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SECOND PROPHET. RECITATIVE.
Behold his wretched corse with sorrow worn,
His squalid limbs by ponderous fetters torn;
Those eyeless orbs which shook with ghastly glare,
Those ill-becoming rags, that matted hair!
And shall not Heaven for this avenge the foe,
Grasp the red bolt, and lay the guilty low ?
How long, how long, Almighty God of all,
Shall wrath vindictive threaten ere it fall!
As panting flies the hunted hind,
Where brooks refreshing stray;
And rivers through the valley wind,
That stop the hunter's way:
Thus we, O Lord, alike distress'd,
For streams of mercy long;
Streams which can cheer the sore-oppress’d,
And overwhelm the strong.
FIRST PROPHET, RECITATIVE.
But, whence that shout! Good heavens! Amazement all!
See yonder tower just nodding to the fall :
Behold, an army covers all the ground,
'Tis Cyrus here that pours destruction round:
The ruin smokes, the torrent pours along-
How low the great, how feeble are the strong!
And now, behold, the battlements recline-
() God of hosts, the victory is thine!
CHORUS OF ISRAELITES.
Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust-
Thy vengeance be begun;
Serve her as she has served the just,
And let thy will be done.
All, all is lost! The Syrian army fails ;
conqueror of the world, prevails Säve us, O Lord ! to Thee, though late, we pray; And give repentance but an hour's delay.
Thrice happy, who in happy hour
To Heaven their praise bestow,
And own his all-consuming power
Before they feel the blow!
FIRST PROPHET RECITATIVE,
Now, now's our time! ye wretches bold and blind,
Brave but to God, and cowards to mankind,
Ye seek in vain the Lord unsought before-
Your wealth, your lives, your kingdom are no more!
O Lucifer! thou son of morn,
Of Heaven alike and man the foe,
Heaven, men, and all,
Now press thy fall,
And sink thee lowest of the low.
O Babylon, how art thou fallen-
Thy fall more dreadful from delay!
Thy streets forlorn,
To wilds shall turn,
Where toads shall pant, and vultures prey !
Such be her fate. But hark! how from afar
The clarion's note proclaims the finish'd war!
Cyrus, our great restorer, is at hand,
And this way leads his formidable band.
Now give your songs of Zion to the wind,
And hail the benefactor of mankind :
He comes, pursuant to divine decree,
To chain the strong, and set the captive free.
CHORUS OF YOUTHS.
Rise to raptures past expressing,
Sweeter from remember'd woes;
Cyrus comes, our wrongs redressing,
Comes to give the world repose.
Cyrus comes, the world redressing,
Love and pleasure in his train;
Comes to heighten every blessing,
Comes to soften every pain.
Hail to him with mercy reigning,
Skill'd in every peaceful art;
Who from bonds our limbs unchaining,
Only binds the willing heart.
THE LAST CHORUS.
But chief to thee, our God, our father, friend,
Let praise be given to all eternity;
O Thou, without beginning, without end-
Let us and all, begin and end in Thee!
ANSWER TO AN INVITATION TO DINNER.
This is a copy of verses !"
The inviter was Dr. George Baker--the expected guests were Sir Jesliua and Miss Reynolds, Angelica Kauffman, Mrs. Horneck, her son Charles, and her daughters Mary (afterwards the wife of General Gwyn) and Catherine (afterwards Mrs. Bunbury). Dr. Baker survived till 1809, and Mrs. Gwyn till 1840.
Your mandate I got-
all go to pot:
Had your senses been right,
You'd have sent before night.
As I hope to be saved,
I put off being shaved-
ANSWER TO AN INVITATION TO DINNER.
For I could not make bold,
While the matter was cold,
To meddle in suds,
Or to put on my duds ;
So tell Horneck and Nesbitt,
And Baker and his bit,
And Kauffman beside,
And the jessamy bride,
With the rest of the crew,
The Reynolds's two,
Little comedy's face,
And the captain in lace.
-By the by, you may tell him
I have something to tell him ;
Of use, I insist,
When he comes to enlist.
Your worships must know
That a few days ago,
An order went out,
For the foot-guards so stout
To wear tails in high taste
Twelve inches at least:
Now I've got him a scale
To measure each tail ;
To lengthen a short tail,
And a long one to curtail.
Yet how can I, when vex'd,
Thus stray from
Tell each other to rue
Your Devonshire crew,
For sending so late
To one of my state.
But 'tis Reynolds's way
From wisdom to stray,
And Angelica’s whim
To be frolick like him
But alas ! your good worships, how could they be wiser,
When both have been spoild in to-day's Advertiser ?
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER." SCENE-A room in the alehouse, the “Three Jolly Pigeons.”
LET the schoolmaster puzzle his brain,
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning-
Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,
Gives genus a better discerning.
Let them brag of their heathenish gods;
Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians;
Their quis, and their quæs, and their quods:
They're all but a parcel of pigeons.
When Methodist preachers come down,
A preaching that drinking is sinful,
I'll wager the rascals a crown,
They always preach best with a skinful;
But when you come down with your pence,
For a slice of their scurvy religion,
I'll leave it to all men of sense-
But you, my good friend, are the pigeon.
Then come, put the jorum about,
And let us be merry and clever ;
Our hearts and our liquors are stout-
Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever.
Let some cry up woodcock and hare;
Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons;
But of all the birds in the air
Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons.
ANSWER TO A VERSIFIED INVITATION
FROM MRS. BUNBURY TO PASS THE CHRISTMAS AT BARTON,
AND TO TAKE THE ADVICE OF HER SISTER AND HERSELF IN PLAYING AT LOO.
First let me suppose, what may shortly be true,
The company set, and the word to beloo;
All smirking and pleasant, and big with adventure,
And ogling the stake which is fixed in the centre.