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Unknown, unheeded, long his offsping lay,
And want hung threat'ning o'er her flow decay.
What though the shine with no Miltonian fire,
No fav'ring Mufe her morning dreams infpire;
Yet fofter claims the melting heart engage,
Her youth laborious, and her blameless age;
Hers the mild merits of domestick life,

The patient fufferer, and the faithful wife.
Thus, grac'd with humble virtue's native charms,
Her grandfire leaves her in Britannia's arms;
Secure with peace, with competence, to dwell,
While tutelary nations guard her cell.

Yours is the charge, ye fair, ye wife, ye brave!
'Tis yours to crown defert-beyond the grave.

PROLOGUE,

TO THE COMEDY OF

THE GOOD-NATUR'D MAN. 1769.

P

REST by the load of life, the weary mind
Surveys the gen'ral toil of human kind,
With cool fubmiffion joins the lab'ring train,
And focial forrow lofes half its pain;

Our anxious bard without complaint may share
This bustling season's epidemick care;
Like Cæsar's pilot dignify'd by fate,

Toft in one common ftorm with all the great;

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Diftreft

Diftreft alike the statesman and the wit,
When one a Borough courts, and one the Pit.
The bufy candidates for power and fame
Have hopes, and fears, and wishes, juft the fame ;
Disabled both to combat and to fly,

Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply.
Uncheck'd on both, loud rabbles vent their rage,
As mongrels bay the lion in a cage.

Th' offended burgess hoards his angry tale,
For that bleft year when all that vote may rail;
Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss,
Till that glad night when all that hate may hiss.

"This day the powder'd curls and golden coat," Says fwelling Crifpin, "begg'd a cobler's vote." "This night our wit," the pert apprentice cries, "Lies at my feet; I hifs him and he dies."

The great, 'tis true, can charm th' electing tribe;
The bard may fupplicate, but cannot bribe.
Yet, judg'd by those whose voices ne'er were fold,
He feels no want of ill-perfuading gold;
But, confident of praife, if praise be due,
Trufts without fear to merit and to you.

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PROLOGUE

TO THE COMEDY OF

A WORD TO THE WISE*,

TH

SPOKEN by Mr. HULL.

HIS night prefents a play which public rage,
Or right, or wrong, once hooted from the
ftage.

From zeal or malice, now no more we dread,
For English vengeance wars not with the dead.
A generous foe regards with pitying eye
The man whom fate has laid where all muft lic.
To wit reviving from its author's dust,
Be kind ye judges, or at least be just.
For no renew'd hoftilities invade
Th' oblivious grave's inviolable fhade.
Let one great payment every claim appease,
And him, who cannot hurt, allow to please;
To please by scenes unconscious of offence,
By harmless merriment, or useful sense.
Where aught of bright, or fair the piece difplays,
Approve it only-'tis to late too praise.
If want of fkill, or want of care appear,
Forbear to hifs-the poet cannot hear.

By all like him must praise and blame be found,
At beft a fleeting gleam, or empty found.

* Performed at Covent-Garden theatre in 1777, for the benefit of Mrs. Kelly, widow of Hugh Kelly, Efq. (the author of the play), and her children.

Upon the first reprefentation of this play, 1770, a party affembled to damn it, and fucceeded.

Yet

Yet then shall calin reflection bless the night,
When liberal pity dignified delight;

When Pleasure fir'd her torch at virtue's flame,
And mirth was bounty with an humbler name.

ST

SPRING,

AN OD E.

TERN Winter now, by Spring reprefs'd,
Forbears the long-continued ftrife;

And Nature on her naked breast
Delights to catch the gales of life.
Now o'er the rural kingdom roves
Soft pleasure with the laughing train,
Love warbles in the vocal groves,
And vegetation plants the plain.
Unhappy whom to beds of pain,
Arthritick tyranny configns;
Whom fmiling nature courts in vain,
Tho' rapture fings and beauty fhines.
Yet tho' my limbs disease invades,
Her wings Imagination tries,
And bears me to the peaceful shades,
Where's humble turrets rife.
Here stop, my foul, thy rapid flight,

Nor from the pleafing groves depart,
Where first great nature charmed my fight,
Where wisdom first inform'd my heart.

The author being ill of the gout.
K 4

Here

Here let me thro' the vales purfue

A guide a father-and a friend,

Once more great nature's works renew,
Once more on wifdom's voice attend.
From false careffes, causeless ftrife,

Wild hope, vain fear, alike remov'd;
Here let me learn the use of life,

When beft enjoy'd-when moft improv❜d. Teach me, thou venerable bower,

Cool meditation's quiet feat,

The

generous

fcorn of venal power,

The filent grandeur of retreat.

When pride by guilt to greatness climbs,

Or raging factions rush to war,
Here let me learn to fhun the crimes
I can't prevent, and will not fhare.
But left I fall by fubtler foes,

Bright Wisdom, teach me Curio's art,
The swelling paffions to compose,
And quell the rebels of the heart.

MIDSUMMER,

AN OD E.

PHOEBUS! down the western sky,
Far hence diffufe thy burning ray,
Thy light to distant worlds supply,
And wake them to the cares of day.

I

Come,

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