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TO HIS FRIEND IN TOWN.
FR Chigh waving groves,
But, oh! what tongue to Laura shall relate
Oh! none can bear the fight! The fad conclufion of her lover's fate!
Those lively eyes, which love inspir’d, Already the dire news has reach'd her ear; Which Cælia, too, so much admir'd, She flies to know the truth, half frantic with her Are clos'd in endless night.
fear! Loose and dishevell’d was her auburn hair,
If innocence demands a figh, Her zone ungirt, and all her bosom bare;
Ye gentle bofoms tell me why It's dazzling whiteness the deform'd with blows,
Not heav'd on Toby's grave? And round her wild, inquiring eyes, she throws!
When Cruelty's relentless hand At length she cafts them on the fable bier,
Did what malignity had plannid, And see the hapless youth extended there!
Not innocence could save! Clos'd were those charming eyes, which could
impart The softest passion to the virgin's heart; Lifeless those lips, which oft to hers were prest;
EPISTLE, And cold as adamant his bleeding breaft!
FROM A GENTLEMAN IN THE COUNTRY, That breast which feit for her the purest fire That beauty, youth, and virtue, could inspire! Awhile in ftupid sorrow fix'd she stands,
"ROM Whichwood's deep shades, and it's And on her ivory bosom folds her hands; But madness kindling, as the view'd the youth, Where Fancy, delighted, at liberty roves ; Henry, (she cry'd) I come to prove my truth! From the seats of sequester’dcontentmentandeafe, Then from her fide a ready dagger drew, Where rofy Hygeia wafts health in each breeze; Which in her own heart's blood she did embrue! Receive, my dear friend! these rude, rustic lays, All flew with one accord to aid the fair;
From, a muse unambitious of honours or praise. Who, bleeding, fell upon her lover's bier!
O could you,Philander, these gay groves among, Your help is vain! (the panting virgin cried;); With me catch the notes of the tweet feather'd And then, without a struggle, figh’d, and died!
throng, Still to their tomb the weeping maidens bring With ears full of rapture hear Philomel's strais, The earliest tribute of the blooming spring; And see the fleet hart bound along the smooth And still do Jersey's bards, in flowing verse,
plain; The mournful story of their loves rehearse; The town, and it's pleasures, with scorn you'd Bid melting virgios weep at Laura's name,
resign; And Henry's deeds transmit to lasting fame. To the waters of Lethe ambition consign;
Bid fame, wealth, and honours, the wretched at.
And vow,here, with quiet, life's vain dream to end. DEATH OF A FAVOURITE RABBIT.
O loft to each joy, who toil in the crowd,
Who cringe to the noble, or bow to the proud; APPY, O Toby! hadit thou been,
Who bustle along through life's peopled way, By tyrant man if never seen;!
And grasp at each phantom that shines in the day! That animal fuperb!
Who know not to feait on that heavenly repast, But, with the safety nature yields,
Which never can satiate, but charms to the last; Enjoy'd the pleafure of the fields,
The sweets that from peace and tranquillity flow, To crop the tender herb.
And the rest of the soul, which the poor only know;
The clear limpid breast, and the heart void of pain, There might'st thou skip, there spend a life, Which sinks at 110 lofs, and throbs for no gain. To care unknown, unknown to strife,
As I rest in the shade, or refresh at the rill, There fhun the greyhound's speed; Or Rowly afcend yon green-waving hill; But- unhappy!--in thy bloom,
As I hear the gay birds their lov’d descants repeat; Thou wert--alas! it was thy doom
And inhale rich perfume from each gale that I By schoolboy's band to bleed! Thy sportive days, alas ! were few,
I pity the splendid, the pompous, and great, Nor e'er barbarity they knew
In vengeance o'erhung with the trappings of state; Refrain from tears who can!
Too high to be happy, too proud to be bless’d, Thou ne'er knew'ft malice or deceit,
Whose days pass in folly, and nights without rest; But, ah! it was decreed by Fate,
Who never embrace the calm, tranquil hour, To find they were in man.
When pageantry yields to soft rapture it's power, Villains ingrate! whoe'er ye are,
And the soul in reflection darts through this dull View him, and shed one piteous tearg
scene, A little to redress!
Where passion and error so oft intervene. If this proposal is too much,
By falfhood and flattery let others aspire, Be forry that the deed is such;
In the climax of fortune, to rise a step higher; Ye surely can't do less!
For the shouts of the mob the patriot may toil,
The hero through foes may rush for the spoil, Now Toby, harmless Toby's dead,
Unenvied the poet his laurels may wear, See every rabbit droop it's head,
And Ambition still hug it's delofion and care:
WRITTEN BY A SCHOOLBOY.
No with in my bosom e'er fonder shall rise, When your tear, and your verse, shall hallow my
Forget all my foibles, and say, with a fighAnd fix all my warmest attachments at home. O earth! on the borom that lov'd me light lie! Heaven spreads forth it's blessings as plenteous WHICHWOOD FOREST,
ODE TO SOLITUDE,
To thee 1 itring the tuneful lyre;
Do thou thy magic influence lend,
For thee I quit the noise of itrife,
And seek the humbler scenes of life;
While rolling round her destin'd sphere,
Oh! come, Reflection, heaven-born maid,
And all thy wonted power ditplay;
Point out where I have erring stray'd,
And lead me from the devious way!
