Oh how fine our evening walk!
Charming fine our evening walk!
When the nighting-gale delighting
With her song, suspends our talk-
With her, &c.
Oh how sweet at night to dream!
Charming sweet at night to dream!
On mossy pillows, by the trilloes
Of a gentle purling stream-
Of a, &c.
Oh how kind the country lass!
Charming kind the country lass!
Who, her cow bilking, leaves her milking
For a green gown upon the grass-
For a, &c.
Oh how sweet it is to spy!
Charming sweet it is to spy!
At the conclusion her confusion,
Blushing cheeks and down-cast eye—
Blushing, &c.
Oh the cooling curds and cream!
Charming cooling curds and cream!
When all is over, she gives her lover,
Who on her skimming dish carves her name— Who on, &c.
PROLOGUE TO THE TENDER HUSBAND."
In the first rise and infancy of Farce,
When fools were many, and when plays were scarce,
The raw unpractis'd authors could, with ease,
A young and unexperienc'd audience please:
No single character had e'er been shown,
But the whole herd of fops was all their own;
Rich in originals, they set to view,
In every piece a coxcomb that was new.
But now our British theatre can boast
Drolls of all kinds, a vast unthinking host!
Fruitful of folly and of vice, it shows
Cuckolds, and cits, and bawds, and pimps, and beaux;
Rough country knights are found of every shire
Of every fashion gentle fops appear;
And punks of different characters we meet,
As frequent on the stage as in the pit.
Our modern wits are forc'd to pick and cull,
And here and there by chance glean up a fool:
Long ere they find the necessary spark,
They search the town and beat about the Park:
To all his most frequented haunts resort,
Oft dog him to the ring, and oft to court;
As love of pleasure, or of place invites.
And sometimes catch him taking snuff at White's.
Howe'er, to do you right, the present age
Breeds very hopeful monsters for the stage;
A comedy written by Sir Richard Steele.
VOL. 1.-10
That scorn the paths their dull forefathers trod,
And wo'n't be blockheads in the common road.
Do but survey this crowded house to-night :-
Here's still encouragement for those that write.
Our author, to divert his friends to-day,
Stocks with variety of fools his play;
And that there may be something gay and new,
Two ladies-errant has expos'd to view:
The first a damsel, travell'd in romance;
The' t'other more refin'd; she comes from France:
Rescue, like courteous knights, the nymph from danger;
And kindly treat, like well-bred men, the stranger.
EPILOGUE TO THE BRITISH ENCHANTERS.a
WHEN Orpheus tun'd his lyre with pleasing woe,
Rivers forgot to run, and winds to blow,
While list'ning forests cover'd, as he play'd,
The soft musician in a moving shade.
That this night's strains the same success may find,
The force of magic is to music join'd:
Where sounding strings and artful voices fail,
The charming rod and mutter'd spells prevail.
Let sage Urganda wave the circling wand
On barren mountains, or a waste of sand,
The desert smiles; the woods begin to grow,
The birds to warble, and the springs to flow.
'It is strange that this use of t, so like the French euphonic l before on, should have escaped the grammatical eye of Hurd.-G.
A dramatic poem written by the Lord Lansdown.
The same dull sights in the same landscape mixt,
Scenes of still life, and points for ever fix'd,
A tedious pleasure on the mind bestow,
And pall the sense with one continu'd show :
But as our two magicians try their skill,
The vision varies, tho' the place stands still,
While the same spot its gaudy form renews,
Shifting the prospect to a thousand views.
Thus (without unity of place transgrest)
Th' enchanter turns the critic to a jest.
But howsoe'er, to please your wand'ring eyes,
Bright objects disappear and brighter rise:
There's none can make amends for lost delight,
While from that circle we divert your sight.
TO THE 'DISTRESSED MOTHER.'
A TRAGEDY.-TRANSLATED BY AMBROSE PHILIPS, FROM THE FRENCH OF RACINE.
[Tis piece finds a place here upon the authority of Mr. Garrick, whe learnt from Tonson's family that the morning on which it was originally printed, Addison came down in great haste, and had Budgell's name substituted for his own. This is supposed to have been done in order to give Budgell, whom Addison styled "the man who calls me cousin," better chances for a place which his friends were soliciting for him.-G.]
I HOPE you'll own, that with becoming art,
I've played my game, and topp'd the widow's part.
a But HOWSOB'ER. A word, which nobody would now use in verse, and not many in good prose
My spouse, poor man, could not live out the play,
But died commodiously on his wedding day;
While I, his relict, made at one bold fling,
Myself a princess, and young Sty a king.
You, ladies, who protract a lover's pain,
And hear your servants sigh whole years in vain;
Which of you all would not on marriage venture,
Might she so soon upon her jointure enter?
'Twas a strange 'scape! Had Pyrrhus lived till now, I had been finely hampered in my vow.
To die by one's own hand, and fly the charms
Of love and life in a young monarch's arms!
'Twere a hard fate-ere I had undergone it,
I might have took one night-to think upon it.
But why, you'll say, was all this grief expressed
For a first husband, laid long since at rest?
Why so much coldness to my kind protector?
-Ah, ladies! had you known the good man Hector!
Homer will tell you, (or I'm misinformed,)
That, when enrag'd, the Grecian camp he stormed;
To break the tenfold barriers of the gate,
He threw a stone of such prodigious weight,
As no two men could lift, not even of those
Who in that age of thundering mortals rose:
-It would have sprain'd a dozen modern beaus.
At length, howe'er, I laid my weeds aside,
And sunk the widow in the well-dress'd bride.
In you it still remains to grace the play,
And bless with joy my coronation day;
Take, then, ye circles of the brave and fair,
The fatherless and widow to your care.
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