We twine the feftive wreath, the shrines adorn,
'Tis not our King's alone, 'tis Britain's natal morn.
Bright examples plac'd on high

Shine with more diftinguish'd blaze;
Thither nations turn their eye,

And grow virtuous as they gaze.
Thoughtless ease, and sportive leifure,
Dwell in life's contracted sphere,
Public is the monarch's pleasure,
Public is the monarch's care :

If Titus fmiles, the observant world is gay,
If Titus frowns, or fighs, We figh and lofe a day!
Around their couch, around their board
A thousand ears attentive wait,
A thousand busy tongues record
The fmalleft whifpers of the great.
Happy thofe whom truth fincere
And confcious virtue join to guide!
Can they have a foe to fear,

Can they have a thought to hide ?
Nobly they foar above th' admiring throng
Superior to the power, the will of acting wrong.
Such may Britain find her kings!-

Such the mufe of rapid wings
Wafts to some fublimer fphere:
Gods, and heroes mingle there.
Fame's eternal accents breathe,
Black Cocytus howls beneath;

Ev'n Malice learns to blush, and hides her ftings.
-O fuch may Britain ever find her kings!

Two Songs fung at the Mufical Entertainment, &c. given at the Queen's Palace, June 6, 1763, in honour of his Majefty's Birth-day.

FIRST SONG.

TO Peace and Love, in courts but feldom feen,
This fmiling day has facred been :

And may they here, united reign,
While winter chills, or fummer warms the plain!

May SHE, whofe duty is her joy,

Still, ftill on tasks of love her hours employ
To chear her King, to charm her Friend:
On his and Britain's Hope, with pleasure tend I

*Pindar.

While

That lovely, that unfolding rofe,
With care to watch, and cherish, as he grows;
While, with a Mother's foft furprize,
She fees, in him renew'd, his Parent rise!

SECOND SONG.
LET harmony reign,
And let pleasure abound;
While in fparkling champain
This health goes around:

The King!-may his birth-day fucceffively fmile
With joy on himself, and with peace to his ifle!
All white be his moments, and bear on their wing,
In the brightness of fummer, the foftness of fpring!
May fhe, who bestow'd him on Britain this morn,
Live long, his mild fway to applaud and adorn!
May each loyal gueft, that around him is feen,
Embrace as a Sifter, whom love made his Queen!
Then let harmony reign,
Then let pleasure abound;
While in fparkling champain
These wishes go round!

PRO L O OGUE,

To the ENGLISHMAN at BOURDEAUX,

1

Performed fince the conclufion of the peace, with une-versal applause at Paris. TOO long by fome fatality misled,

Vol. VI.

From pride refulting, or from folly bred :
Each clime to all the virtues lays a claim,
And foars, felf-flatter'd, to the top of fame;
Confines each merit to itself alone,
Or thinks no other equal to its own:
E'en the pale Ruffian fhiv'ring as he lies,
Beneath the horror of his bitterest skies,
While the loud tempeft rattles o'er his head,
Or burfts all dreadful on his tott'ring shed,
Hugs a foft fomething closely to his foul,
That fooths the cutting fharpness of the pole,
Elates his bofom with a confcious pride,
And fimiles contempt on all the world befide.
'Tis your's, O France, the earliest to unbind
This more than Gordian manacle of mind!
To-night we bid your juftice may be shewn
To foreign virtues equal with your own;
Think, nobly think, when nature first was born,
And fair creation kindled into morn,

The

The world was but one family, one band,
Which glow'd all grateful to the heavenly hand;
Thro' ev'ry breaft a focial impulse ran,

Link'd beaft to beaft, and faften'd man to man,
And the fole diff'rence which he heard, or had,
Dwelt in the fimple phrafes, good or bad."
Then scorn to give fuch partial feelings birth,
As claim but one poor competence of earth;
Be more than French; on ev'ry country call,
And rife, exalted, citizens of all.

EPILOGU

E.

THE anxious ftruggle happily o'erpaft,
And ev'ry party fatisfy'd at laft;
It now remains to make one fhort effay,
And urge the moral leffon in the play.

In arts long fince has Britain been renown'd,
In arms high honour'd, and in letters crown'd:
The fame great goddefs who fo nobly fung,

In Shakespear's ftrains, and honey'd o'er his tongue,
Their deathlefs Marlbro' to the triumph led,
And wreath'd eternal laurels round his head ;
Yet tho' the trump of never-dying fame
Strikes heav'n's high arches with the British name;
Tho' on the fands of Africa it glows,

Or cafts a day-light on the Zemblian fnows;
Still there are faults in Britain to be found,.
Which fpring as freely as in common ground,-
We are too gay,-they frequently too fad;
We run ftark wild;-they melancholy mad;
Extremes of either reafon will condemn,
Nor join with us, nor vindicate with them.

