The busy candidates for power and fame,
Have hopes, and fears, and wishes just the same;
Disabled both to combat or to fly,

Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply.
Unchecked on both, loud rabbles vent their rage,
As mongrels bay the lion in a cage:

may

rail.

The offended burgess hoards his angry tale,
For that blest year, when all that vote
Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss,
Till that glad night, when all that hate may hiss.

"This day the powdered curls and golden coat," Says swelling Crispin," begged a cobler's vote;" "This night our wit," the pert apprentice cries, "Lies at my feet; I hiss him, and he dies."

The great, 'tis true, can charm the electing tribe;
The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe-
Yet judged by those whose voices ne'er were sold,
He feels no want of ill-persuading gold;
But confident of praise, if praise be due,
Trusts, without fear, to merit and to you.

PROLOGUE

TO THE COMEDY OF

A WORD TO THE WISE.

Spoken by Mr. Hull.

THIS night presents a play which publick rage,
Or right, or wrong, once hooted from the stage:
From zeal, or malice, now no more we dread,
For English vengeance wars not with the dead→→→
A generous foe regards with pitying eye
The man whom fate has laid-where all must lie.
To wit, reviving from its author's dust,
Be kind, ye judges or, at least, be just-
For no renewed hostilities invade
The oblivious grave's inviolable shade.
Let one great payment every claim appease,
And him, who cannot hurt, allow to please;
To please by scenes unconscious of offence,
By harmless merriment, or useful sense:
Where aught of bright or fair the piece displays,
Approve it only-'tis too late to praise.
If want of skill, or want of care appear,
Forbear to hiss-the poet cannot hear—

By all like him must praise and blame be found,

At best a fleeting dream, or empty sound;
Yet then shall calm reflection bless the night
When liberal pity dignified delight;

When Pleasure fired her torch at Virtue's flame,
And mirth was bounty with an humbler name.

SPRING.

STERN Winter now, by Spring repressed,
Forbears the long continued strife;
And nature on her naked breast,
Delights to catch the gales of life.

Now o'er the rural kingdom roves
Soft Pleasure, with her laughing train;
Love warbles in the vocal groves,
And vegetation plants the plain.

Unhappy! whom to beds of pain
Arthritick, tyranny consigns;
Whem smiling nature courts in vain,
Though rapture sings, and beauty shines.

Yet though my limbs disease invades,
Her wings imagination tries,

And bears me to the peaceful shades
Where -'s humble turrets rise.

Here stop, my soul, thy rapid flight,
Nor from the pleasing groves depart;
Where first great Nature charmed my sight,
Where wisdom first informed my heart-

Here let me through the vales pursue
A guide a father-and a friend;
Once more great Nature's works renew-
Once more on wisdom's voice attend-

From false caresses, causeless strife,
Wild hope, vain fear, alike removed;
Here let me learn the use of life,
When best enjoyed-when best improved.

Teach me, thou venerable bower,
Cool meditation's quiet seat;

The generous scorn of venal power,
The silent grandeur of retreat.

When pride by guilt to greatness climbs,

Or raging factions rush to war;

Here let me learn to shun the crimes
I can't prevent, and will not share.

But lest I fall by subtler foes,
Bright wisdom! teach me Curio's art,
The swelling passions to compose,
And quell the rebels of the heart.

MIDSUMMER.

O PнOBUS! down the western sky,
Far hence diffuse thy burning ray,
Thy light to distant worlds supply,
And wake them to the cares of day.

Come gentle eve, the friend of ease,
Come Cynthia, lovely queen of night!
Refresh me with a cooling breeze,
And cheer me with a lambent light.

Lay me where o'er the verdant ground
Her living carpet nature spreads;
Where the green bower with roses crowned,
In showers its fragrant foliage sheds-

Improve the peaceful hour with wine,
Let musick die along the grove;
Around the bowl let myrtles twine,
And every strain be tuned to love.

Come, Stella, queen of all my heart;
Come, born to fill its vast desires!
Thy looks perpetual joys impart,
Thy voice perpetual love inspires.

While all my wish and thine complete,
By turns we languish and we burn,