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Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly damn
do." “ Who-I? Let me see, sir; why, I must pass too." Mr. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil, To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil; Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on, Till made by my losses as bold as a lion, I venture at all; while my avarice regards The whole pool as my own. Come, give me five cards.” “Well done,” cry the ladies; "ah! doctor, that's goodThe pool's very rich. Ah, the doctor is loo’d.” Thus foil'd in my courage, on all sides perplex'd, I ask for advice from the lady that's next. Pray, ma'am, be so good as to give your advice;
think the best way is to venture for 't twice ?”
[found." “ Pray, what are their crimes They've been pilfering
“ Don't you
pray who have they pilfer'd P". . "A doctor, I hear.' “What, that solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands
near ?" * The same." “ What a pity! How does it surprise one, Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on !" Then their friends all come round me, with cringing and To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing. [leering, First Sir Charles advances, with phrases well strung: “ Consider, dear doctor, the girls are but young.' The
younger the worse," I return him again ; “ It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain.” “But then they're so handsome; one's bosom it grieves." “What signifies handsome when people are thieves " “But where is your justice ? their cases are hard.” “What signifies justice? I want the reward."
There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty pounds—there's the parish of St. Leonard, Shoreditch, offers forty pounds there's the parish of Tyburn offers forty pounds: I shall have all that if I convict them.
« But consider their case: it may yet be your own;
I challenge you all to answer this. I tell you, you cannot: it cuts deep. But now for the rest of the letter; and next but I want room-so I believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week.
I don't value
Henry, the second son of Sir William Bunbury, bart., was celebrated as an amateur artist. His lady was Miss Catherine Horneck. Her sister Mary was afterwards the wife of General Gwyn, one of the equerries of George III. Barton was the family seat of the Bunburys.
This composition was not known to be Goldsmith's until several years after his death. It is said to have been written by desire of Lord Clare, as a tribute to the memory of his patron and mistress, Augusta, the relict of Frederick, Prince of Wales, and mother of George III. The princess died at Carlton House on the 8th of February, 1772 ; and this piece, which was written and composed in two days, was recited and sung at Mrs. Cornely's rooms in Soho-square, a very fashionable resort at the time, on the evening of the 20th of February. The music was adapted by Signor Vento. The speakers and singers were Mr. Lee, Mr. Champness, Mr. Dine, Mrs. Bellamy and Miss Jameson, besides clioruses.
Overture.- A solemn dirge.
And waken every note of woe;
The incense given to kings,
the venal gifts as flattery.
When titles are the smallest claim
When wealth, and rank, and noble blood
But aid the power of doing goodThen all their trophies last; and Hattery turns to fame
Bless'd spirit thou, whose fame, just born to bloom,
How hast thou left mankind for heaven!
Request to be forgiven.
Unmov'd, in conscious rectitude,
Thy towering mind self-centred stood, Nor wanted man's opinion to be great. In vain, to charm thy ravish'd sight,
A thousand gifts would fortune send;
A thousand sorrows urg'd thy end :
Song.-By a MAN.--Affettuoso.
Every passion hush'd to rest,
In the hope of being bless’d.
Some increasing good bestows,
Death, with its formidable band,
Determin'd took their stand:
To finish all their efforts at a blow; But, mischievously slow,
They robb’d the relic and defac'd the shrine.
With unavailing grief,
Despairing of relief,
Beheld each hour
Death's growing power,
And trembled as he frown'de
While winds and waves their wishes cross-
The inevitable loss.
How do the good, the virtuous fall!
When vice my dart and scythe supply,
MAN speaker. Yet let that wisdom, urg'd by her example, Teach us to estimate what all must suffer ; Let us prize death as the best gift of nature As a safe inn, where weary travellers, When they have journey'd through a world of cares, May put off life and be at rest for ever. Groans, weeping friends, indeed, and gloomy sables, May oft distract us with their sad solemnity: The preparation is the executioner. Death, when unmask'd, shows me a friendly face, And is a terror only at a distance; For as the line of life conducts me on To death's great court, the prospect seems more fair.