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Our anxious bard without complaint may fhare
This bustling feafon's epidemick care;

Like Cæfar's pilot dignify'd by fate,

Toft in one common storm with all the great;
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 just the same;
Difabled both to combat, or 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 burgefs 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.

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"This day the powder'd curls and golden coat," Says fwelling Crispin, "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.

PROLOGUE

TO THE COMEDY OF

A WORD TO THE WISE, SPOKEN by Mr. HULL.

THIS

HIS night prefents a play which publick rage,
Or right, or wrong, once hooted from the stage †.
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 lie.
To wit reviving from its author's duft,
Be kind ye judges, or at least be just.
For no renew'd hoftilities invade
Th' oblivious grave's inviolable shade.
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 fenfe.
Where aught of bright, or fair the piece difplays,,
Approve it only-'tis too late to praise.
If want of skill, 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 firft reprefentation of this play, 1770, a party affembled to damn it, and fucceeded.

Yet

Yet then shall calm 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.

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STERN

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 her 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 difeafe 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 firft great nature charm'd my fight, Where wisdom firft inform'd my heart.

The author being ill of the gout.

Here

Here let me thro' the vales pursue
A guide-a father-and a friend,
Once more great nature's works renew,
Once more on wisdom's voice attend.

From falfe careffes, causeless strife,
Wild hope, vain fear, alike remov'd;
Here let me learn the use of life,

When best enjoy'd-when most 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 fwelling paffions to compofe,
And quell the rebels of the heart.

MIDSUMMER,

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AN ODE.

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

Come gentle eve, the friend of care,
Come Cynthia, lovely queen of night!
Refresh me with a cooling breeze,

And cheer me with a lambent light.
Lay me, where o'er the verdant ground
Her living carpet nature spreads;
Where the green bower with rofes crown'd,
In fhowers its fragrant foliage sheds.
Improve the peaceful hour with wine,
Let mufick die along the grove;
Around the bowl let myrtles twine,
And every strain be tun'd to love.
Come, Stella, queen of all my heart!
Come, born to fill its vaft desires!
Thy looks perpetual joys impart,

Thy voice perpetual love infpires.
Whilft all my wifh and thine complete,
By turns we languish and we burn,
Let fighing gales our fighs repeat,
Our murmurs-murmuring brooks return.
Let me when nature calls to rest,

And blushing skies the morn foretell,
Sink on the down of Stella's breast,
And bid the waking world farewell.

A'

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LAS! with fwift and filent pace, Impatient time rolls on the year; The seasons change, and nature's face Now fweetly fmiles, now frowns fevere.

'Twas

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