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The wound it seem'd both sore and sad
To ev'ry christian eye ;

And while they swore the dog was mad,

They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,

That sbow'd the rogues they ly'd;

INSERTED IN THE MORNING CHRONICLE OF The man recover'd of the bite,

APRIL 3, 1800. The dog it was that dy'd.

E'en have you seen, bath'd in the morning dew,

The budding rose its infant bloom display: THE CLOWN'S REPLY. .

When first its virgin tints unfold to view,

It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day. John Trott was desir'd by two witty peers,

| So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came, (cheek; To tell them the reason why asses had ears?

Youth's damask glow just dawning on her “An't please you,” quoth John, “ I'm not given

given | I gaz'd, I sigh’d, I caught the tender flame, to letters, Nor dare ! pretend to know more than my betters;

Felt the fond pang, and droop'd with passion Howe'er, from this time, I shall ne'er see your

weak. graces, As I hope to be sav'd! without thinking on asses.”

Edinburgh, 1753,

I send you a small production of the late Dr.

Goldsmith, which has never been published, and

which might perhaps have been totally lost, had

I pot secured it. He intended it as a song in FROM THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.

the character of Miss Hardcastle, in bis admira

ble comedy of She Stoops to Conquer, but When lovely woman stoops to folly,

it was left out, as Mrs. Balkley, who played the And finds too late that men betray,

part, did not sing. He sung it himself, in priWhat charm can sooth her melancholy,

vate companies, very agreeably. The tune is a What art can wash her guilt away?

pretty Irish air, called, The Humours of Ba. The only art her guilt to cover,

jamagairy, to which he told me be found it To hide her shame from ev'ry eye,

very difficult to adapt words : but he has sucTo give repentance to her lover,

ceeded very happily in these few lines. As I And wring his bosom-is, to die.

could sing the tune, and was fond of them, he was so good as to give me them, about a year ago, just as I was leaving London, and bidding

him adieu for that season, little apprehending DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S

that it was a last farewell. I preserve this little BED-CHAMBER.

relic, in bis own hand-writing, with an affectioWhere the Red Liou, staring o'er the way,

pate care, lam, gentlemen, Invites each passing stranger that can pay ;

your humble servant,

JAMES BOSWELL. Where Calvert's butt, and Parsons' black cham

paign, Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane;

SONG, There in a lonely rooin, fron bailiffs snug, The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF rug;

A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray,

An me! when shall I marry me?
That dimly show'd the state in which he lay;
The sanded foor that grits beneath the tread;

Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me.
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread;

He, fond youth, that could carry me, The royal game of goose was there in view,

Offers to love, but means to deceive me, And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew; But I will rally and combat the ruiner: The seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place, Not a look, not a smile, shall my passion discover; And brave prince William show'd his lamp-black She that gives all to the false one pursuing her, - face:

Makes but a penitent and loses a lover. The morn was cold, he views with keen desire The rusty grate unconscious of a fire: With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd, STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF And five crack'd tea-cups dress'd the chimney

QUEBEC. i board; A night-cap deck'd his brows instead of bay,

Amidst the clamour of exulting joys,
A cap by night--a stocking all the day!

Which triumph forces from the patriot heart,
Grief dares to miogle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasures


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Oh, Wolfe, to thee a streaming flood of woe But now her wealth and fio'ry fled,

Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear; Her hangers-on cut short all;
Quebec in vain sball teach our breasts to glow, The doctors found, when she was dead
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
Alive the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,

For Kent-street well may say,
And saw thee fall with joy -pronouncing eyes: That, had she liv'd a twelvemonth more-
Yet they shall know thou conquerest, tho’ dead! | She had not dy'd to day.

Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.

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A SONNET. EPITAPH ON DR. PARNELL. I WEEPING, murmuring, complaining, This tomb, inscrit'd to gentle Parnell's name,

- Lost to ev'ry gay delight;

Myra, too sincere for feigning,
May speak our gratitude, but not bis fame.
What i.cart but feels his sweetly-moral lay,

Fears th' approaching bridal night. That leads to truth through pleasure's dow'ry | Yet why impair thy bright perfection, way!

Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Celestial themes confess'd his tuneful ajd; Had Myra follow'd my direction,
And Heav'n, that lent him genius, was repaid. She long bad wanted cause of fear.
Needless to him the tribute we bestow,
The transit ry breath of fame below:
More lasting rapture from bis words shall rise,

While converts think their poet in the skies.


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SONG. EPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDON 1. | The wretch, condemn'd with life to part, flere lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed,

Still, still on hope relies; Who long was a bookseller's hack ;

And ev'ry pang that rends the heart, He led such a damnable life in this world

Bids expectation rise, I don't think he'll wish to come back.

