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PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES.

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A PROLOGUE TO LOVE AND FAME. SPOKE AT SCARBOROUGH.

[Entering. Where is this author?—Bid the wretch appear, Let him come in, and wait for judgment—here. Tliis awful jury, all impatient, wait;Let him come in, I say, and meet his fate!Strange, very strange, if such a piece succeeds!(Punish the culprit for his vile misdeeds) Know ye to night, that his presumptuous works Have turn'd good Christians into—Heathen Turks?And if the genius an't corrected soon, In his next trip, he Ml mount us to the Moon.

Methinks I hear him say—" For mercy's sake Hold your rash tongue—my love and fame's at stake;When you behold me—diffident—distrest!Tis cruelty to make my woes a jest:Well—if you will—but why should I distrust? My judges are as merciful as just;I know them well, have oft their friendship try'd, And their protection is my boast—my pride."

Hoping to please, he form'il 'his bustling plan; Hoping to please! 'tis all the moderns can: Faith! let him 'scape, let Love and Fame survive, With your kind sanction keep his scenes alive; Try to approve (applaud we will exempt) Nor crush the bardling in this hard attempt. Could he write up to an illustrious theme, There's mark'd upon the register of Fame A subject—but beyond the warmest lays! Wonder must paint, when 'tis a G—nby's praise.

A PROLOGUE TO RULE A WIFE.
SPOKEN AT EDINBURGH.

Tis an odd portrait that the poet drew!
A strange irregular he sets in view!
'Mongst us—thank Heaven—the character's un-
known,
(Bards have creative faculties we own)
And this appears a picture from his brain,
Till we reflect the lady liv'd in Spain.

Should we the portrait with the sex compare,
Twould add new honours to the northern fair;
Their merit, by the foil, conspicuous made,
And they seem'd brighter from contrasting shade.

Rude were the rules our fathers form'd of old, Nor should such antiquated maxims hold; Shall subject man assert superior sway, And dare to bid the angel sex obey? Or if permitted to partake the throne, Despotic, call the reins of power his own? Forbid it, all that's gracious—that's polite! (The fair to liberty have equal right) Nor urge the tenet, though from Fletcher's school, That every husband has a right to rule.

A matrimonial medium may be hit, Where neither governs, but where both submit.

The nuptial torch with decent brightness burns, Where male and female condescend by turns; Change then the phrase, the horrid text amend, And let the word obey, be condescend.

A PROLOGUE,

ON REVIVING THE MERCHANT OP VENICE, AT THE TIM* THE BILL HAD PASSED FOR NATURALIZING THE JEWS.

Twixt the sons of the stage, without pensions or places, And the vagabond Jews, are some similar cases;Since time out of mind, or they 're wrong'd much by slander, Both lawless, alike, have been sentene'd to wander; Then faith'tis full time we appeal to the nation, To be join'd in this bill for na-tu-ra-li-za-ti-on;Lard, that word's so uncouth !—'tis so irksome to speak it! [take it.

But 'tis Hebrew, I believe, and that 's taste, as I Well—now to the point—I'm sent herewith commission,

To present this fair circle our humble petition:But, conscious what hopes we should have of succeeding, Without (as they phrase it) sufficiently bleeding; And convine'd we 've no funds, nor old gold we can rake up, Like our good fathers—Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob;We must frankly confess we have nought to present ye,

But Shakspeare's old sterling—pray let it content ye. This Shylock, the Jew, whom we mean to restore ye, Was naturaliz'd oft by your fathers before ye;

Then take him to night to your kindest compassion,

For to countenance Jews is the pink of the fashion.

A PROLOGUE,

FOR SOME COUNTRY LADS, PERFORMING THE DEVIL OF A
WIFE, IN THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS.

In days of yore, when round the jovial board,
With harmless mirth, and social plenty stor'd,
Our parent Britons quafFd their nut-brown ale,
And carols sung, or told the Christmas tale;
InstrutsSt. George, old England'schampionknight.
With hasty steps, impatient to recite"How he had kill'd the dragon, once in fight."

From ev'ry side—from Troy — from ancient Princes pour in to swell the motley piece; [Greece, And while their deeds of prowess they rehearse, The flowing bowl rewards their hobbling verse.

Intent to raise this evening's cordial mirth, Like theirs, our simple stage-play comes to birth. Our want of art we candidly confess, But give you Nature in her homespun dress; No heroes here—no martial men of might! A collier is the champion of to night; His strap, more fam'd than George's lance of old, For it can tame that dragoness, a scold: Indulgent, then, support the cobler's cause, And though he may n't deserve it, smile applause.

A PROLOGUE,
ON OPENING THE NEW THEATRE IN NEWCASTLE, 1766.

