I dreamt of peace I never felt before,
I dreamt my heart was lying on the floor.
I view'd it, ftrange to tell! with joyful eyes,
And, ftranger till, without the least surprise!
Elated with the fight, I fmiling fat,
Exulting o'er the victim at my feet;
But foon with words of anguish thus addreft
This painful fweet difturber of my breast:--
Say, bufy, lively, trembling, hoping thing,
What new difalter haft thou now to bring,
To torture with thy fears my tender frame,
Who must for all her ills thee only blame?
Speak now, and tell me why, ungrateful gueft,
For ten years past haft thou deny'd me reft?
That in my bafom thou waft nurs'd, 'tis true,
And with my life and with my ftature grew.
At first fo fmall were all thy wants, that I
Vainly imagin'd I could ne'er deny
Whate'er thy fancy ask'd.--Alas! but now
I find thy wants my ev'ry fenfe outgrow;
And ever having, ever wanting more,
A power to please, to give, or to adore.
Say, why, like other hearts, thou dost not bear
With callous apathy each wordly care?
Why dost thou fhrink at Envy's horrid cries?
In thee Compaffion Hatred's place fupplies.
Why not with malice treat malicious men ?
Why ever pity, where thou should'st condemn ?
Why, at the hearing of a difmal tale,
Doft thou with forrow turn my beauty pale?
Why, when diftrefs in any fhape appears,
Doft thou diffolve my very foul in tears?
Why in thy fecret folds is Friendship bred?
In other hearts its very name is dead.

Why, if keen Wit and learned Senfe draw nigh,
Dolt thou with emulation beat fo high?
And while approving, wifh to be approv'd,
And when you love, with more to be belov'd?
Why not, in cold indifference ever clad,
Alike unmov'd, regard the good and bad?

Why doft thou walle my youthful bloom with care,
And facrifice my felf, that I may share

Diftrefs in others? Why wilt thou adorn
Their days with rofes, and leave me a thorn ?'
But here I faw it heave a heavy figh,

And thus in fweetest founds it did reply:

Ah! ceafe, ELIZA! ceafe thy speech unjuft;

Thy Heart has e'er fulfill'd its facred trust;

And

And ever will its tender manfion serve,

Nor can it from thee this reproach deserve :
Against my dictates murm'ring have I found,
Which thus has laid me bleeding on the ground.
Compare thyfelf in this fame hour depriv'd
Of this foft Heart, from whence are all deriv'd
The fame bewitching graces which adorn
And make thy face appear like beauteous morn:
With me its brilliant ornaments are fled,
And all thy features, like thy foul, are dead.
'Tis I that make thee other's pleasures share,
And in a fifter's joy forget thy care.

'Tis by my dictates thou art taught to find
A godlike pleasure in a godlike mind;
That makes thee oft relieve a stranger's woes,
And often fix thofe friends that would be foes.
Tis I that tremblingly have taught thine ear
To cherish Mufic; and 'tis I appear
In all its fofteft drefs, when to the hearts
Of all beholders my dear voice imparts
Harmonic ftrains: 'tis not becaufe 'tis fine,
For every note that's felt is furely mine.
In fmootheft numbers all that I indite,
For 'tis I taught thy fearful hand to write :
My genius has with watchful care supply'd
What Education to thy fex deny'd ;
Made Sentiment and Nature all combine
To melt the Reader in each flowing line,
Till they in words this feeling truth impart,
She needs no more, who will confult the Heart;
And own in reading what is writ by thee,
No ftudy ever could improve like me.
And when thy bloom is gone, thy beauty flown,
And laughing youth to wrinkled age is grown,
Thy actions, writings, friendship, which I gave,
Still fhall remain an age beyond the grave.
Then do not thus difplac'd let me remain,
But take me to thy tender breast again.'

Yes, foft perfuader (I return'd) I will;

And if I am deceiv'd, deceive me ftill!'

Seduc'd I was in hafte; then stooping low,
Soon re-inflated my fweet, pleafing foe;
And waking, found it had not lefs nor more
Than all the joys, the pangs it had before!

10

C

PRO

PROLOGUE to the CHAPTER of ACCIDENTS.

L

Written by GEORGE COLMAN, Esq.

ONG has the paffive stage, howe'er abfurd,
Been rul'd by names, and govern'd by a word;
Some poor cant term, like magic spells, can awe,
And bind our realms like a dramatic law.
When Fielding, Humour's fav'rite child, appear'd,
Low was the word-a word each author fear'd!
'Till chac'd at length, by pleafantry's bright ray,
Nature and mirth refum'd their legal fway;
And Goldsmith's genius bafk'd in open day.
No beggar, howe'er poor, a cur can lack;
Poor bards, of critic curs, can keep a pack.
One yelper filenc'd, twenty barkers rife,
And with new bowls, their fnarlings ftill difguife.
Low banish'd, the word fentiment fucceeds;
And at that shrine the modern playwright bleeds.
Hard fate! but let each would-be critic know,
That fentiments from genuine feeling flow!
Critics! in vain declaim, and write, and rail;
Nature, eternal nature! will prevail.

