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Ye fprightly nymphs, by Fortune nurst,
Who fport in Joy's unclouded air,
Nor fee the diftant forms, that burst
In ruin on the humble Fair;

Ye know not to what bitter smart
A kindred form, a kindred heart,

Is often doom'd, in life's low vale,

Where frantic fears the fimple mind affail,

And fierce afflictions prefs, and friends and fortune fail.

His Care, exulting BRITAIN found
Here firft difplay'd, not here confin'd!
No fingle tract of earth could bound
The active virtues of his mind.
To all the lands, where'er the tear,
That mourn'd the Prisoner's wrongs fevere,
Sad Pity's glift'ning cheek impearl'd,
Eager he fteer'd, with every fail unfurl'd,

A friend to every clime! a Patriot of the World!

Ye nations, thro' whofe fair domain
Our flying fons of joy have past,
By Pleafure driven with loofen'd rein,
Aftonish'd that they flew fo faft!
How did the heart-improving fight
Awake your wonder and delight,
When, in her unexampled chace,
Philanthropy outstript keen Pleasure's pace,

When with a warmer foul fhe ran a nobler race!

Sweet is the joy when Science flings
Her light on philofophic thought;
When Genius, with keen ardor, fprings
To clafp the lovely truth he fought:
Sweet is the joy, when Rapture's fire
Flows from the spirit of the lyre;

When Liberty and Virtue roll

Spring-tides of fancy o'er the poet's foul,

That waft his flying bark thro' feas above the pole.

Sweet the delight, when the gall'd heart

Feels Confolation's lenient hand

Bind up the wound from Fortune's dart

With Friendship's life-fupporting band!
And sweeter ftill, and far above
These fainter joys, when pureft Love
The foul his willing captive keeps!

When he in blifs the melting fpirit fteeps,

Who drops delicious tears, and wonders that he weeps!

But not the brightest joy, which Arts,
In floods of mental light, bellow;
Nor what firm Friendthip's zeal imparts,
Bleft antidote of bit ereft woe!

Nor those that Love's fweet hours difpenfe,
Can equal the ectatic fenfe,

When, fwelling to a fond excefs,

The grateful praifes of reliev'd diftrefs,

Re-echoed thro' the heart, the foul of Bounty blefs.

PROLOGUE to the MINIATURE PICTURE.

Written by RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, Efq. Spoken by Mr. KING.

C

HILL'D by rough gales, while yet reluctant May
With-holds the beauties of the vernal day;

As fome fond maid, whom matron frowns reprove,
Sufpends the fmile her heart devotes to love;
The feafon's pleasures too delay their hour,
And Winter revels with protracted pow'r:
Then blame not, Critics, if, thus late, we bring
A Winter's drama-but reproach -the Spring.
What prudent cit dares yet the feason trust,
Bafk in his whitky, and enjoy the duft?
Hors'd in Cheaptide, fcarce yet the gayer spark
Atchieves the Sunday triumph of the Park;

Scarce yet you fee him, dreading to be late,

Scour the New-road, and dath through Grosvenor-gate,
Anxious and fearful too-his fteed to fhew,
The hack'd Bucephalus of Rotten-row!
Carelefs he feems, yet, vigilantly fly,
Woos the ftray glance of Ladies paffing by,
While his off heel, infidioutly afide,
Provokes the caper which he feems to chide:
Scarce rural Kensington due honour gains,
The vulgar verdure of her walk remains,
Where white-rob'd Miffes amble two by two,
Nodding to booted beaux- How do, how do?'
With generous questions that no answer wait,
How vaftly full! a'n't you come vaftly late?
Isn't it quite charming? When do you leave town?
A'n't you quite tir'd? Pray, can we fet you down?'
Thefe fuperb pleafures of a London May
Imperfect yet, we hail the cold delay;
But if this plea's denied, in our excufe
Another ftill remains you can't refuse;

It is a Lady writes-and hark-a noble Mufe.
VOL. XXIII.

P

But

But fee a Critic. ftarting from his bench

• A noble Author?' Yes, Sir; but the Play's not French :
Yet if it were, no blame on us could fall;
For we, you know, muft follow Fashion's call;
And true it is things lately were EN TRAIN
To woo the Gallic Mufe at Drury-lane;
Not to import a troop of foreign elves,
But treat you with French actors-in ourselves:
A friend we had, who vow'd he'd make us fpeak
Pure flippant French,-by contract-in a week;
Told us 'twas time to ftudy what was good,
Polith, and leave off being understood,
That crouded audiences we thus might bring
To Monfieur Parfons and Chevalier King:

Or fhould the vulgars grumble now and then,
The prompter might tranflate-for country gentlemen.
Strait all fubfcrib'd-Kings, Gods, Mutes, Singer, Actor,-
A Flanders figure-dancer our contractor.

