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Sceff. Aye, and to punish the prigmatical poets, for in that kind of work you will have no occasion for them.-There you know our trade takes the lead.

Foote. Well, well, we'll feel a little for the taste of the town; and, if no other method can be found of paying your bill;--for we, Mr. Scaffold, may assume what airs of reforming we please, the stage is at best but an echo of the public voice; a mere rainbow; all its gaudy colours arise from reflection : or, as a modern bard more happily says,

“ The drama's laws, the drama's patrons give;
« For we that live to please, must please to live.”
Scaff. Why then, after all, I find I am in a hobble.
Foote. May be not; come, hope for the best. Prompter?
Prompt. Sir.
Foote. Are the actors ready to open ?
Prompt. Immediately.
Foote. Stay, and see the result of this evening :
Consult with care each countenance around,
Not one malignant aspect can be found,
To check the royal hand that rais'd me from the ground.



* Struck the main-top, o' Posthumus ! alas !" This is the only line, of twenty, occurring in the play, where the accent rests on the first syllable of Posthumus; in all the others, it is decidedly (or by probable inference in the few imperfect lines) Posthūmus. Mr. Steevens, in his Remarks upon Pericles, prince of Tyre, has made a strange mistake in asserting that “ this name, in Cymbeline, is always Pósthūmus, and not Posthumus. But the false acceptation, so prevalent in this play, is not without authority.In Warner's Albion's England, the same objection occurs more than once both in Posthumus and Arviragus.

“ Posthūmus Sylvius did succeed; Lavinia was his mother. And Saturne him; from mother thus, Posthûmus lacked not. Duke Arvirāgus, using then, the armour of the king. · And through his gentle victorie bound Arviragus still,

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Giunto Alessandro alla famosa Tomba

Del fiero Achille, sospirando desse

O fortunato, che si chiara Tromba,
Trovasti, & che di te si alto scrisse"!

Ma questa pura, e candida Colomba
A cui non so si l Mondo mui par visse,
Nel mio stil fial'assai poco

Cosi son le sue soste a ciascon fisse~-


Che d'Omero dignissima & d'Orfeo
O del Pastor che ancor Mantova onora

Che andassen sempre lei solu cantando,
Stella deforme e Fato sol qui' reo
Commisse a tal che 'l suo bel pome onora,

Au forse sceme sue lode paclando.*


The son of Philip, when he saw the Tomb

Of fierce ACHILLES, with a sigh thus said ;
O happy, whose Atchievements erst found room

• From that illustrious Trumpet to be spread
• O'er Death for ever !--But beyond the gloom

Of deep oblivion shall that loveliest Maid
Whose like to view seems not of earthly doom

By my imperfect Accents be convey'd ?


Her, of the Homeric, the Orfeàn Lyre
Most worthy, or that shepherd, Mantua's Pride,

To be the theme of their immortal Lays,
Her Stars and unpropitious Fate denied
This Palm : and me bade to such height aspire
Who, haply, dim her Glories by my Praise.
6 Aug. 1803.

C. L. * The structure of this sonnet, which is imitated in the translation, is rare and pe€uliar. It is a proof of the regularity with variety, by which the Italian sonnet, is to different forms, is characterized. C. L.



TO MARY." “ The twentieth year is well nigh past,

&c. &c. &c. The ninth long month is well nigh past, Since first thy threats on us were cast; Ah! would that thou would'st come at last,

My Bony ! Thou fear'st to strike the threaten'd blow; We see thy hopes still fainter glow : 'Tis Britain that shall bring thee low,

My Bony ! Thy armies, once a shining host, Who England's conquest hoped to boast, Now skulk, disus'd, along thy coast,

My Bony! For tho’ foul envy prompt thee still, Thy haughty purpose to fulfil; Thy pow'r now seconds not thy will,

My Bony !
Yet well thou playd'st the treach'rous part;
But all thy threats and wily art
Serve but t’unite each British heart,

My Bony !
From place to place, thy journies seem
Like idle wand'rings of a dream;
Yet still Invasion is thy theme,

My Bony !
Thy low’ring looks, which France affright,
And hateful in each Nation's sight,
Now scowl on England, dark as night,

My Bony ! But should'st thou dare to cross the sea, Th' attempt would thy destruction be : The sun would rise no more on thee,

My Bony ! Suff'ring beneath thy yoke malign, Thy grov’ling slaves their wills resign, And, grossly prest, dare not repine,

My Bony !


Such wickedness of soul thou prov'st,
That now, at ev'ry step thou mov'st,
A curse attends, for none thou lov'st,

My Bony !
Still to pursue ambition's course,
Trample the rights of man by force,
Will but draw down a heavier curse,

My Bony !
But, by experience, well we know,
The firm brave spirit Britons show
Transforms thy hope to deepest woe,

My Bony !
Should'st thou persist, (the trial past)
With anguish and despair o'ercast,
Thy stubborn heart will break at last,

My Bony !

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Author of Peasant's Fate,” « Scenes of Youth,80.

DEAR native land, of liberty divine !
Who prays not for prosperity of thine
In times like these, when storms on storms arise,
And call forth thy united energies?
When patriots sigh, from principle, with me,
And heroes burn, to set fall’n Europe free,
From Gallic slavery-while thou stand'st at bay,
Like Carthage, dreadful mid the flaming fray!
For thee a thousand prayers the heav'ns assail;
And shall not British arms and pray’rs prevail ?
Yes! if the Pow'r in whom the righteous trust
The God who fights the battles of the just
Shall interpose, thou still shalt reign sublime,
Queen of the lands, and boast of latest time!

Whilst swiftly o'er the dark autumnal sky

The billowy clouds in quick succession roll,
And from the trees the leaves unnumber'd fly,

Torn by the blast, which, roaring, shakes the pole,
The semblance just of human life appears;

For like the leaves assail'd by stormy blasts,
To brave distress, the wreched suff'rer fears,

upon death a thought, full anxious, casts :
Still! tho' redoubled arrows sorrow flings,

And shaft on shaft successively returns ;
To life--tho wretched, eagerly he clings,

And from the verge in doubtful horror turns ;
Till, struggling to avert the threaten'd blow,
Death ends his pangs, and lays the suffrer low.

E- -e,


DRURY-LANE. Dec. 15.-Mr. Wroughton, for the first time, performed Shylock; his conception of the part is extremely just, and he displayed, in the scene with Tubal, and in the trial scene, all that earnestness, force, and originality of expressio which have so deservedly ranked him among the most sterling actors of the age.

29.--George Barnwell.-Mr. H. Johnston presented an animated and interesting portrait of this unhappy victim to meretricious seduction.

JAN. 2.---Mrs. Jordan, the darling of Thalia and of the public, made her appearance for the season in her favourite part of the Country Girl; and was received with that enthusiastic applause which always accompanies her return to the boards.

3.---CINDERELLA; or, the Little Glass Slipper.---A new grand Allegorical pantomimic spectacle, under this title, which was produced on this evening, has been performed upwards of twenty nights to houses crowded to the very ceiling; and its attraction will probably rival that of the mighty Abomelique.We do not think that the English stage ever exhibited (certainly not within our memory) a more captivating entertainment of its kind. One of the stories of the nursery, [it will be needless to relate it,] which has amused the infancy, probably, of the whole present generation, and the impression of which on the mind, is scarcely ever eradicated by maturer years, is here recommended to the eye and the car with all the fascinations of dramatic spectacle, embellished with true

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