Hope, like the glimun’ring taper's light,

Adorns and cheers the way,

And still, as darker grows the night.

Emits a brighter ray.
ON THE GLORY OF her sex,

Good people all, with one accord,
Lament for Madam Blaize,

O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,
Who never wanted a good word-

Still importunate and vain, From those who spoke her praise.

To former joys recurring ever,

And turning all the past to paio ;
The needy seldom pass'd ber door,
And always found her kind;

Thou, like the world, th’ opprest oppressing,
She freely lent to all the poor

Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe! Who left a pledge bebind.

And he who wants each other blessing,

In thee must ever find a foe. She strove the neighbourhood to please,

With manners wond'rous winning, And never follow'd wicked ways. Unless when she was sinning.

A PROLOGUE, At church, in silks and satins new,

With hoop of nionstrous size;

She never slumber'd in her pew-
But when she shut her eyes.


Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;

When she has walk'd before.

WRAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage,

And save from infamy my sinking age! 1 This gentleman was educated at Trinity Col- Scarce half alive, oppress'd w lege, Dublin : but having wasted his patrimony, | What in the name of aulas be enlisted as a foot soldier. Growing tired of that employment, be obtained his discharge, 1 1 This translation was “ and became a scribbler in the newspapers. He lour author's earliest words translated Voltaire's Henriade.

of Learning in Europe, 12mo. 1759.

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half alive, oppress'd with many a year,

name of dotage drives me here?

ation was first printed in one of

ks, The present State

A time there was, when glory was my guide, My pride forbids it ever should be said,
Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside; My heels eclips'd the honours of my head;
Unaw'd by pow'r, and unappall’d by fear, That I found humour in a pyeball vest,
With honest thrift I held my honour dear; Or ever thought that jumping was a jest,
But this vile hour disperses all my store,

[Takes off his mask, And all my hoard of honour is no more ;

Whence and what art thou, visionary birth? For, ah! too partial to my life's decline, Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth : Cæsar persuades, submission must be mine; In thy black aspect every passion sleeps, Him I obey, whom Heav'n himself obeys,

The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps. Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclin'd to please. How hast thou fill'd the scene with all thy brood, Here then at once I welcome ev'ry shame, Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursu'd!" And cancel at threescore a life of fame;

Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses,
No more my titles shall my children tell, Whose only plot it is to break our noses ;
The old buffoon will fit my name as well; . Whilst from below the trap-door demons rise,
This day beyond its term my fate extends, | And from above the dangling deities.
For life is ended when our bonour ends.

And shall [ mix in this unhallow'd crew ?
May rosin'd lightning blast me, if I do?

No will act-I'll vindicate the stage: PROLOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF Shakespeare himself shall feel my tragic rage. ZOBEIDE.

Off! off! vile trappings! a new passion reigns !

The mad'ning monarch revels in my veins. In these bold times, when learning's sons ex

Ob ! for a Richard's voice to catch the theme : plore

“Give me another horse! biod up my wounds! The distant climates, and the savage shore;

soft-'twas but a dream." (treating ; When wise astronomers to India steer,

Aye, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no reAnd quit for Venus many a brighter here; | If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating. While botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling, 'Twas thus that sop's stag, a creature blameless, Forsake the fair, and patiently-go simpling; Yet something vain, like one that shall be name Our bard into the general spirit enters,

Once on the margin of a fountain stood, [less, And fits his little frigate for adventures.

And cavill'd at his image in the flood. With Scythian stores and trinkets deeply laden, " The deuce confound,” he cries, “these drumHe this way steers his course, in hopes of trad

stick shanks, ing

They neither have my gratitude nor thanks ; Yet ere he lands has order'd me before,

They're perfectly disgraceful ! strike me dead ! To make an observation on the shore.

But for a head-yes, yes, I have a head. Where are we driven our reck’ning sure is lost !

How piercing is that eye! how sleek that brow! This seems a rocky and a dang'rous coast.

My horns ! -I'm told horns are the fashion now." Lord! what a sultry climate am I under!

Whilst thus he spoke, astonish'd ! to his view, Yon ill-foreboding cloud seems big with thunder : | Near, and more near, the hounds and huntsmen (Upper gallery.

(hind. There mangroves spread, and larger than I've Hoicks ! hark forward! came thund'ring from bea seen 'em

[Pit. He bounds aloft, outstrips the filecting wind : Here trees of stately sizeand billing turtles in He quits the woods, and tries the beaten ways; 'em

[Balconies. He starts, he pants, he takes the circling maze. Here ill-condition'd oranges abound- [Stage. At length bis silly bead, so priz'd before, And apples, bitter apples, strew the ground:

Is taught his former folly to deplore; [Tasting them.