But here, I grieve to own, tho't it be to you,
He acted-e'en as moft contractors do;
Sold what he never dealt in, and th' amount
Being first discharg'd, fubmitted his account:
And what th' event? Their induftry was fuch,
Dodd fpoke good Flemish, Bannister bad Dutch.
Then the rogue told us, with infulting eafe,
So it was foreign, it was fure to please:
Beaux, wits, applaud, as fathion thould command,
And Miffes laugh-to feem to understand-
So from each clime our foil may fomething gain;
Manhood from Rome, and fprightlinefs from Spain;
Some Ruffian Rofcius next delight the age,
And a Dutch Heinel skate along the ftage.
Exotic fopperies, hail! whofe flatt'ring fmile
Supplants the fterner virtues of our ifle!
Thus, while with Chinese firs and Indian pines
Our nurs'ries swarm, the British oak declines:
Yet, vain our Mufes fear-no foreign laws
We dread, while native beauty pleads our caufe:

While you're to judge, whofe fmiles are honours higher
Than verte fhould gain, but where those eyes infpire.
But if the men prefume your pow'r to awe,
Retort their churlifh fenatorial law;

This is your houfe-and move-the gentlemen withdraw :
Then you may vote, with envy never ceafing,
Your influence has increas'd, and is increafing;
But there, I truft, the refolution's finith'd;
Sure none will fay-it ought to be diminish'd.

}

Characters

Characters of SALLUST and LIVY. From HAYLEY's Effay on Hiftory.

B

UT Rome's proud Genius, with exulting claim,

Points to her rivals of the Grecian name!

Sententious SALLUST leads her lofty train;

Clear, tho' concife, elaborately plain,

Poifing his fcale of words with frugal care,
Nor leaving one fuperfluous atom there!
Yet well difplaying, in a narrow space,
Truth's native ftrength, and Nature's eafy grace;
Skill'd to detect, in tracing Action's courfe,
The hidden motive, and the human fource.
His lucid brevity the palm has won,
By Rome's decifion, from OLORUS' Son.

Of mightier fpirit, of majestic frame,
With powers proportion'd to the Roman frame,
When Rome's fierce Eagle his broad wings unfurl'd,
And fhadow'd with his plumes the subject world,
In bright pre-eminence, that Greece might own,
Sublimer LIvy claims th' Hiftoric throne;
With that rich Eloquence, whofe golden light
Brings the full scene diftinctly to the fight;
That Zeal for Truth, which Intereft cannot bend,
That Fire, which Freedom ever gives her friend.
Immortal artist of a work fupreme!
Delighted Rome beheld, with proud esteem,
Her own bright image, of coloffal fize,
From thy long toils in pureft marble rife.
But envious Time, with a malignant ftroke,
This facred ftatue into fragments broke;
In Lethe's ftream its nobler portions funk,
And left Futurity the wounded trunk.
Yet, like the matchlefs, mutilated frame,
To which great ANGELO bequeath'd his name,
This glorious ruin, in whofe ftrength we find
The fplendid vigour of the Sculptor's mind,
In the fond eye of Admiration still
Rivals the finith'd forms of modern skill.

On Biography and the Character of PLUTARCH. From the same.

BLEST Biography! thy charms of yore
Hiftoric Truth to trong Affection bore,

And foft'ring Virtue gave thee as thy dower,
Of both thy parents the attractive power;

P 2

Το

To win the heart, the wavering thought to fix,
And fond delight with wife inftruction mix.
First of thy votaries, peerless, and alone,
Thy PLUTARCH fhines, by moral beauty known?
Enchanting Sage; whofe living leffons teach,
What heights of Virtue human efforts reach..
Tho' oft thy Pen, eccentrically wild,
Ramble, in Learning's various maze beguil'd;
Tho' in thy Style no brilliant graces fhine,
Nor the clear conduct of correct Design,
Thy every page is uniformly bright
With mild Philanthropy's diviner light.
Of gentleft manners, as of mind elate,
Thy happy Genius had the glorious fate
To regulate, with Wifdom's foft controul,
The ftrong ambition of a TRAJAN'S foul.
But O! how rare benignant Virtue fprings,
In the blank bofom of defpotic kings!

Y

Character of FROISSART. From the fame.

YET Courtely, with generous Valour join'd,
Fair Twins of Chivalry! rejoic'd to find
A faithful Chronicler in plain FROISSART;
As rich in honeky as void of art.

As the young Peafant, led by fpirits keen
To fome great city's gay and gorgeous fcene,
Returning, with increafe of proud delight,
Dwells on the various fplendor of the fight;
And gives his tale, tho' told in terms uncouth,
The charm of Nature, and the force of Truth,
Tho' rude engaging; fuch thy fimple page
Seems, O FROISSART! to this enlighten'd age.
Proud of their fpirit, in thy writings fhewn,
Fair Faith and Honour mark thee for their own;
Tho' oft the dupe of those delufive times,
Thy Genius, fofter'd with romantic rhymes,
Appears to play the legendary Bard,
And trefpafs on the truth it meant to guard.
Still fhall thy name, with lafting glory, ftand
High on the lift of that advent'rous band,
Who, bidding History fpeak a modern tongue,
From her cramp'd hand the Monkish fetters flung,
While yet deprefs'd in Gothic niglit fhe lay,
Nor law th approaching dawn of Attic day.

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Character

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