Ye guilty, lawless tribe,
Efcap'd from punishment, by art or bribe,
At Shakespeare's bar appear!
No bribing, fhuffling there-
His genius, like a rushing flood,
Cannot be withstood;
Out bursts the penitential tear!
The look appal'd, the crime reveals,
The marble-hearted monfter feels,
Whofe hand is stain'd with blood.
SEMI-CHORUS.
When law is weak, and juftice fails,
The poet holds the fword and scales.
AIR.
Though crimes from death and torture fly,
The swifter muse,
Their flight pursues.
Guilty mortals more than die !
They live indeed, but live to feel
The fcourge and wheel,
"On the torture of the mind they lie :"
Should harafs'd nature fink to rest,
The poet wakes the fcorpion in the breast,
Guilty mortals more than die l
When our magician, more infpir'd,
By charms, and spells, and incantations fir'd,
Exerts his moft tremendous pow'r;
The thunder growls, the heavens low'r,
And to his darken'd throne repair,
The demons of the deep, and spirits of the air!
But foon thefe horrors pass away;
Thro' ftorms and night breaks forth the day:
He fmiles-they vanish into air!
The bufkin'd warriors disappear!
Mute the trumpets, mute the drums,
The scene is chang'd-Thalia comes,
Leading the nymph Euphrofyne,
Goddefs of joy and liberty!
She and her fifters, hand in hand,
Link'd to a numerous frolic band,
With roses and with myrtle crown'd,
O'er the green velvet lightly bound,
Circling the monarch of th' enchanted land!
A I R.
I.
Wild, frantic with pleasure,
They tript it in measure,
To bring him their treasure,
The treasure of joy.
How gay is the measure,
How fweet is the pleasure,
How great is the treasure,
The treasure of joy!
III.
Like roses fresh blowing,
Their dimpled cheeks glowing,
His mind is o'erflowing;
A treasure of joy!
IV,
His rapture perceiving,
They fmile while they're giving,
He fmiles at receiving
A treasure of joy!
With kindling cheeks, and fparkling eyes,
Surrounded thus, the bard in transport dies;
The little loves, like bees,
Cluft'ring and climbing up his knees,
His brows with roles bind;
While Fancy, Wit, and Humour fpread
Their wings, and hover round his head,
Impregnating his mind.
Which teeming foon, as foon brought forth,
Not a tiny fpurious birth,
But out a mountain came,
A mountain of delight!
Laughter roar'd out to fee the fight,
And Falftaff was his name!
With fword and fhield, he, puffing, ftrides;
The joyous rebel rout
Receive him with a fhout,
And modeft Nature holds her fides;
No fingle pow'r the deed had done,
But great and small,
Wit, Fancy, Humour, Whim, and Jeft,
The huge, mishapen heap imprefs'd;
And lo-Sir John!
A compound of 'em all,
A comic world in one.
AIR.
A world where all pleasures abound,
So fruitful the earth,
So quick to bring forth,
And the world too is wicked and round.
As the well-teeming earth,
With rivers and fhow'rs,
Will fmiling bring forth
Her fruits and her flow'rs;
So Falstaff will never decline
Still fruitful and gay,
He moiftens his clay,
And his rain and his rivers are wine;
Of the world he has all, but its care;
No load, but of flesh, will he bear;
He laughs off his pack,
Takes a cup of old fack,
And away with all forrow and care.
Like the rich rainbow's various dyes,
Whofe circle fweeps o'er earth and skies,
The heav'n-born mufe appears ;
Now in the brightest colours gay,
Now quench'd in fhow'rs fhe fades away
Now blends her fmiles and tears,
Sweet fwan of Avon! ever may thy ftream
Of tuneful numbers be the darling theme;
Not Thames himself, who in his filver courfe
Triumphant rolls along,
Britannia's riches and her force,
Shall more harmonious flow in fong.
O had those bards, who charm the lift'ning fhore
Of Cam and Ifis, tun'd their claffic lays,
And from their full and precious flore,
Vouchfaf'd to fairy-haunted Avon praife!
(Like that kind bounteous hand*,
Which lately gave the ravish'd eyes
Of Stratford fwains
Of widen'd river, lengthen'd plains,
And opening fkies.)
Nor Greek, nor Roman ftreams would flow along,
More fweetly clear, or more fublimely strong;
Nor thus a fhepherd's feeble notes reveal,
At once the weakest numbers, and the warmest zeal.
Thou foft-flowing Avon, by thy filver ftream,
Of things more than mortal, fweet Shakespeare would dream,
The Fairies by moonlight dance round his green bed,
For ballow'd the turf is which pillow'd his head.
The love-ftricken maiden, the foft-fighing fwain;
Here rove without danger, and figh without pain;
The sweet bud of beauty, no blight fhall here dread,
For hallow'd the turf is which pillow'd his head.
, with the concurrence of Mr. P—y, mok generously ordered a great number of trees to be cut down, to open the river Avon for the Jubilee.
Here youth fhall be fam'd for their love and their truth,
And cheerful old age feel the spirit of youth;
For the raptures of fancy here poets fhall tread,
For hallow'd the turf is that pillow'd his head.
IV.
Flow on filver Avon, in fong ever flow,
Be the fwans on thy bofom ftill whiter than fnow,
Ever full be thy ftream, like his fame may it fpread,
And the turf ever hallow'd which pillow'd his head.
Tho' bards with envy-aching eyes,
Behold a tow'ring eagle rife,
And would his flight retard;
Yet each to Shakespeare's genius bows,
Each weaves a garland for his brows,
To crown the heav'n-diftinguish'd bard.
Nature had form'd him on her nobleft plan,
And to the genius join'd the feeling man.
What tho' with more than mortal art,
Like Neptune, he directs the ftorm,
Lets loose like winds the paffions of the heart,
To wreck the human form;
Tho' from his mind rush forth the demons to destroy,
His heart ne'er knew but love, and gentleness and joy.
AIR.
More gentle than the fouthern gale,
Which foftly fans the bloffom'd vale,
And gathers on its balmy wing,
The fragrant treasures of the fpring,
Breathing delight on all it meets,
And giving, as it fteals, the fweets."
Look down, bleft fpirit, from above,
With all thy wonted gentlenefs and love;
And as the wonders of thy pen,
By heav'n infpir'd,
To virtue fir'd,
The charm'd, astonish'd fons of men!
With no reproach, even now thou view'ft thy work.
To nature facred as to truth,
Where no alluring mifchiefs lurk,
To taint the mind of youth.
Still to thy native fpot thy fmiles extend,
And as thou gav'ft it fame, that fame defend;
And may no facrilegious hand
Near Avon's banks be found,
To dare to parcel out the land,
And limit Shakespeare's hallow?d ground;*
This alludes to a defign of inclosing a large common field at Stratford.
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