eyes
well tutor❜d in the trade of grief,
She rais'd a fmall and well lac'd handkerchief;
And then with decent paufe-and accent broke,
Her bufkin'd progeny the Dame bespoke :
"Ah! Sons our dawn is over-caft, and all
"Theatrick glories nodding to their fall;
"From foreign realms a bloody Chief is come,
"Big with the work of Slav'ry and of Rome.
"A general ruin on his fword he wears,
"Fatal alike to Audience and to Play'rs.
"For ah! my Sons, what freedom for the Stage,
"When Bigotry with Sense shall battle wage?
"When monkish Laureats only wear the bays,
"Inquifitors Lord Chamberlains of plays?
"Plays fhall be damn'd that 'fcap'd the Critick's rage,
"For Priests are ftill worse Tyrants to the Stage.
"Cato, receiv'd by audiences fo gracious,
"Shall find ten Cæfars in one St. Ignatius:
"And godlike Brutus here fhall meet again
"His evil Genius in a Capuchin.
"For herefy the fav'rites of the pit
“Must burn, and excommunicated wit;
"And at one stake we shall behold expire
"My Anna Bullen, and the Spanish Fryar.
↳ The dawn is over-caft, the morning lours,
And heavily in clouds brings on the day,
The great, th' important day, big with the fate
Of Cato and of Rome.
Cibber prefide Lord Chancellor of Plays.
"Ev'n d Tamerlane, whose fainted name appears "Red-letter'd in the calendar of play'rs,
"Oft as these feftal rites attend the morn
"Of Liberty reftor'd and WILLIAM born———-
"But at That Name, what tranfports flood my eyes?
"What golden vifion's this I see arise?
"What Youth is he with comelieft conqueft crown'd,
"His warlike brow with full-blown laurels bound?
"What wreaths are these that Vict'ry dares to join,
"And blend with trophies of my fav'rite Boyn?
"Oh! if the Mufe can happy aught prefage
"Of new deliv'rance to the State and Stage;
"If not untaught the characters to spell
"Of all who bravely fight or conquer well;
"Thou shalt be WILLIAM-like the Laft defign'd
"The tyrant's fcourge, and bleffing of mankind;
"Born civil tumult and blind zeal to quell,
"That teaches happy fubjects to rebel.
"Naffau himself but half our vows shall share,
"Divide our incenfe and divide our pray'r ;
"And oft as Tamerlane fhall lend his fame
"To fhadow His, thy rival Star shall claim
❝f Th' ambiguous laurel and the double name.
d Tamerlane is always acted on the 4th and 5th of November, the Aniverfaries of King William's birth and landing.
f Conditor Iliados cantabitur at que Maronis Altifoni dubiam facientia carmina palmam.
'E green-rob'd Dryads, oft' at dusky eve
To unfrequented meads, and pathless wilds,
Lead me from gardens deck'd with art's vain pomps.
Can gilt alcoves, can marble-mimic gods,
Parterres embroider'd, obelisks, and urns
Of high relief; can the long, fpreading lake,
Or vista leffening to the fight; can Stow,
With all her Attic fanes, fuch raptures raise,
As the thrush-haunted copfe, where lightly leaps
The fearful fawn the ruftling leaves along,
G 2
And the brifk fquirrel fports from bough to bough, While from an hollow oak, whose naked roots O'erhang a penfive rill, the bufy bees
Hum drowsy lullabies? The bards of old,
Fair Nature's friends, fought fuch retreats, to charm
Sweet Echo with their fongs; oft' too they met
In fummer evenings, near fequefter'd bow'rs,
Or mountain-nymph, or mufe, and eager learnt
The moral ftrains The taught to mend mankind.
As to a fecret grot Ægeria ftole
With patriot Numa, and in filent night
Whisper'd him facred laws, he lift'ning fat
Rapt with her virtuous voice, old Tyber lean'd
Attentive on his urn, and hufh'd his waves.
Rich in her weeping country's fpoils Verfailles
May boast a thousand fountains, that can cast
The tortur'd waters to the diftant heav'ns;
Yet let me choose fome pine-topt precipice
Abrupt and shaggy, whence a foamy stream,
Like Anio, tumbling roars; or fome black heath,
Where ftraggling stands the mournful juniper,
Or yew-tree fcath'd; while in clear profpect round,
From the grove's bosom spires emerge, and fmoak
In bluish wreaths afcends, ripe harvests wave,
Low, lonely cottages, and ruin'd tops
Of Gothick battlements appear, and streams
Beneath the fun-beams twinkle.-The fhrill lark,
That wakes the wood-man to his early task,
Or love-fick Philomel, whofe luscious lays
Sooth lone night-wanderers, the moaning dove
Pitied by listening milk-maid, far excel
The deep-mouth viol, the foul-lulling lute,
And battle-breathing trumpet. Artful founds!
That please not like the choristers of air,
When first they hail th' approach of laughing May.
Can Kent design like Nature? Mark where Thames
Plenty and pleasure pours thro' & Lincoln's meads;
Can the great artist, tho' with tafte fupreme
Endu'd, one beauty to this Eden add?
Tho' he, by rules unfetter'd, boldly scorns
Formality and Method, round and square
Difdaining, plans irregularly great.
Creative Titian, can thy vivid ftrokes,
Or thine, O graceful Raphael, dare to vie
With the rich tints that paint the breathing mead?
The thoufand-colour'd tulip, violet's bell
Snow-clad and meek, the vermil-tinctur'd rofe,
And golden crocus ?-Yet with these the maid,
Phillis or Phœbe at a feast or wake,
Her jetty locks enamels; fairer fhe,
In innocence and home-fpun veftments drefs'd,
Than if cœrulean faphires at her ears
Shone pendent, or a precious diamond-cross
Heav'd gently on her panting bofom white.
z The earl of Lincoln's terrace at Weybridge in Surrey.
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