Hear, shall I hear thee! didst thou hear Irene?








MARRY a Turk! a haughty tyrant king!
Hear but a moment.

Who thinks us women born to dress and sing
To please his fancy! see no other man!

Let him pers jade me to it—if he can :
Hadst thou heard a moment,
Thou might'st have liv'd, for thou had’st spar'd | Tolare the fiftieth part her paltry share?

Besides, he has fifty wives, and who can bear

'T'is true the fellow's handsome, straight, and

tall, I heard her, pitied her, and wish'd to save her.

But how the devil should be please us all!
My swain is litile-irue-but, be it knowi,

My pride's to have that little all my own.
And wish'd—be still thy fate to wish in vain. Men will be ever to their errours blind,

Where woman's not allow'd to speak her mind.

I swear this eastern pageantry is nonsense, I heard, and soften'd, till Abdalla brought And for une man-one wife's enough of conHer final doom, and hurried her destruction,


Jo vain proud man usurps what's woman's due, MAHOMET.

For us alone, they honour's paths pursue: Abdalla brought her doom! Abdalla brought it, Inspir’d by us, they glory's heights ascend; The wretch, whose guilt, declar'd by tortur'd Woman the source, the object, and the end. Cali,

(brance: Though wealth, and pow'r, and glory, they re. My rage and grief had hid from my remein

ceive, Abdalla brought her doom !

These are all trifles to what we can give.
For us the statesman labours, hero fights,

Bears toilsome days, and wakes long tedious
Abdalla brought it,

nights; While yet she begg'd to plead her cause before And, when blest peace has silenc'd war's alarms, thee.

Receives his full reward in beauty's arms.





O seize me, madness-Did she call on me!
I feel, I see the rutian's barb'rous rage.

He seiz'd her melting in the fond appeal,
And stopp'd the heav'nly voice that callid on me.

PROLOGUE My spirits fail, awhile support me, vengeance- SPOKEN BY MR. CARRICK, APRIL 5, 1750, Be just, ye slaves; and, to be jist, be cruel; Contrive new racks, imbitter ev'ry pang,

ACTED AT DRURY-LANE THEATRE, FOR THE Inflict whatever treason can deserve, Which murder'd innocence that call'd on me.

NEFIT OF MILTON'S GRAND-DAUGHTER, [Exit Mahomet; Abdalla is dragged off

E patriot crowds, who burn for England's SCENE XIII.



Ye nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's HASAN, CARAZA, MUSTAPHA, MURZA.

Whose gen'rous zeal, unbought by flattering MUSTAPHA TO MURZA.

rhymes, What plagues, what tortures,are in store for thee, Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times, Thou sluggish idler, dilatory slave!

Immortal patrons of succeeding days, Behold the model of consummate beauty,

Attend this prelude of perpetual praise;
Torn from the mourning Earth by thy neglect.

Let wit, condemo'd the feeble war to wage
With close malevolence, or public rage,

Let study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore, Such was the will of Heav'n-A band of Greeks

Behold this theatre, and grieve no more. Tbat mark'd my course, suspicious of my pur

This night, distinguish'd by your smiles, sba!! pose,

That never Britain can in vain excel;

[arm’d, Rosb'd out and seiz'd me, thoughtless and un

The slighted arts futurity shall trust,

And rising ages hasten to be just.
Breathless, amaz'd, and on the guarded beach
Detain'd me, till Demetrius set me free.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lars
Fill the loud voice of universal praise;

And baffled spite, with hopeless anguish dumb, So sure the fall of greatness, rais'd on crimes !

Yields to renowo the centuries to come; So fix'd the justice of all-conscious Heav'n!

With ardent haste each candidate of fame, When haughty guilt exults with impious joy,

Ambitious, catches at his tow'ring name; Mistake shall blast, or accident destroy ; He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth bestos, Weak man with erring rage may throw the Those pageant honours which he scorn'd below, dart,

While crowds alutt the laureat bust behold, But Heav'n shall guide it to the guilty heart. Or trace bis form on circulating gold




Unknown, unheeded, long his offspring lay, From zeal or malice, now no more we dread,
And want hung threatning o'er her slow decay. For English vengeance wars not with the dead.
What though she shine with no Miltonian fire, A generous foe regards with pitying eye
No fav'ring Muse her morning dreanis inspire ; The man whom fate has laid where all must lie.
Yet softer claims the melting heart engage, To wit reviving from its author's dust
Her youth laborious, and her blameless age; Be kind, ye judges, or at least be just.
Hers the mild merits of domestic life,

For no renew'd hos ilities invade
The patient sufferer, and the faithful wife. Th’ oblivious grave's inviolable shade.
Thus, grac'd with humble virtue's native charms, Let one great payment every claim appease,
Her grandsire leaves her in Britannia's arms; And him, who cannot hurt, allow to please;
Secure with peace, with competence, to dwell, To please by scenes unconscious of offence,
While tutelary nations guard her cell.

By harmless merriment, or useful sense. Yours is the charge, ye fair, ye wise, ye brave! Where aught of bright or fair the piece displays, 'Tis yours to crown desert--beyond the grave. Approve it only-- tis tuo late to praise.

