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ALEXANDER'S FEAST;

OR THE

POWER OF MUSIC.

As recited by Mr. SHERIDAN, at Freemasons-Hall; and esteemed the most fublime and harmonious Piece of Poetic Compofition that any Language can boast of.

"T"

WAS at the royal Feaft, for Perfia won,
By Philip's warlike fon :

Aloft, in awful state,

The god-like hero fate

On his imperial throne :

His valiant peers were plac'd around;
Their brows with rofes and with myrtles bound:

So fhou'd defert in arms be crown'd.
The lovely Thais by his fide,

Sate like a blooming eastern bride,

In flow'r of youth and beauty's pride.

Happy, happy, happy pair!

None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deserve the fair.

Timotheus

"And Molly and I have thrust in our nose,

"To peep at the Captain in all his fine clo'es. "Dear madam, be fure he's a fine spoken man, "Do but hear on the Clergy how glib his tongue 66 ran;

"And madam, fays he, if fuch dinners you give, "You'll ne'er want for Parfons as long as you live. "I ne'er knew a Parfon without a good nofe: "But the Devil's as welcome wherever he goes: "G--d d---n me! they bid us reform and repent, "But, z---s! by their looks they never keep Lent: "Mr. Curate, for all your grave looks I'm afraid "You caft a sheep's eye on her Ladyship's maid : "I wish she would lend you her pretty white hand "In mending your caflock, and smoothing your band. (For the Dean was fo fhabby, and look'd like a

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"ninny,

"That the Captain fuppos'd he was Curate to Jinny) "Whenever you fee a caffock and gown,

"A hundred to one but it covers a clown.

"Obferve how a Parfon comes into a room;

"G---d d---n me! he hobbles as bad as my groom ; "A fcholard, when just from his college broke loose, "Can hardly tell how to cry bo to a goose ;

"Your Noveds, and Bluturcks, and Omurs, and

*

.. stuff,

"By G, they don't fignify this pinch of fnuff.

* Ovids, Plutarchs, Homers.

"To

"To give a young gentleman right education, "The army's the only good school in the nation :

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My school-mafter call'd me a dunce and a fool. "But at cuffs I was always the cock of the school; "I never could take to my book for the blood o’me. "And the puppy confefs'd he expected no good o'me. "He caught me one morning coquetting his wife,

But he maul'd me, I ne'er was fo maul'd in my

life:

"So I took to the road, and, what's very odd, “The first man I robb'd was a Parfon, by G

"Now, madam, you'll think it a strange thing to fay, "But the fight of a book makes me fick to this day."

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"Never fince I was born did I hear fo much wit, "And, madam, I laugh'd till I thought I should split. "So then you look'd scornful, and snift at the Dean, "As who fhould say, "Now, am I * skinny and "lean?"

"But he durft not fo much as once open his lips, "And the Doctor was plaguily down in the hips."

Thus mercilefs Hannah ran on in her talk,

Till she heard the Dean call," Will your Ladyship "walk?"

Her Ladyship answers, "I'm juft coming down :"

Then, turning to Hannah, and forcing a frown,

* Nick-names for my Lady.

Although

Although it was plain in her heart she was glad,

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Cry'd, Huffy, why fure the wench is gone mad!

"How could these chimeras get into your brains ?— "Come hither, and take this old gown for your pains. "But the Dean, if this secret should come to his ears, <<< Will never have done with his gibes and his jeers : "For your life, not a word of the matter I charge ye "Give me but a barrack, a fig for the clergy."

ELEGY

EL

EGY

Written in a COUNTRY CHURCH YARD.

By GRAY.

Read by Mr. SHERIDAN, at Freemafon's-Hall.

HE curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

THE

The lowing herd wind flowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight,
And all the air a folemn ftillness holds,

Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the diftant folds;

Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r,
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of fuch as wand'ring near her fecret bow'r,
Moleft her ancient folitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's fhade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet fleep.

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The fwallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed,
The cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more fhall rouse them from their lowly bed.

For

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