-

The human genius, like revolving funs,
An equal circuit in the bofom runs :
And tho' the various climates where 'tis plac'd,
Muft ftrike out new diverfities of tafte,
To one grand point eternally it leans,
Howe'er it warps or differs in the means.
Hence on no nation let us turn our eyes,
And idly raise it fpotlefs to the fkies;
Nor ftill more idly let our cenfures fall,
Since knaves and madmen may be found in all.

Here then we reft, nor further can contend,
For fince the best will find fome fault to mend,
Let us, where'er the virtues fhed their fire,
'With fervor reverence, and with zeal admire
Exert our care the gath'ring blaze to trace,
And make the progrefs only, not the place:

Confefs

PROLOGUE to PHILASTER.

Written by Mr. GEORGE COLMAN.

HILE modern tragedy, by rule exact,

WH

Spins out a thin-wrought fable, act by act,
We dare to bring you one of thofe bold plays
Wrote by rough English wits in former days;
Beaumont and Fletcher! thofe twin ftars, that run
Their glorious courfe round Shakespear's golden fun;
Or when Philafter, Hamlet's place fupplied,
Or Beffus walk'd the stage by Falstaff's fide;
Their fouls, well pair'd, fhot fire in mingled rays,
Their hands together twin'd the focial bays;
Till fashion drove, in a refining age,

Virtue from court, and nature from the stage.
Then nonfenfe, in heroics feem'd fublime;

Kings rav'd in couplets, and maids figh'd in rhime.
Next prim and trim, and delicate, and chaste,

A hash from Greece and France, came modern taste.
Cold are her fons, and fo afraid of dealing.

In rant and fuftian, they ne'er rife to feeling.
O fay, ye bards of phlegm, fay, where's the name
That can with Fletcher urge a rival claim?
Say, where's the poet, train'd in pedant schools,
Equal to Shakespear, who o'erleapt all rules?
Thus of our bards we boldly fpeak our mind;
A harder task, alas! remains behind :
To-night, as yet by public eyes unfeen,
A raw unpractifed novice fills the fcene.
Bred in the city, his theatric ftar

Brings him at length on this fide Temple-bar;
Smit with the mufe, the ledger he forgot,
And when he wrote his name, he made a blot.
Him while perplexing hopes and fears embarrass,
Sculking (like Hamlet's rat) behind the arras,
Me a dramatic fellow-feeling draws,
Without a fee, to plead a brother's cause.
Genius is rare; and while our great comptroller,
No more a manager, turns arrant stroller,
Let new adventurers your care engage,
And nurfe the infant faplings of the ftage!

EPIGRAM,

MUCH has been writ, O Wilkes! in vain

Thy doubtful fame to afcertain ; At length two circumstances show Thy real character below.

Q4

Thy

"Thy correfpondent, thine ally,
"Or any thing but bind and tye.-
"But ere this treaty be agreed,
"Give me thy wand and winged steed:
"Take thou this compass and this rule,
"That wit may ceafe to play the fool;
"And that thy vot'ries who are born
"For praife, may never fink to scorn."

An ancient TALE, from GOWER, modernized.

IN

N Rome, when Lucius bore the fway,
It happ'd, fo ancient stories say,
One ev❜ning ere he went to bed,
To ease of all his cares, his head,
He call'd his fteward, a doughty knight,
That he might counfel what was right
With's chamberlain, a lord of parts,
Deep skill'd in all the courtly arts;
And by the chimney as they flood,
They freely talk'd as they thought good;
Before the fire upon a ftool,

Close by them fat the monarch's fool;
And as he with his bauble play'd,
He heard right well whate'er they faid.
The king his various doubts propos'd,
And they, at will, their thoughts disclos'd.
When many questions thus had past,
The king demanded, at the laft,
What with his people was his fame,
And if rever'd, or fcorn'd his name?
Bid them the truth to him declare,
And tell him all things as they were;
On their alllegiance, without awe
Or dread, that they might anger draw:
Since 'twas his will, as tongues will walk,
To know the common people's talk.

The fteward, in anfwer, told the king,
(As palace nightingales ftill fing)
That far and wide, as he could hear,
His majesty to all was dear.
And his long reign by all defir'd;
That all his actions were admir'd,
In this, that high and low agreed,
Hoping that heaven had fo decreed:
Thus fpoke the fteward; and all he fpoke
Was flatt'ry, drefs'd in falfehood's cloak.
Next, turning to his chamberlain,
The king requir'd in language plain,

That