If to correct the follies of mankind,
To mend the morals—to enlarge the mind,
To strip the self-deceiving passions bare.
With honest mirth to kill an evening's care;
If these kind motives can command applause,
For these the motley stage her curtain draws.

Does not the poet, that exists by praise,
Like to be told that he has rcach'd the bays?
Is not the wretch (still trembling for his store)
Pleas'd when he grasps a'glitt'ring thousand more?
Cheers not the mariner propitious seas?
Liki s not the lawyer to be handling fees?
Lives not the lover but in hopes of bliss?To ev'ry question we'll reply with—yes. Suppose them gratified—their full delight
Falls short of ours on this auspicious night;
When rich in happiness—in hopes elate,
Taste has receiv'd us to our fav'rite seat. O that the soul of action were but ours,
And the vast energy of vocal powers!That we might make a grateful ofPring, fit
For these kind judges that in candour sit.

Before such judges, we confess with dread, These new dominions we presume to tread;Yet if you smile, we 'II boldly do our best, And leave your favours to supply the rest.

AN INTRODUCTION,
SPOKE AT THE THEATRE IN SDNDERLAND, TO A PLAY PER-
FORMED THERE FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE WIDOWS AND
ORPHANS OF THAT PLACE.

On widows—orphans—left, alas! forlorn,
(From the rack'd heart its every comfort torn)
Humanity, to night, confers relief,
And softens, though she can't remove their grief:
Blasted her hopes, her expectations kill'd.
The sons of Sympathy (with sorrow chill'd)
Behold the wretched matron—madly weep,
And hear her cry—" My joys are in the deep!"
To the tremendous Power that rules mankind,
Lord of the seas—the calm and boist'rous wind,
We bow, obedient, and with awe resign'd.
His ways, inscrutable, we can't explore,
No—we may wonder, but we must adore.
Happy, for ever, be the generous breast,
That feels compassion for the poor distrest;
Happy the hand that stops the sufferer's tear 1
Such hands there are, and such, we find, are here.

AN ELEGIAC ODE

ON THE
DEATH OF HIS LATE MAJESTY.

Pallida mos a>quo pulsat pede pauperum tabcrnas,
Regumque turres. Horace.

England! thy Genius, vested like Despair, With loud distress alarms the chalky shore: "' Britons !" he cries, and rends his hoary hair,"Britons! your much-lov'd monarch is no more!" The sea-gods from their pearl-embroiderM beds,

Who to great George the green dominion gave, No longer lift their coral-crowned heads,

But dive distress'd beneath the trembling wave. Hark, how the winds, erst bounteous to his will.

That bore his thund'ring fleets to Gallia's shore, Pause,—for a while, pathetically still, Then let their sorrows burst in pealy roar.

The nymphs that in the sacred groves preside, Where Britain's conqu'ring oaks eternal spring.

In their embrown'd retreats their sorrows hide, And silent mourn the venerable king.

Tenants of liberty, on Britain's plain, With flocks enrich'd, a vast unnumber'd store!

Tis gone, the mighty George's golden reign;Your Pan, your great protector is no more!

The British swains, e'er whiles a blithsome thronr,
No more in Laughter's band, to revel seen!

No more the shepherd tunes his cheerful song,
Or dances sportful on the dew-dress'd green.

Beauty, no more the toy of fashion wears,
(So late by love's designful labour drest;) But from her brow the lustr'd diamond tears,
And with the sable cypress veils her breast,

Religion, lodg'd high on her pious pile,
Laments the fading state of Crowns below;While Melancholy fills the vaulted isle With the slow music of heart-wounding woe.

See the detestful owl, ill-omen'd, rise!

Dragg'd, by Despair, from her sequestr'd cell; And, by the discord of shrill shrieking cries,

Doubling the horrours of the deep-ton'd belL

The choral Muses droop! their harps unstrung, The lutes and laurel wreaths neglected fall!

Commerce—bestill'd her many-nation'd tongue, Whilom so busy in her bustling hall ■!

Behold the Virtues rang'd, a sorrowing band!

They mourn their Kinc with grief dejected era, See Art and sister Science, weeping stand!

For, ah! their patron, their defender dies;

On Conquest's cheek see how the roses fail!

Grief makes, alas! the fairest blossoms bow! And Honour's fire ethereal bums but pale,

That erst beam'd glorious on our George's brow.

The dreary paths of unrelenting Fate,

Must monarch?, mix'd with common mortals, try'

Is there no refuge for the good and great?
And must the gracious and the godlike die?

Must gilded courts be chang'd for Horroor's cave!

And scepter'd kings, who keep the world in awe, ConquerM by time, and the unpitying grave, Scarce sav'd their laurels from its rig'rous law!

