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No more my titles shall my children tell,
The old buffoon will fit my name as well;
This day beyond its term my fate extends,
For life is ended when our honour ends.2

3 See Macrobii Saturn, lib. ii. c. vii. p. 369. ed Zeunii. Goldsmith has translated, or rather imitated, only the first fifteen lines of the Prologus, ending—

'Uno plus vixi mihi quam vivendum fuit.'

I venture to add the remainder,

Too lavish still in good, or evil hour,
To show to man the empire of thy power,
If fortune, at thy wild impetuous sway,
The blossoms of my fame must drop away,
Then was the time the obedient plant to strain
When life was warm in every vigorous vein,
To mould young nature to thy plastic skill,
And bend my pliant boyhood to thy will.
So might I hope applauding crowds to hear,
Catch the quick smile, and His attentive ear.
But ah! for what hast thou reserv'd my age 1
Say, how can I expect the approving stage;
Fled is the bloom of youth—the manly air—
The vigorous mind that spurn'd at toil and care
Gone is the voice, whose clear and silver tone
The enraptur'd theatre would love to own.
As clasping ivy chokes the encumber'd tree,
So age with foul embrace has ruin'd me.
Thou, and the tomb, Laberius, art the same,
Empty within, what hast thou but a name 1

PROLOGUE TO ZOBEIDE:

A TRAGEDY. WRITTEN BY JOSEPH CRADDOCK, ESQ. ACTED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN,

MDCC1.XXII. SPOKEN BY MR. QUICK.

In these bold times,when learning's sons explore
The distant climates, and the savage shore;
When wise astronomers to India steer,
And quit for Venus many a brighter here;
While botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling,
Forsake the fair, and patiently—go simpling,
Our bard into the general spirit enters,
And fits his little frigate for adventures.
With Scythian stores, and trinkets deeply laden,
He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading—
Yet ere he lands he has order'd me before
To make an observation on the shore.
Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is lost!
This seems a rocky and a dangerous coast.
Lord, what a sultry climate am I under!
Yon ill foreboding cloud seems big with thunder.

( Upper gallery.) There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen

'em— (Pit.) Here trees of stately size—and billing turtles in

'em— (Balconies.) Here ill conditioned oranges abound

(Stage.) And apples, bitter apples strew the ground:

(Tasting them.) The inhabitants are cannibals I fear: I heard a hissing—there are serpents here! O, there the people are—best keep my distance; Our captain (gentle natives) craves assistance; Our ship's well stor'd—in yonder creek we've laid her, His honour is no mercenary trader. This is his first adventure, lend him aid, And we may chance to drive a thriving trade. His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far, Equally fit for gallantry and war. What, no reply to promises so ample?

- —I'd best step back, and order up a sample.

EPILOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES,

IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN,
AT HIS BENEFIT.

Hold! prompter, hold! a word before your non-
sense;I'd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience.
My pride forbids it ever should be said,
My heels eclips'd the honours of my head;
That I found humour in a pyeball vest,
Or ever thought that jumping was a jest.

[Takes off his mask.
Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth?
Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth,
In thy black aspect every passion sleeps,
The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps.
How hast thou fill'd the scene with all thy brood,
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursu'd!
Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses,
Whose only plot it is to break our noses;
Whilst from below the trapdoor demons rise,
And from above the dangling deities;
And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew?
May rosin'd lightning blast me, if I do!
No—I will act, I'll vindicate the stage:
Shakespeare himself shall feel my tragic rage.
Off! off! vile trappings! a new passion reigns!
The maddening monarch revels in my veins.

Oh! for a Richard's voice to catch the theme:
Give me another horse! bind up my wounds!—

soft—'twas but a dream.
Ay, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no re-
treating :If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating.
'Twas thus that jEsops'stag, a creature blameless,
Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless,
Once on the margin of a fountain stood,
And cavill'd at his image in the flood.
'The deuce confound,' he cries,' these drumstick
shanks, They never have my gratitude nor thanks;
They're perfectly disgraceful! strike me dead!
But for a head, yes, yes, I have a head.
How piercing is that eye! how sleek that brow!
My horns! I'm told horns are the fashion now.'
Whilst thus he spoke, astonish'd! to his view,
Near, and more near, the hounds and huntsmen
drew. Hoicks! hark forward! came thundering from
behind, He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind :He quits the woods, and tries the beaten ways;He starts, he pants, he takes the circling maze. At length his silly head, so priz'd before, Is taught his former folly to deplore;Whilst his strong limbs conspire to set him free, And at one bound he saves himself, like me.

[Taking a jump through the stage door.

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