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Ne forte pudori Sit tibi mufa lyra folers, et cantor Apollo.

By Mr. TICKEL L.

TH

HE Opera first Italian masters taught,

Enrich'd with songs, but innocent of thought.
Britannia's learned theatre disdains
Melodious trifles, and enervate strains ;
And blushes on her injur'd stage to see
Nonsense well-tun'd, and sweet stupidity.

No charms are wanting to thy artful song,
Soft as Corelli, but as Virgil ftrong.
From words so sweet new grace the notes receive,
And mufic borrows helps, the us'd to give.

Thy

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Thy ftyle hath match'd what ancient Romans knew,
Thy flowing numbers far excel the new;
Their cadence in such easy found convey'd,
That height of thought may seem superfluous aid ;
Yet in such charms the noble thoughts abound,
That needless seem the sweets of easy found.

Landskips how gay the bow'ry grotto yields,
Which thought creates, and lavish fancy builds !
What art can trace the visionary scenes,
The Aow'ry groves, and everlasting greens,
The babling sounds that mimic echo plays,
The fairy fhade, and its eternal maze,
Nature and art in all their charms combin'd,
And all Elysium to one view confin'd!
No farther could imagination roam,
'Till Vanbrugh fram’d, and Marlbro' rais'd the dome.

Ten thousand pangs my anxious bosom tear,
When drown'd in tears I see th’imploring fair :
When bards less soft the moving words supply,
A seeming justice dooms the nymph to die:
But here the begs, nor can the beg in vain,
(In dirges thus expiring fwans complain)
Each verse so swells, expreffive of her woes,
And ev'ry tear in lines so mournful flows;
We, spite of fame, her fate revers'd believe,
O'erlook her crimes, and think the ought to live.

Le

Let joy transport fair Rofamonda's shade, And wreaths of myrtle crown the lovely maid. While now perhaps with Dido's ghost the roves, And hears and tells the story of their loves, Alike they mourn, alike they bless their fate, Since love, which made 'em wretched, makes 'em great, Nor longer that relentless doom bemoan, Which gain’d a Virgil, and an Addison.

Accept, great monarch of the British lays, The tribute song an humble subject pays. So tries the artless lark her early flight, And soars, to hail the God of verse and light. Unrival'd as thy merit be thy fame, And thy own laurels Made thy envy'd name: Thy name, the boast of all the cuneful choir, Shall tremble on the strings of ev'ry lyre ; While the charm'd reader with thy thought complies ; Feels corresponding joys or sorrows rise, And views thy Rofamond with Henry's eyes.

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Dramatis Personæ.

M E N.

King Henry.
Sir Trusty, keeper of the bower.
Page.
Messenger.

W O MEN.

. 1

Queen Eleanor.
Rofamond.
Grideline, wife to Sir Trusty.

Guardian Angels, &c.
SCENE Woodstock-Park.

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A Prospea of Woodstock-Park, terminating

in the Bower.

Enter QUEEN and Page.

WH

QUE E N.
HAT place is here !

What scenes appear !
Where-e'er I turn my eyes
All around
Enchanted ground

And soft Elyfiums rise:
Flow'ry mountains,
Moffy fountains,

Shady woods,
Crystal floods,

With wild variety surprises.

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