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Printed in the Year, M,DCC,LXXXIX,

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Written by WILLIAM FAWKENER,
Efquire.

And spoken by Mr. WROUGHTON.

OF

F modern, Tragic Bards how few are found
Who dare to truft themselves on open ground!
In fiction's fortreffes they love to lie,

To coin their flimfy tales, and vainly try,
To move your paffions by an idle fhew.
Of fancied forrows, and ideal woe :

To Greece, to France, to Italy they roam,

To lead you as they please, when far from home.
Our AUTHOR moves not from his native land;
Here in this LITTLE ISLE he takes his ftand;
Convinc'd, of tragic, as of comic ftote,
No other nation ever yielded more;

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And FRIEND to FREEDOM, he difdains the rules
And narrow precepts of the foreign schools.
No labour'd ftratagem thefe fcenes prefent;
No fudden change, or unprepar'd event;
With chafter art he writes not to the eyes,
Nor wou'd he stoop to win you by surprise;
Yet hopes, with names familiar to your ears,
To raise your horror, or draw down your tears.
Tis true ELIZABETH'S Victorious hand

From Spanish tyrants fay'd the threatn'd land;
Wife were her Counsellors, her Warriors brave,
But fhe was WOMAN ftill and Paffion's flave.
Fam'd as fhe was for policy and arms,

She vainly claim'd pre-eminence of charms;

See her with jealoufy now frantic grown,

Dread MARY'S fmiles, far more than PHILIP's frown;
Is there among'ft you, who with ftedfaft eye,

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