Thus, taught by thee, unerring guide,
To thun the motley sons of pride;
Whose minds have ever since their birth
Kept level with their mother Earth;
Whose souls, confin'd to Folly's shrine,
Can scarcely prove themselves divine,
Till Death obliquely throws the dart,
And wounds the victims to the heart,
Then, bursting from the tottering clay,
Each gently wings itself away,
To meet the vengeance of an angry God.
Then, while Reflection's sober power
With me shall kindly deign to dwelt,
Be mine the task, each fleeting hour
Some pleasing moral truth to tell;
And, wak'd from lite's fantastic dream,
Where mortals are not what they seem,
(But, skill'd in fraudful guile and art,
Deceive the eye, to win the heart ;)
Let me forsake the treacherous crowd,
The rich, the poor, the mean, the proud,
To taste the sweets of Solitude,
Where seldom human ills intrude,
There mark where Virtue's sons have trod, Where the charms of bright Wisdom shall win all
And look through nature up to God;
Tili, rifing far above terrestrial toys,
The raptur'd soul foresees eternal joys!
Now check the Mule's flights in vain, And learn from your converse my failings to Will, when they mount th’ætherial skies, mend;
With rapture join the grateful Arain;
Above their reach the Muses foar :
A venal tribe! for pride, and wealth,
Seek pleasure in gay Folly's round,
From the dark, dreary grave, I'come,
Conceals her borrow'd light;
To soothe your troubled mind to reft,
And banish your despair;
And calm each anxious care.
Since, kindly, Heaven on me bestows No more let grief your bosom (well! A Genius ripening to divine,
No more of fate complain! A heart that with devotion glows;
But seek my grave, nor doubt to find
A balm for ev'ry pain.
Farewel, my love! I hence am call’d,
And dare no longer stay; Contented pass my future days,
For fee! the rosy morn appears, Nor think that God's are partial ways.
And ushers in the dayIf one enjoys a larger share
Then Emma sought her William's grave, Of blessings, while he's deftin'd here, 'Tis but that he the more may grant
Which oft she'd sat beside; To those who feel the hand of want:
And, falling on the green grass turf, This known, what farther can I wish to know !
By all regretted, died. Content's our greateft happiness below.
NORWICH, JULY 23 ALBERT In these delightful fylyan shades,
Where birds their evening carols (ing; SONNET FROM PETRARCH. And rising hills, and opening glades, Display the beauties of the spring;
LONE, and pensive, thro' deserted meads, Oft may I musing steal along, And join the sweet, melodious fong;
My eyes intent to fhun each path that leads While Zephyr's gentle, winnowing gale, Where printed sands the human footsteps show, Comes wafting fragrance from the vale; The mingling sweets promiscuous rise, No other refuge left but in despair, Perfuming Æther to the skies,
To thun the world's discernment I retire; And Nature to the senses yields
Since now in Pleasure's train no part I bear, Joys equal to the Elysian fields.
My outward mien betrays my inward fire! Here, Genius! ķere thy tribute raise,
Methinks, henceforth, the mountains, groves, And tune to Heaven thy vocal lays;
and plains, Here freely range, or court the shady bower,
And rivers, know my melancholy mind; And wait serenely for the changeful hour.
But only these, to all befide untold: JULY 8.
AMINTOR, And yet, what savage track unfought remains,
However rude, but love my haunts will find;
And he and I'alternate converse hold! WILLIAM AND EMMA.
TO A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND INDEID, Adown her cheeks, with sorrow pale,
WRITTEN BY DENNIS O'BRYEN, ISQ. Where once the roses grew,
SPOKEN BY MR. PALMER. Her fparkling tears in torrents flow'd,
N times long paft, ere Fashion's powerful sway And ham'd the silver dew.
earth, ber way, Her gentle bosom heav'd a figh,
A sober knight, who would be what he chose, Expreifive of her woe;
Bought, and long wore, a pair of worfted hofe. As thus, with mournful voice, the cried
Bút stockings must, like empires, feel disease, No joy can Emma know!
And time, that alters all things, alter'd these: When William told his tender tale,
From worsted they grew filk; for, with much art, And bade me ease his pain;
His fempstress darn'd with filk each broken part; Ah! why did I his ardent love,
Till, like old boroughs, they became derang'd, And vows fincere, disdain!
And e'en their very constitution chang'd. As thus, with grief oppress’d, she spoke,
Thus chang'd our manufacture of to-night; Fond William's ghoft appear’d;
First from the loom as Farce it saw the light,
Our weaver view'd the stuff with courteous eye, And, gazing on the drooping maid, It's purpose chus declar'd
And bade it be wrought up to Comedy;
(And, when you see it's texture, may you find Pooh, pooh!(cries Citpup) this is all a lye! Threads like that weaver's fílk remain behind) Poets and painters will make free-Oh, tie! Dace on two legs it crept, then crawl'd on four, Poor souls! they love to bounce, and think they And now it limps on three, as once before.
rallyUnfix'd it's title, too, as well as frame,
Nothing but truth and honour in 'Change Alley!