Search where fell Carnage rag'd with rigour steetM, Where Slaughter, like the rapid lightning, ran;And say, when you 'vc bewept the blood-stain'd field, Which is the monarch r which the common man?

The Macedonian monarch', wise and good, Bade (when the morning's rosy reign began) Courtiers should call, as round his couch they stood, "Philip, remember thou 'rt no more than man.

* The hall of commerce, the Royal Exchange.

'Philip, king of Macedon, the father of Alexander the Great, appointed the pages of his chamber, to remind him every morning, that, notwithstaod

IMITATION OF HORACE.

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"Though glory spread thy name from pole to pole, Though thou art merciful, and brave, and just,

Philip, reflect thou 'rt posting to the goal,
Where mortals mix in undistinguisli'd dust."

What then avails Amhition's wide-stretch'd wing!
The schoolman's page, or pride of heauty's
hloom!The crape-clad hermit, and the rich-rob'd king,
Mingle promiscuous in the levelling tomh.

So Saladin for arts and arms renown'd,
The Syrians and Egyptians hoth suhdu'd;

Returning, with imperial trinmphs crown'd,
Sigh'd, when the perishable pomp he view'd.

And as he rode, high on his regal car,
In all the purple pride of Conquest drest,

Conspicuous o'er the trophies gain'd in war,
Plac'd on a pendant spear his burial vest.

While thus the herald cry'd, "This son of Pow'r,
This Saladin, to whom the nations bow'd,

May, in the space of a revolving hour, Boast of no other spoil but yonder shroud."

Can the deep statesman, skill'd in great design,
Save, for the smallest space, precarious breath?

Or the tun'd follower of the sacred Nine,
Soothe, with his melody, the tyrant Death?

No! though the palace bar her golden gate,
Or monarchs plant ten thousand guards around,

Unerring, and unseen, the shaft of Fate
Strikes the devoted victim to the ground.

If in the tent retir'd, or battle's rage,

Britannia's sighs shall reach greatFred'rie's* ear; He 'II drop the sword, or shut the sophic page, And pensive pay the tributary tear.

Then shall the monarch weigh the moral thought,
(As he laments the parent, friend, ally,)

The solemn truth, by sage Reflection taught,
That, spite of glory, Fred'ric's self must die.

Crowns, like the glow-worm's scarce distinguish'd light,

For a short moment glance their twinkling fires, Bnt there's a deathless wreath, divinely bright, Whose more than diamond lustre, ne'er expires.

Such is the starry meed that Virtue ty'd With her own hands on George's gracious brow;

Eternal shall its golden heams ahide, Though the bright Sun should from its orhit how.

Nor is the sacred gift to kings confin'd, The wretch, to fortune, friends, and fame unknown,

Shall, if sweet piety adorn his mind, Mount to the highest step of Glory's throne.

ing his glory and power, he was no more than a mere mortal man.

'Saladin, a famous eastern emperor, in his trinmphant return from the most remarkable conquests, had a shroud carried before him, while proclamation was made, That the victor, after all his glory, could lay real claim to nothing hut that wretched linen to wrap his hody in for the tomh.

* Frederic, king of Prussia.

The parent's face Apelles* prudent hides, While Death devours the darling of his age:
Nature the pencil'd stroke of art derides,
When grief distracts with agonizing rage.

Then let the Muse her sablest curtain spread, By Sorrow taught her nerveless pow'r to know When nations cry, their king, their parent's dead, The rest is dumh, unutterahle woe.

Mercy, co-partner of great George's throne, Through the emhrighted air ascendant flies,
Duteous, thc peace-hestowing maid is flown
To smooth his halcyon progress to the skies.

But see a sacred radiance beams around!

That with returning hope a people cheers! Behold you youth, with grace imperial crown'd, How awful! yet how lovely in his tears!

Mark how his bosom heaves the filial sigh!

He droops distress'd like a fair frost-chill'd flower, Till Glory, from her radiant sphere on high, Hails him to hold the reins of regal Power.

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CUNNINGHAMS POEMS.Should a thousand ills enclose yon.
Quick contrivance this i hestows you!
Valour makes the fair adore you;
This i shall drive your foes hefore you.

Gold's the mighty source of pleasure!
Take this purse of magic treasure;
Go—for while my gifts hefriend you,
Joy and jollity attend you.

ACROSTIC.

"P-rav tell me," says Venus, one day to the Graces, [places) (O-n a visit they came, and had just ta'en their"L-et me know why of late I can ne'er see your faces: [ye:

L-adies, nothing, I hope, happen'd here to affright Y-ou've had compliment cards ev'ry day to invite ye."

