That scorn the paths their dull forefathers trod,
And wo'n't be blockheads in the common road.
Do but survey this crowded house to-night :
Here's still encouragement for those that write.
Our author, to divert his friends to-day,
Stocks with variety of fools his play;

And that there may be something gay and new,
Two ladies-errant has expos'd to view:

The first a damsel, travell'd in romance;

The1 t'other more refin'd; she comes from France:
Rescue, like courteous knights, the nymph from danger;
And kindly treat, like well-bred men, the stranger.

EPILOGUE TO THE BRITISH ENCHANTERS.&

WHEN Orpheus tun'd his lyre with pleasing woe,

Rivers forgot to run, and winds to blow,

While list'ning forests cover'd, as he play'd,

The soft musician in a moving shade.

That this night's strains the same success may find,
The force of magic is to music join'd:
Where sounding strings and artful voices fail,
The charming rod and mutter'd spells prevail.
Let sage Urganda wave the circling wand
On barren mountains, or a waste of sand,
The desert smiles; the woods begin to grow,

The birds to warble, and the springs to flow.

It is strange that this use of t, so like the French euphonic ľ before on, should have escaped the grammatical eye of Hurd.—G.

a A dramatic poem written by the Lord Lansdown.

The same dull sights in the same landscape mixt,
Scenes of still life, and points for ever fix'd,
A tedious pleasure on the mind bestow,
And pall the sense with one continu'd show:
But as our two magicians try their skill,
The vision varies, tho' the place stands still,
While the same spot its gaudy form renews,
Shifting the prospect to a thousand views.
Thus (without unity of place transgrest)
Th' enchanter turns the critic to a jest.

a

But howsoe'er, to please your wand'ring eyes,
Bright objects disappear and brighter rise :

There's none can make amends for lost delight,
While from that circle we divert your sight.

EPILOGUE

TO THE 'DISTRESSED MOTHER.'

A TRAGEDY.-TRANSLATED BY AMBROSE PHILIPS, FROM THE FRENCH OF RACINE.

[THIS piece finds a place here upon the authority of Mr. Garrick, who learnt from Tonson's family that the morning on which it was originally printed, Addison came down in great haste, and had Budgell's name substituted for his own. This is supposed to have been done in order to give Budgell, whom Addison styled "the man who calls me cousin," better chances for a place which his friends were soliciting for him.-G.]

I HOPE you'll own, that with becoming art,

I've played my game, and topp'd the widow's part.

a But HOWSOEʼER. A word, which nobody would now use in verse, and not many in good prose

My spouse, poor man, could not live out the play,
But died commodiously on his wedding day;
While I, his relict, made at one bold fling,
Myself a princess, and young Sty a king.

You, ladies, who protract a lover's pain,

And hear your servants sigh whole years in vain;
Which of you all would not on marriage venture,
Might she so soon upon her jointure enter?

'Twas a strange 'scape! Had Pyrrhus lived till now, I had been finely hampered in my vow.

To die by one's own hand, and fly the charms
Of love and life in a young monarch's arms!
"Twere a hard fate-ere I had undergone it,
I might have took one night-to think upon it.
But why, you'll say, was all this grief expressed
For a first husband, laid long since at rest?
Why so much coldness to my kind protector?
-Ah, ladies! had you known the good man Hector!
Homer will tell you, (or I'm misinformed,)

That, when enrag'd, the Grecian camp he stormed;
To break the tenfold barriers of the gate,
He threw a stone of such prodigious weight,
As no two men could lift, not even of those
Who in that age of thundering mortals rose:
-It would have sprain'd a dozen modern beaus.
At length, howe'er, I laid my weeds aside,
And sunk the widow in the well-dress'd bride.
In you it still remains to grace the play,
And bless with joy my coronation day;
Take, then, ye circles of the brave and fair,
The fatherless and widow to your care.

DRAMAS.