Poets there are, of generous soul, who grudge Stampt her my own, and brought her upon town
I ruin'd her--and am her only friend.
Happy the high-born fair, whose ample dower.
But she, who pines in want; whose early blooms
Let jealou s fears her every Itep attend,
Not generous, but prodigal and vain;
like the statesman, when disgrac'd, A botom traitor! cruel, not humane!
Who rears, o'ercharg'd with grief, her drooping
Let love and gratitude his merits plead,
SUNG BY MR.ARROWSMITH, AT VAUXHALL.
THEN rouz'd by the trumpet's loud clan.
gor to arms,
Reluxant I quitted Eliza's bright charms; EPILOGUE.
Tho' honour commanded, yet I've fill'd my mind, WRITTEN BY GEORGE COLMAN, ESQ. Ah! how could I leave the dear charmer behind?
Yet the rage of the battle with courage I try d,
Surviv'd while the heroes fell taft on each side:
Love stood my protector in all the alarms,
Now olive-rob’d Peace kind advances again, Hogarth, on whom (sweet Humour's daļling And her bleffings dispenses wide over the plain; child!)
Return'd co Eliza, we join in the throng,
Where is heard the lott pipe, or the heart-lifting
Each rural amusement with rapture we try,
Love stood my protector in all the alarms,
The laurel of conqueft I give to the wind; ! Then cafts her like a loathsome weed away. ?Tis nought, withvut love and honour combin'd.
COMPOSED BY MR. ARNE.
SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY.
SET TO MUSIC BY DR. ARNOLD,
But when thus united, how noble the name! 'Tis more than the blüh of the rofe in the What envy must wait on so happy a fame!
morning, Love stood my protector in all the alarms,
The white of the lily is not so adorning, When the filver-ton'd trumpet ihrill founded to All'accident proof, and all scrutiny scorning; arms !
"Tis eafe to the witty, and wit to the weak.
'Tis surely the girdle that Venus was bound with, THE AMAZON.
The graces,her handmaids, all proud, put it on;
'Tis surely the radiance Aurora is crown'd with, WRITTEN BY MR. OAKMAN.
Who, smiling, arises, and waits for the sun. COMPOSED BY MR. ARNE.
Oh! wear it, ye lafres, on every occasion; SONG BY MRS. KENNEDY, ÁT VAUXHALL.
'Tis the noblest reproof, 'tis the strongest per
suafion; THAT means this loud tumult, this con
'Twill keep, nay, 'twilt almost retrieve repustant alarm?
tation! fis the foe to the Amazons! arm, virgins, arm! And last, and look lovely, when beauty is gone. With the helmet of Virtue distinguish your brow, And the foes to our peace we shall quickly lay low. Vice and Folly their flags now display to full view,
THE BRITISH TAR. To conquer by prudence belongs now to you: WRITTEN BY MILES PETER ANDREWS, ESR lp the fair field of Fame, then, exert ev'ry charm, And let the loud trumpets found-Arm, virgins, arm!
SUNG BY MR.ARROWSMITH, AT VAUXHALL:
ONS of Ocean, fam'd in story, Rear the standard of Honour, the flag of our race,
Wont to wear the laureil'd brow; With the trophies we've won without blame or
Listen to your rising glory, disgrace ;
Growing honours wait you now; When proudly those lords of the world would
Think not servile adulation controul That charm of distinction, a woman's free soul;
Meanly marks my grateful fong, When we drove them inglorious away from the
All the praises of the nation
Given to you, to you belong; field,
And rival kingdoms send from far And by Prudence and Virtue compelld them to
Their plaudits to the British Tar. yield: Then rouze to the battle, exert ev'ry charm, 'Tis not now your valiant daringa While the trumpet, loud founding, cries--Arm, Courage you've for ages shewn; females, arm!
'Tis not now your mild forbearingan
Pity ever was your own; Thus the Amazons once, as by poets we're told,
'Tis your prince, fo lov'd, so plealing, In defence of their honour and conduct, were bold; Defied each vain coxcomb of powder and prate,
Spreads your fame thro' diftant lands,
And, the trident nobly seizing,
Grasps it in his youthful hands;
See your royal shipmate go,
Brave the fury of the foe:
Greet him with a failor's arts;
Cheer his presence with your voices,
Pay his service with your hearts;
And be, henceforth, your leading star,
HE virtuous Chamberlain maintains, A noftrum to cull from the toilet of reason,
When books or prints obscene he sees, "Tis easy, 'tis cheap, and 'tis ever in season, No blood lascivious fills his veins;
When art has in vain her cofineties applied. Good man! his fang froid's quite at ease. Good-nature, believe me,'s the smootheft of var- Nor can the most indecent prints nish,
Kindle with him such ardent blushes, Which ever bedimples the beautiful cheek; As when, in Heaven's own Book, he squints No time nor no tint can it's excellence tarnish, Atlittle Mojes in tbe rulles. It holds good fo lung, and it lies on so fleek.