Now, from Parnaffus' throne, the prince of wit,
It feems, hath issued out his royal writ
For a new member-no offence to give
To a late worthy reprefentative;

Who, ris'n to favour, hath from us retreated,
And 'midft the lords of t'other house is feated-
His fervice loft, prefuming you may need him,
The prefent candidate would fain fucceed him.
Not that he vainly boafts, on this occafion,
He met encouragement from your perfuafion;

Or that both friends, who love, and foes, who hate him,
Have been unanimous to nominate him.

'Tis for this loyal borough, his affection

and patriot zeal, that make him risk th' election :
To his conftituents fubject to control,

With whofe good leave he means to ftand the poll;
Trufting fecure to their impartial choice,
The town uncanvafs'd for a fingle voice:
Nay, brib'd no brother burgefs-bard of note.
Nor by corruption gain'd one critic's vote.
Too proud to beg, too modeft to demand,
By merit only would he fall or ftand:
Nor enmity nor friendship interfering,
He only afks a fair and candid hearing.
If, after that, you should with fcorn reject him,
Or make one honeft fcruple to elect him,
He'll lay his unadvised scheme afide,
And frankly own himself not qualified.

EPILOGUE, Spoken by the Mrs. CLIVE.

THATEVER difcord and diforder reign

W Among the learned fons of Warwick-lane,

Should they throw fquibs made up of Latin scraps,
And come to pulling wigs, as women caps,
The fick efcape-Death will not lay about him,
He has more honour, than to work without 'em,
Should you (to the pit) whofe skill and wisdom we ac-
knowledge,

The fellows of this old dramatic college,

(No matter what the caufe of altercation)
Croud hither ev'ry night for difputation;
The bard, half dead before, enjoys the fport,
Gets ftrength each day, and is the better for't.
Warm'd with this fubject, let your fancies play,
And me, by licence, make a doctor, pray.

fuppofe

Suppofe this gown a fuit of velvet, plain,
With a gold button;-and this fan-a cane;
My cap becomes a tye, moft wifely big;
Oh! no-I had forgot-a fmart bag wig;
No phyfic bufbes now are feen in town,
For all the figns, you know, are taken down.
Call me licenciate-fellow-what you will-
I'll feel your pulfes all, and prove my skill.
The pulfes of the boxes first I'll feel,
And by their beating will their thoughts reveal,
(fbe acts the doctor feeling a pulje,)
Languid and low-Wildman's old-fashion'd story
Was much too nervous, to be set before ye :
For twelve long years a tender wife forfaking,

king,}

Worn out with wand'ring, and, what's worse, with raking,
And then return-he was not worth the taking.
As for the pulfes of my friends above,

They thump for joy-when fpoufes kifs and love.
Blefs their young hearts-what means this palpitation?
Each mifs's blood is now in agitation!
Each quick pulfation for Narciffa beats?
When the went off-they scarce could keep their feats.
When Lombard talk'd of bribes-how lik'd you that?

(to the pit.)

Some pulfes in this houfe went-pat, pat, pat.
If this our night's prescription you have taken
Without wry faces, or your heads much shaken
If you perceive fome character, and wit,
With plot and humour-quantum fufficit;
Mixt up with fal volatile of fatire.
Let it quotidie noči repatatur ;
'Tis by our noftrums you are kept alive;
Pursue the regimen of Doctor Clive.

;

A PASTORAL. In the Modern Style,

PASTORA and GALATEA.

BENEATH the umbrageous shadow of a fhade,

Where glowing foliage on the furface play'd,
And golden rofes fann'd the filver breeze,
In many a maze light echoing through the trees,
Paftora tun'd the fweetly-panting ftring,

And ruddy notes thus wak'd the flattering fpring;
While from th' alternate margin of an oak,
A woodland Naiad thus meandering spoke.

S 3

Tde

PASTORA.

