The following address to the Public was spoken by Mrs. Barry the first time she appeared on the Stage after the death of her Husband, and before the Tragedy of Douglas.

Written by Mr. GARRICK.

ITH every hope a veffel fails away,

WITH

Soft fwells the breeze, and cloudiefs breaks the day; Till ring winds the raging deep deform,

And the bark fhatter'd finks beneath the ftorm!
Such is my fate---fair gales my canvafs fpread,
Till the charg'd tempeft burft upon my head;
Of the lov'd pilot of my life bereft,
Save your protection, not a hope is left:
Without that peace your kindness can impart,
Nothing can calm this forrow-beaten heart.

When bounty on the feeling mind first flow'd,
Then fprung the bofom's faireft flower, and blow'd;
Angels with rapture the bleft produce view'd,

For from Benevolence rofe Gratitude.

Urg'd by my duty I have ventur'd here--

But how for Douglas can I shed a tear ?
When real griefs the burden'd bofom prefs,
Can it raife fighs feign'd forrows to exprefs?

In

In vain will Art from Nature help implore,
When Nature for herself exhausts her ftore.

The tree cut down to whieh fhe clung and grew, Behold the proplefs Woodbine bends to you; Your foft'ring pow'r will spread protection round, And, though she droops, may raise her from the ground.

The following Poem was taken from an old Manufcript dated 1649.

On feeing a large number of Crows flying about the highest part of the great Tower of York Minster.

WHA

array,

HAT fwarms of Crows, in black
Around yon' tower's high fummit play,

In various antick maze!

Whilft Lord-like one, perch'd on the cock,
The croaking, bufy, vulgar flock

With dignity furveys !

'Tis tranfmigration all ;---for thofe
High-flying, croaking, chaunting crows,
Were black-gowns once I trow;
And he that on the throne feems plac'd,
With diocefan honours grac'd,

Govern'd the fwarms below.

Their human paffions they retain,
Greedy, carnivorous, and vain,
Still rooking from each other;
For tho' as black-gowns they combin'd
To fleece and rook from all mankind,
They rook'd each from his brother:

From Priest Precentor ;---whilft the Dean
From the Precentor rook'd again;

Nor Dean we fafe might call;
For, as Lord Paramount, his Grace,
Premier Cock-Rooker of the place,
Might fafely rook from all!

York.

Poco,

H'

TO A ST S.

To Mrs. LA C Y.

ERE, Vulcan! hufband to the Queen of Love,

Now on the goblets thou haft made improve; Make one fuperior to old Neftor's bowl,

That we may drink her health from pole to pole;

For

For one, confefs'd the faireft of the fair,
Demands our love, our praises, and our care.
Describe, old Vulcan, on the fwelling fide,
Fam'd Zeuxis painting high Crotona's * pride;
The artifts pencil, and the virgin throng,
And Bacchants reeling to the tipfy fong.

But let one beauty by herself be feen,
As Dian fober, modeft, and ferene;
And let her be more beauteous than the three
Whom Paris view'd at Ida's Coterie; †
Fairer than her, whofe moft bewitching charms
Burnt Troy to ashes, and rais'd Greece to arms,
The court of Jove fuch beauties cannot boaft;
Such Helen was, and fuch the dame we toast!

*Five Virgins of Crotona fat to Zeuxis for his Helen.

E. T.

The judgment of Paris, when Venus, Juno, and Minerva, contended in beauty on the top of Mount Ida.

The CENSURE of the WORLD.

An ELEGY.

ES! fure 'tis here that pride, that folly reigns:

YES

I'll bid the low, cenforious world farewel,

And bend my courfe to yonder verdant plains,

Where peace, where innocence, where candour dwell.

Ye

Ye heav'n-born three! your vot'ry there shall raise

A green-turf altar to each honour'd name; In artless strains there celebrate your praise,

And lofe, perchance, th' applause he cannot claim.

Ye chearful songsters that awake the morn,

And footh

my

foul with wild mellifluous airs;

Ye aged oaks, that yonder hills adorn,

Beneath your

fhades will I forget my cares.

Far hence fhall mafqu'd hypocrify remove,

The blush of confcious guilt be never known; Nor fuperftition dare pollute the grove,

But virtue come a refident alone.

Let luxury defpife my homely lot,

And vanity contemplate gilded dooms;

Content transforms to palaces a cot,

And virtue brings true greatness where she comes.

Thus Damon fung, when Lycidas past by.

"Are thefe thy ftrains, my much-lov'd friend?" he cried. "What scenes hath fancy pictur'd to thine eye? "To fairy dreams-Elyfian groves allied!

"True-fmall regard is paid to worth fublime,
"And modest merit walks unheeded by:
"But fhall we live in this unfriendly clime,
"And wonder at a cold and low'ring sky?

"Yet