Whilst his strong limbs conspire io set him free,

Whilst his strong limbs conspire Th' inhabitants are cannibals I fear.

And at one bound he saves himself, like me. I heard a hissing-there are serpents here!

[Taking a jump through the stage door, O, there the people are-best keep my distance: Our captajn (gentle natives) craves assistance; Our ship's well stor'd-in yonder creek we've laid her,

LPILOGUE His honour is no mercenary trader.

TO THE COMEDY OF THE SISTERS. This is his first adventure ; lend him aid,

| What! five long acts and all to make us wiser! And we may chance to drive a thriving trade.

Our authoress, sare, has wanted an adviser. His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought

Had she consulted me, she should have made from far, Equally fit for gallantry and war.

Her moral play a speaking masquerade;

Warm'd up each bustling scene, and in her rage What, no reply to promises so ample? I'd best step back-and order up a sample.

Have emptied all the green-room on the stage. My life on't, this had kept her play from sinking;

[thinking. EPILOGUE,

Have pleas'd our eyes, and sav'd the pain of

Well, since she thus has shown her want of skill, SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES,

What if I give a masquerade?-1 will. IS THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN, AT HIS BENEFIT. But how ? aye, there's the rub! (pausing]—I've Hold! prompter, hold! a word before your non

got my cue:

The world's a masquerade ! the masquers, you, sense ;

you, you. [To Eoxes, Pit, and Gallery. I'd speak a word or two to ease my conscience.

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Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses ! | Besides, a singer in a comic set ! False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false Excuse me, ma'am; I know the etiquette. spouses!

Statesmen with bridles on; and, close beside 'em, What if we leave it to the house?
Patriots, in party-colour'd suits, that ride 'em.

There Hebes, turn'd of fifty, try once more The house !--Agreed.
To raise a flame in Cupids of threescore.

These in their turn, with appetites as keen, Agreed.
Deserting fifty, fasten on fifteen.

Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon, And she, whose party's largest, shall proceed.
Flings down her sampler, and takes up the wo And first, I hope, you'll readily agree

I've all the critics and the wits for me. The little urchin smiles, and spreads her lure, They, lam sure, will answer my commands; And tries to kill, ere she's got pow'r to cure. Ye candid judging few, hold up your hands : Thus 'tis with all their chief and constant care What, no return? I find too late, I fear, Is to seem ev'ry thing but what they are.

That modem judges seldom enter here, Yon broad, bold, angry spark, I fix my eye on,

MISS CATLEY. Who seems t' have robb'd his vizor from the lion ; I'm for a diff'rent set-Old men, whose trade is Who frowns, and talks, and swears, with round Still to gallant and dangle with the ladies. parade,

RECITATIVE. Looking, as who should say, damme! who's Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smilafraid? (Mimicking:

ing, Strip but this vizor off, and sure I am

Still thus address the fair, with voice beguiling: You'll find his onship a very lamb. 1

AIR--COTILLON. Yon politician, famous indebate,

Turn my fairest, turn, if ever Perhaps to vulgar eyes bestrides the state;

Strephon caught thy ravish'd eye: Yet when he deigns his real shape t'assume,

Pity take on your swain so clever, He turns old woman, and bestrides a broom.

Who without your aid must die. Yon patriot, too, who presses on your sight,

Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu, And seems to ev'ry gazer all in white,

Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho. If with a bribe his candour you attack,

Da capo. He bows, turns round, and whip-the man's in

MRS. BULKLEY. black !

Let all the old pay homage to your merit: Yon critic, too—but whither do I run ?

Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit. If I proceed, our bard will be undone!

Ye travell’d tribe, ye macaroni train,
Well, then, a truce, since she requests it too: Of French friseurs, and nosegays, justly vaio;
Do you spare her, and I'll for ouce spare you. Who take a trip to Paris once a year,

To dress, and look like aukward Frenchmen bere;
Lend me your hands.- O fatal news to tell,

Their hands are only lent to the Heinelle !


| Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed! SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY AND MISS CATLEY.

Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the Enter Mrs. Bulkley, who curtsies very low as be

Tweed. ginning to speak. Then enter Miss Catley, Where are the cheels ? Ah, ah, I well discern who stands full before her, and curtsies to the The smiling looks of each bewitching bairne: audience.

A bonny young lad is my Jockey.


I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day, Houd, ma'am, your pardon. What's your bu. And be unco merry when you are but gay; siness here?

When you with your bagpipes are ready to play, MISS CATLEY.

