SECOND [FIRST] PROPHET

RECITATIVE

'Tis thus that pride triumphant rears the head,
A little while, and all their power is fled.
But ha! what means yon sadly plaintive train,
That this way slowly bends along the plain?
And now, methinks, a pallid corse they bear
To yonder bank, and rest the body there.
Alas! too well mine eyes observant trace
The last remains of Judah's royal race.
Our monarch falls, and now our fears are o'er,
The wretched Zedekiah is no more.

AIR

Ye wretches who by fortune's hate
In want and sorrow groan,
Come ponder his severer fate
And learn to bless your own.

Ye sons, from fortune's lap supplied,
Awhile the bliss suspend;
Like yours, his life began in pride,
Like his, your lives may end.

SECOND PROPHET

RECITATIVE

Behold his squalid corse with sorrow worn,
His wretched limbs with ponderous fetters torn;
Those eyeless orbs that shock with ghastly glare,
These ill-becoming robes, and matted hair!
And shall not Heaven for this its terror show,
And deal its angry vengeance on the foe?
How long, how long, Almighty Lord of all,
Shall wrath vindictive threaten ere it fall!

ISRAELITISH WOMAN

AIR

As panting flies the hunted hind,
Where brooks refreshing stray;

And rivers through the valley wind,
That stop the hunter's way;

Thus we, O Lord, alike distress'd,

For streams of mercy long;

Those streams that cheer the sore oppress'd,

And overwhelm the strong.

FIRST PROPHET

RECITATIVE

But whence that shout? Good heavens! amazement all! See yonder tower just nodding to the fall:

See where an army covers all the ground,

Saps the strong wall and pours destruction round ;-
The ruin smokes, destruction pours along-

How low the great, how feeble are the strong!
The foe prevails, the lofty walls recline-

Oh, God of hosts, the victory is Thine!

CHORUS OF ISRAELITES

Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust;

Let vengeance be begun ;

Serve her as she hath serv'd the just,
And let Thy Will be done.

FIRST PRIEST

RECITATIVE

All, all is lost. The Syrian army fails,
Cyrus, the conqueror of the world, prevails!
Save us, O Lord! to Thee, though late, we pray;
And give repentance but an hour's delay.

SECOND PRIEST

AIR

Thrice happy, who in happy hour
To Heaven their praise bestow,
And own His all-consuming power
Before they feel the blow!

FIRST PROPHET

RECITATIVE

Now, now's your time! ye wretches bold and blind,
Brave but to God, and cowards to mankind,
Too late you seek that power unsought before,
Your wealth, your pride, your empire, are no more.

AIR

O Lucifer! thou son of morn,

Alike of Heaven and man the foe;

Heaven, men, and all,

Now press thy fall,

And sink thee lowest of the low.

SECOND PRIEST [PROPHET?]

O Babylon, how art thou fallen-
Thy fall more dreadful from delay;
Thy streets forlorn

To wilds shall turn,

Where toads shall pant, and vultures prey!

FIRST PROPHET

RECITATIVE

Such be their fate. But listen! from afar
The clarion's note proclaims the finished war!
Cyrus, our great restorer, is at hand,

And this way leads his formidable band.
Now give your songs of Zion to the wind,
And hail the benefactor of mankind:
He comes pursuant to divine decree,
To chain the strong, and set the captive free.

CHORUS OF YOUTHS

Rise to raptures past expressing,
Sweeter from remember'd woes;
Cyrus comes, our wrongs redressing,
Comes to give the world repose.

Hail to him with mercy reigning,

Skill'd in every peaceful art;

Who, from bonds our limbs unchaining,
Only binds the willing heart.

LAST CHORUS

But chief to Thee, our God, our Father, Friend,
Let praise be given to all eternity;

O Thou, without beginning, without end-
Let us, and all, begin and end in Thee!

VERSES IN REPLY TO AN INVITATION TO DINNER AT DR. BAKER'S1

"This is a poem! This is a copy of verses!"

YOUR mandate I got,
You may all go to pot;

Had your senses been right,
You'd have sent before night;
As I hope to be saved,
I put off being shaved;
For I could not make bold,
While the matter was cold,
To meddle in suds,

Or to put on my duds;

[ Prior first printed this in the Miscellaneous Works of 1837, iv. 132, having obtained it from Major-General Sir H. E. Bunbury, Bart., son of H. W. Bunbury, the artist. (See note 2 to p. 107.)]

106 Reply to an Invitation to Dinner

So tell Horneck1 and Nesbitt, 2
And Baker and his bit,
And Kauffman 1 beside,
And the Jessamy Bride,"
With the rest of the crew,
The Reynoldses two,6
Little Comedy's face,"
And the Captain in lace,8
(By-the-bye you may tell him,
I have something to sell him;
Of use I insist,

When he comes to enlist.

Your worships must know
That a few days ago,
An order went out,

For the foot-guards so stout
To wear tails in high taste,
Twelve inches at least:
Now I've got him a scale
To measure each tail,
To lengthen a short tail,
And a long one to curtail.)—
Yet how can I when vext,
Thus stray from my text?
Tell each other to rue
Your Devonshire crew,
For sending so late
To one of my state.
But 'tis Reynolds's way
From wisdom to stray,
And Angelica's whim
To be frolick like him,

[ Mrs. Horneck, widow of Captain Kane Horneck.]
Mr. Thrale's brother-in-law.]

Dr. (afterwards Sir) George Baker, Reynolds's doctor.]
Angelica Kauffmann, the artist, 1740-1807.]

Mrs. Horneck's younger daughter, Mary.]

Sir Joshua and his sister.]

Mrs. Horneck's elder daughter, Catherine.

p. 107.)]

[Captain Charles Horneck, Mrs. Horneck's son.]

(See notes,