs.
On 'fquires and cits fhe there difplays her arts,
And on the gridiron broils her lovers hearts:
And as the fmiles, her triumphs to compleat,
Even common-councilmen forget to eat.
The fourth act shews her wedded to the 'fquire,
And madam now begins to hold it higher;
Doats upon dancing, and in all her pride,
Swims round the room, the Heinel of Cheapfide;
Ogles and leers with artificial skill,

Till having loft in age the power to kill,
She fits all night at cards, and ogles at spadille.
Such, thro' our lives, the eventful history-
The fifth and laft act ftill remains for me.
The bar-maid now for your protection prays,
Turns Female Barrifter, and pleads for Bayes.

;

NEW-YEAR ODE, To his Moft Excellent Majefty King BLADUD of BATH.

I

LLUSTRIOUS Bladud, beft of kings,
Though thou can't make no gracious speeches,
Thy ftream the gift of healing brings,

In spite of all the leagues of leeches.

When this bleft well one virtue more,
The grace of Helicon fhall give,
Thy grateful bard, though not before,
May learn to praise, who learns to live.

Here patriots, worn with wafting care
Of poor Britannia on the brink;
Here matron fage, and maiden fair,
And deifts here believe and drink.

The facred prelate here fufpends

His pious views of new tranflation,
And here the statesman condescends
To fave himfelf to fink the nation..
R 2

The

The wither'd beau, the gouty cit,

The pamper'd knight, the prieft, the peer,
The fwaggering biter, and the bit,
Fantastic groupe! are gather'd here.
All, helpless babes of fainted Hoyle,
With the moft fervent zeal adore;
All, as fpadille attacks the spoil,
Spadille's protecting aid implore.
Propitious to thy monarch's will,
O boiling wave, do not defift
To keep alive aunt Deborah ftill,
And feat her foberly at whist.
Ah! did thy fount the cup fupply,

That blots the confcious memory out,
Full foon the current would run dry,
And greedy votaries lick the spout.
His lordship, with the filken ftring,
Might then evade the poison'd dart,
Which keeps him ever on the wing,
Flying the horrors of his heart.

But all that this fine town bestows,
To dress, to dance, to laugh, to fret,
Nor giddy ball, nor tawdry clothes,
Can teach the guilty to forget.