Page images
PDF
EPUB

Ev'ry thicket, bush, and tree,

So like the place from whence I came,
That one would swear it were the same.
My former legs too, by their pace!
And by the whiskers, 'tis my face!
The self-same habit, garb and mien!
They ne'er would bury me in green.

SCENE IV.

GRIDELINE AND SIR TRUSTY.

GRIDELINE.

Have I then liv'd to see this hour,
And took thee in the very bow'r?

SIR TRUSTY.

Widow Trusty, why so fine?

Why dost thou thus in colours shine? Thou shouldst thy husband's death bewail In sable vesture, peak, and veil.

GRIDELINE.

Forbear these foolish freaks, and see
How our good king and queen agree.
Why should not we their steps pursue,
And do as our our superiors do?

SIR TRUSTY.

Am I bewitch'd, or do I dream?
I know not who, or where I am,
Or what I hear, or what I see,
But this I'm sure, howe'er it be,
It suits a person in my station
T'observe the mode and be in fashion,
Then let not Grideline the chaste
Offended be for what is past,
And hence anew my vows I plight
To be a faithful courteous knight.

GRIDELINE.

I'll too my plighted vows renew,

Since 'tis so courtly to be true.

"Since conjugal passion
Is come into fashion,

And marriage so blest on the throne is,
Like a Venus I'll shine,
Be fond and be fine,

And Sir Trusty shall be my Adonis.

SIR TRUSTY.

"And Sir Trusty shall be thy Adonis."

The King and Queen advancing.

KING.

Who to forbidden joys would rove,
That knows the sweets of virtuous love?
Hymen, thou source of chaste delights,
Cheerful days, and blissful nights,
Thou dost untainted joys dispense,
And pleasure join with innocence:
Thy raptures last, and are sincere
From future grief and present fear.

BOTH.

"Who to forbidden joys would rove,

That knows the sweets of virtuous love?"

PROLOGUE

TO THE

TENDER HUSBAND*.

SPOKEN BY MR. WILKS.

IN

N 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, thy 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;

* A comedy written by Sir Richard Steele.

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;
That scorn the paths their dull forefather's 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
Two ladies-errant has expos'd to view:
The first a damsel, travell'd in romance;

and new,

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*.

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,

A dramatic poem written by the Lord Lansdown.

The desert smiles; the woods begin to grow,
The birds to warble, and the springs to flow.

The same dull sights in the same landscape mix'd, 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, though the place stands still, While the same spot its gaudy form renews, Shifting the prospect to a thousand views. Thus (without unity of place transgress'd) 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 cirle we divert your sight.

HORACE,

ODE III. BOOK III.

Augustus had a design to rebuild Troy, and make it the Metropolis of the Roman Empire, having closeted several Senators on the project: Horace is supposed to have written the following Ode on this occasion.

THE

HE man resolv'd and steady to his trust, Inflexible to ill, and obstinately just,

May the rude rabble's insolence despise,

Their senseless clamours and tumultuous cries;

The tyrant's fierceness he beguiles,

And the stern brow, and the harsh voice defies,
And with superior greatness smiles.

Not the rough whirlwind, that deforms
Adria's black gulf, and vexes it with storms,
The stubborn virtue of his soul can move;
Not the red arm of angry Jove,

« EelmineJätka »