The reed difports upon the founding thorn,
And Philomel falutes the noon-tide morn,
The buzzing bees, poetic from their hive,
In fmooth alliteration feem alive;
But ah! my virgin fwain is chafter far
Than Cupid's painted fhafts, or sparrows are;
Sparrows, that perch, like Sappho's, on my lay
Or hop in concert with the dancing day..

GALATEA.

What found was that, which dawn'd a bleating huc,
And blush'd a figh? Paftora, was it you?

Your notes, fweet maid, this proverb ftill fhall foil,
The pot that's watch'd was never known to boil.'

PASTORA.

Ah, no! whate'er thou art, or figh, or word,
Or golden water fam'd, or talking bird;
Source of my joy, or genius of my notes,
Or Ocean's landscape ftampt with lyric boats,
Ah, no far hence thy aromatic strains
Recoil and beautify our vaulted plains.

PASTORA.

When night pellucid warbles into day,
And morn fonorous floats upon the May,
With well-blown bugle through the wilds of air
I roam accordant, while the bounding hare
In covert claps her wings, to fee me pafs
Ethereal meadows of tranfparent grass.

GALATEA.

Magnetic thunders now illume the air,
And fragrant mufic variegates the year,
Light trips the dolphin through cerulean woods,
And fpotlefs tygers harmonize the floods;

E'en

E'en Thetis fmooths her brow, and laughs to fee
Kind nature weep, in fymphony with me.

GALATEA.

Expound me this, and I'll difclaim the prize,
Whofe luftre blushes with Peruvian dyes.
When crowing foxes whiftle in their dens,
Or radiant hornpipes dance to cocks and hens,
What makes fly Reynard and his cackling mate,
That fav'd the capitol, refign to fate?

An Ironical Eulogium on IGNORANCE. By Dr. CLANCY, of Durrow, in Ireland.

Quanto reaius eft fe plane nihil fcire confiteri.

Knowledge, that woeful source of ftrife,

The peft and bane of human life,
Deriv'd from Adam's fatal tree,
To curfe his wretched progeny;
Has made all true enjoyments lefs
Than what our fellow-brutes possess ;
Who by unerring inftinct move,
And from its dictates never rove;
But always fteadily pursue
What fimple nature bids them do.

This true affertion must surprise,

And shock the learned and the wife,
Who look on all-with proud difdain,
That want the ftuff that loads their brain.

And keeps them ever, by delufion,
In dark irregular confufion.

The fureft calm that can allay
The ftorms of life's tempeftuous fea,
Is found in undisturb'd repofe,
Whence every juft contentment flows:
Thus in the thoughtlefs, careless mind,
The feat of real blifs we find.

OIgnorance! thou darling child
Of nature, like thy parent mild;
Thou precious gift, beftow'd at birth,
To form our happinefs on earth;
Involv'd in thee, we bid defiance
To all the rocks and crags of fcience :
In thy fafe port fecure we fleep,

While Learning ploughs the toilfome deep a
Thy influ'nce makes the blockhead fcribble
Conundrums quaint, and far-fetched quibble;
Makes Anti-Christian - preach,
And cow-boys Greek and Latin teach;
Phyficians gravely mix a potion,
That cures all ills by ftopping motion
The foggy lawyers make defence
Againft all rules of common fenfe;
Dull magiftrates on benches nod,
And vainly hold the ufelefs rod:
Make ftatefmen loll in fplendour, brewing
Their mafter's and the nation's ruin.

From love, the choicest boon that Heav'n Has by its kind indulgence giv'n,

Is ev'ry ftore of fweetnefs flown,

When fecrets once are too well known:
Thus, all the joys of life's fhort trance
Confift in downright ignorance,

Knowledge! withdraw thy hated rays;
We love obfcurity and ease:

Extend thy glimm'ring light no more,
But let us yawn, and fleep, and fnore :
Since not e'en Berkley's vifions faw
Th' intrinfic parts that form a straw;
Nor Newton, more than mortals wife,
Who fathom'd earth, and feas, and skies,
Could ever truly understand

The effence of one grain of fand.