Give me the bard, who makes me laugh and cry;
Diverts and moves, and all, I scarce know why!
Untaught by commentators, French or Dutch,
Paffion ftill anfwers to th' electric touch.
Reason, like Falstaff, claims, when all is done,
The honours of the field already won.

To-night, our author's is a mixt intent-
Paffion and humour-low and fentiment:
Smiling in tears-a ferio-comic play-
Sunshine and fhow'r-a kind of April Day!
A lord, whofe pride is in his honour plac'd;
A governor, with av'rice not difgrac'd;
An humble prieft! a lady, and a lover
So full of virtue, fome of it runs over.
No temporary touches, no allufions

To camps, reviews, and all our late confufions:
No perfonal reflections, no fharp fatire,

But a mere Chapter-from the book of nature.
Wrote by a woman too! the Muses now
Few liberties to naughty men allow;

But like old maids on earth, refolv'd to vex,
With cruel coyness treat the other sex.

PRO.

PROLOGUE to the GENEROUS IMPOSTOR.

[As he enters the Stage looking upon a Paper, and addressing himself to the Author behind, from whom he is fuppofed to have received it.]

T

HIS, Sir, the Prologue? Why this piteous whine,
Forebodes a catcall in each croaking line.

The Author's first offence!"-" implore !"-" befeech !"
Zounds! 'tis as difmal as a dying fpeech-

Will prove, itfelf, the piece's fure damnation,
And give, like hawkers, by anticipation,
"Life, birth, and parentage, and education."
Do you discover in this caft of feature
The friking traits to fuit the doleful metre?
Give it to Parfons-his fad-tragice face
Such plaintive fentiments will aptly grace.
The rueful meaning Moody may fupply
E'en from the fruitful river of his eye;
Or with mute pathos, walk about and figh.
[To the Audience.]

Prologues are alter'd fince that Gothic day
When only hungry playwrights wrote for pay,
Then while the Bard-poor miferable finner!
Trembled behind uncertain of his dinner-
Forth came in black-with folemn fep-and flow,
The actor to unfold the tale of woe.

But in these days, when e'en the titled dame
Glows with the paffion of dramatic fame,
When as the fashion gains, it may indite
The card of compliments for a third night,
With file laconic, in the measured ftrain,
"Lady Charade fees friends at Drury-lane"-
In thofe bright days-this literary age,
When 'tis the tafle-the very thing-the rage
To pen fome lively morceau for the ftage.
When belles write comedies, and beaux have wit,
The Prologue too the fprightly ton must hit;
Flippant and fmart in carelefs eafy rhymes,
Reflect the gayet colours of the times,
Camelion like, on fafhion's air muft live,

And, like that too, each varying tint muft give.

[Returning to the Paper, and fuppofed again to address the Author.]

This will ne'er do (pausing)-Can't you contrive to fwell

To thirty lines, fome airy bagatelle?

Or take your fubject from fome modifh fcenes→→→

Elections"

Camps" Electrical machines "

That

That thought's not bad-Why then suppose I try,
In metaphor-the Houfe t' electrify.

Wind the conducting trains that may difpenfe
The mild effluvia's genial influence,

Or fill the charge, the powerful charge that draws,
From yon dread Gods! the thunder of applaufe:
Or if fuch potent virtue can't controul

The angry critic's non-electric foul,

The ladies court- -The lightning of whofe eyes,
The apt allufion readily fupplies.-

From thofe bright orbs th' æthereal beam that plays,
Will blaft the critic thorn, but fpare the bays.

Something like this may do

fome neat terfe thing,

With a few smirks-and fmiles-and bows from King.

[To the Audience.]

Mean time the want of form for once forgive,
And for this night allow the piece to live.

EPILOGUE to Lady CRAVEN's Comedy of the MINIATURE PICTURE.

Spoken by the Hon. Mrs. HOBART, at Newbury, and by Mrs. ABINGTON, at Drury-lane. Written by Mr. JEKYLL.

ΤΗ

HE men, like tyrants of the Turkish kind,
Have long our fex's energy confin'd;
In full drefs black, and bow, and folemn flalk,
Have long monopoliz'd the Prologue's walk.
But ftill the flippant Epilogue was our's;
It afk'd for gay fupport-the female pow'rs;
It afk'd a flirting air, coquet and free;
And fo to murder it, they fix'd on me.

Much they mistake my talents-I was born
To tell, in fobs and fighs, fome tale forlora;
To wet my handkerchief with Juliet's woes,
Or tune to Shore's defpair my tragic nofe.

Yes, gentlemen, in education's fpite,
You ftill fhall find that we can read and write;
Like you, can fwell a debt or a debate,
Can quit the card-table to steer the ftate,
Or bid our Belle Affemblée's rhet'ric flow,
To drown your dull declaimers at Soho.
Methinks e'en now I hear my fex's tongues,
The fhrill, fmart melody of female lungs!
The form of queftion, the divifion calm,

With Hear her! Hear her! Mrs. fpeaker! Ma'am,

Oh,