My voice shall be ready to carol away, The epilogue.

With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey, MRS. BULKLEY.

With Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey. The epilogue ?


Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit,
Yes, the epilogue, my dear.

Make but of all your fortune one va toute :

Ye jockey tribe, whose stock of words are few, Sure you mistake, ma'am. The epilogue I bring “I hold ihe odds-- Done, done, with you, with it.

Ye barristers, so fluent with grimace, [you." MISS CATLEY.

“My lord-your lordship misconceives the case:” Excuse me, ma'am. The author bid me sing it. Doctors, who answer every misfortuner, RECITATIVE

“I wish I'd been call'd in a little sooner :" Ye beaux and belles, that form this spleudid ring, Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty, Suspend your conversation while I sing. Come end the contest here, and aid my party. MRS. BULKLEY.

AIR-BALEINAMONY. Why sure the girl's beside herself: an epilogue

MISS CATLEY. of singing,

Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack, A hopeful end indeed to such a blest beginning. Assist me, I pray, in this woful attack,

For sure I don't wrong you, you seldom are slack, 1 Yes, he's far gone :-and yet some pity fix,
When the ladies are calling, to blush, and hang | The English laws forbid to punish lunatics '.

For you're always polite and attentive,
Still to amuse us inventive,
And death is your only preventive:

Your hands and your voices for me.

SA CRED TO THE MEMORY OF HER LATE Well, madam, what if, after all this sparring,

ROYAL HIGHNESS THE We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring? | PRINCESS DOWAGER OF WALES. MISS CATLEY.

And that our friendship may remain unbroken,
What if we leave the epilogue unspoken?


Thursday the 20th of February 1772.



The following may more properly he termed a And now, with late repentance,

compilation than a poem. It was prepared Un-epilogued the poet waits his sentence : for the composer in little more than two days; Condeinn the stubborn fool who can't submit

and may therefore rather be considered as an To thrive by fatt'ry, though he starves by wit.

industrious effort of gratitude than of genius. [Exeunt. In justice to the composer it may likewise be

right to inform the public, that the music was

adapted in a period of time equally short.

There is a place, so Ariosto sings,
A treasury for lost and missing things :

Mr. Lee and Mrs. Bellamy.
Lost human wits have places there assign'd them,

SINGERS. And they, who lose their senses, there may find | Mr. Champnes, Mr. Dine, and Miss Jameson. them.

The music prepared and adapted by Signor But where's this place, this storehouse of the age ?

The Moon, says he :--but I affirm, the Stage :
At least in many things, I think, I see
His lunar and our mimic world agree.

Both shine at night, for, but at Foote's alone,
We scarce exhibit till the Sun goes down.

Both prone to change, no settled limits fix,
And sure the folks of both are lunatics.

But in this parallel my best pretence is,

Arise, ye sons of worth, arise,
That mortals visit both to find their senses. And waken every note of woe !
To this strange spot, rakes, macaronies, cits, When truth and virtue reach the skies,
Come thronging to collect their scatter'd wits.

'Tis ours to weep the want below.
Tbe gay coquet, who ogles all the day,
Comes here at night, and gues a prude away.

Hither the affected city dame advancing,

When truth and virtue, &c.
Who sigbs for operas, and doats on dancing,
Taught by our art her ridicule to pause on,

Quits the ballet, and calls for Nancy Dawson.

The praise attending pomp and power, The gamester too, whose wit's all high or low,

| The incense given to kings, Oft risques his fortune on one desperate throw,

| Are but the trappings of an hour, Comes here to saunter, having made bis bets,

Mere transitory things. Finds his lost senses out, and pays his debts.

The base bestow them : but the good agree The Mohawk too-with angry phrases stor'd,

To spurn the venal gifts as flattery.-As 'Dam'me, sir,” and,“ sir, I wear a sword;"

But when to pomp and power are join'd Here lesson'd for a while, and hence retreating,

An equal dignity of mind :
Goes out, affronts his man, and takes a beating.

When titles are the smallest claim:
Here come the sons of scandal and of news, When wealth, and rank, and noble blood,
But find no sense-for they had none to lose.

But aid the power of doing good,
Of all the tribe here wanting an adviser,

Then all their trophies last--and Aattery turns Our author's the least likely to grow wiser;

to fame. • Has he not seen how you your favour place

On sentimental queens and lords in lace?
Without a star, or coronet, or garter,

This epilogue was given in MS. by Dr. Gold How can the piece expect or hope for quarter ? smith to Dr. Percy (now Bishop of Dromore); No high-life scenes, no sentiment :-the creature but for what comedy it was intended is not reStill stoops among the low to copy nature. membered.

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