S-ays Cupid, who guess'd their rehellious proceeding, [a-hreeding: "U-uderhand, dear mamma, there's some mischief T-here's a fair-one at Lincoln, sorinish'd a heauty, T-hat your loves and your graces all swerve from their duty." [thus put on,"O-n my life," says dame Venus, " I 'll not be N-ow I think on't, last night, some one call'd me Miss Sutton."

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DEATH OF MR. H

This sudden stroke ('twas like the lightning's blast)
The sons of Albion can't enough deplore;

Think, Britons, think on all his triumphs past,
And weep your warrior is alas! no more.

Blight, we are told, respects the conq'ror's tree,
And through the laurel grove with caution flies:

Vague—and how vain must that assertion be,
CoverM with laurels when a Uranby dies!

-...A PETITION...ODES.From Zembla to the torrid zone,
The mighty name of Prussia's known.

ON THE DEATH OF ME.

OF SUNDERLAND.

Go, breath of Sorrow,—go attending sighs,
Acquaint the natives of the northern shore,

The man they lov'd, the man they honour'd, dies,
And Charity's first steward—is no more.

Where shall the poor a friendly patron find?

Who shall relieve them from their loads of pain? Say, has he left a feeling heart behind,

So gracious—good—so tenderly humane?

Yes—there survives his darling offspring—young,
Yet in the paths of Virtue, steady—sure!

Twas the last lesson from his parent's tongue,
"Think, (O remember) think upon my poor."

A PETITION

TO THE WORSHIPFUL FREE MASONS, DELIVERED FROM THE
STAGE, BY A LADY, AT A COMEDY COUNTENANCED BY
THAT FRATERNITY.

Brothers!—'tis bold to interrupt your meeting,
But from the female world I wait you—greeting:

[Curtsies.
The ladies can advance a thousand reasons,
That make them hope to be received as Masons:
To keep a secret,—not one hint expressing,
To rein the tongue—O husbands, there's a blessing!
As virtue seems the Mason's sole foundation,
Why should the fair be barr'd from—installation?
If you suppose us weak, indeed you wrong us;
H-oorians, Sapphoe too, you'll find among us;
Think—brothers—think, and graciously admit us;
IVxibt it not, sirs, we 'II gloriously acquit us:
How to be wiser, and more cautious, teach us,
Indeed 'tis time that your instructions reach us:
The faults of late, and every foul miscarriage,
Committed in the sphere of modern marriage,
Were caus'd, (if I 've a grain of penetration)
From each great lady's not being made a Mason.
Accept us, then, to brotherhood receive us,
And Virtue, we're coavine'd, will never leave us.

AN ODE

FOR IDE BIRTH DAY OF THE KINO OF PRUSSIA.

Arma, rirumque cano. Virg.

RECIT.

Mori glorious than the comet's blaze,
Thmt Ihruugh the starry region stray*:

Be banish'd from the books of Fame,

Ye deeds in distant ages done;
Lost and inglorious is the name
Of Hannibal, or Philip's son:
Could Greece, or conquering Carthage sing
A hero great as Prussia's king!

Where restless Envy can't explore,
Or flatter'd Hope presume to fly;Fate bade victorious Fred'ric soar,
For laurels that can never die.
Could Greece, lec

His rapid bolts tremendous break,
Through nations arm'd in dread array, Swift as the furious blasts that shake
The bosom of the frighted sea.
Could Greece, &c.

In vain, to shake the throne of Jove,
With impious rage, the giants try'd;'Gainst Fred'ric's force the nations strove
In vain—their haughty legions dy'd.
Could Greece, &c.

While Prudence guides his chariot wheels,
Through Virtue's sacred paths they roll;
Immortal Truth his bosom steels.
And guards him glorious to the goal.
Could Greece, &c.

The vengeful lance Britannia wields,

In consort with her brave ally,
Saves her fair roses in the fields,
Where Gaul's detested lilies die.
Wreaths of eternal friendship spring,
Twixt mighty George and Prussia's king.

The jocund bowl let Britons raise,

And crown the jovial board with mirth;
Fill—to great Frederic's length of days,
And hail the hero's glorious birth—
Could Greece, or conquering Carthage sing
A chieftain fam'd like Prussia's king?

AN ODE,

COMPOSED FOR THE BIRTH-DAY OF THE LATE GENERAL
LORD BLAKENEY.

The Muses' harps, by Concord strung!

Loud let them strike the festal lay,
Wak'd by Britannia's grateful tongue,
To hail her hero's natal day.
Arise, paternal glory rise,
And lilt your Blakeney to the skies!

Behold his warlike banners wave!

Like Britain's oak the hero stands:
The shield—the shelter of the brave!The guardian o'er the British bands;
Arise, paternal, &c

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