If want of skill or want of care appear,

Forbear to hiss--the poet cannot hear.

By all like him must praise and blame be found,

At best a fleeting gleam, or empty sound. TO THE COMEDY OF THE GOOD-NATURED MAN,

Yet then shall calm reflection bless the night, 1769.

When liberal pity dignify'd delight; Prest 'rest by the load of life, the weary mind

When pleasure fir'd her torch at virtue's flame, Surveys the gen’ral toil of human kind,

And mirth was bounly with an humbler name.
With cool submission joins the lab'ring train,
And social sorrow loses balf its pain :
Our anxious bard without complaint may share

This bustling season's epidemic care;
Like Cæsar's pilot dignified by fate,
Tost in one commou storm with all the great;

Stern Winter now by Spring repress’d,
Distrest alike the statesman and the wit,

Forbears the long-continued strife;

And Nature on her naked breast
When one a borough courts, and one the pit.
The busy candidates for power and fame

Delights to catch the gales of life.

Now o'er the rural kingdom roves
Have hopes, and fear, and wishes, just the same;
Disabled both to combat or to fly,

Soft pleasure with the laughing train,

Love warbles in the vocal groves,
Musi bear all taunts, and hear without reply.
Uncheck'd on both loud rabbles vent their rage,

And vegetation plants the plain,
As mongrels bay the lion in a cage.

Unhappy! whom to beds of pain, Th’ offended burgess hoards his angry tale,

Arthritic'tyranny consigus; For that blest year when all that vote may rail;

Whom smiling Nature courts in vain, Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss,

Though rapture sings and beauty shines. Till that glad night when all that hate may biss.

Yet though my limbs disease invades, “ This day the powder'd curls and golden

Her wings Imagination tries,

And bears me to the peaceful shades, coat,"

Wheren's humble turrets rise. Says swelling Crispin, “ begg'd a cobbler's vote.' "This night our wit,” the pert apprentice cries, Here stop, my soul, thy rapid flight

Nor from the pleasing groves depart, “ Lies at my feet; I hiss him, and he dies.” The great, 'tis true, 'can charm the electing Where first great Nature charm'd my sight, tribe;

Where Wisdom first inform'd my heart. The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe ;

Here let me through the vales pursue Yet, judg'd by thuse whose voices ne'er were sold,

A gude-a father-and a friend, He feels no want of ill-persuading gold;

Once inore great Nature's works renew,

Once more on Wisdom's voice attend.
But, confident of praise, if praise be due,
Trusts without fear to merit and to you.

Prom false caresses, causeless strife,

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

When best enjoy’d--when most improv’d.

Teach me, thou venerable bower,
TO TIE COMEDY OF A WORD TO THE WIS.'. Cool meditation's quiet seat,

The gen'rous scorn of veval power,

The silent grandeur of retreat.
This night presents a play which public rage, When pride by guilt to greatness climbs,
Or right, or wrong, once booted from the stage'. Or raging factions rush to war,

Here let me learn to shun the crimes i Performed at Covent Garden theatre in 1777, I can't prevent, and will not share. for the benefit of Mrs. Kelly, widow of Hugh But lest I fall by subtler foes, Kelly, csq. (the author of the play) and her Bright Wisdom, teach me Curio's art, cbildren,

The swelling passions to compose, Upon the first representation of this play, And quell the rebels of the heart. 1770, a party assembled to damn it, and succeeded.

1 The author being ill of the gout.



Oh! what remains, what lingers yet,

To cheer me in the darkening hour!
The grape remains ! the friend of wit,

In love, and mirth, of mighty power.
OPHOBUS! down the western sky,
Far hence diffuse thy burning ray,

Haste-press the clusters, fill the bowl;

Apollo! shoot thy parting ray: Thy light to distant worlds supply,

This gives the sunshine of the soul, And wake then to the cares of day.

This ,od of health, and verse, and day. Cor gentle Eve, the friend of cave,

Still-till the jound strain shall flow, Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night!

The pulse with vigorous rapture beat; Refresh me with a cooling air,

Mr Stella with new charms shall glow, And chcer me with a lambent light.

And ev'ry bliss in wine shall mect.
Lay me, where o'er the verdant ground

Her living carpet Nature spreads;
Where the green bower, with roses crown'd,

In showers its fragrant foliage sheds ;
Iniprove the peaceful hour with wine,
Let music die along the grove;

No more the inorn, with tepid rays,
Around the bowl let myrtles Twine,

Unfolds the flower of various hue; And ev'ry strain be tun'd to love.

Noon spreads no more the genial blaze, Come, Stella, queen of all my heart!

Nor gentleere distils the dew. Come, born to fiilits vast desires!

The ling'ring hours prolongs the night, Thy looks perpetual joys impari,

Usurping darkness shares the day; Thy voic- perpetual love inspires.

Her mists restrain the force of light,
Whilst all my wish and thine complete,

And Phæbus holds a doubtful sway.
By turns we lan u sh and we burn,
Let sighing gales our sighis repeat,

By gloomy twilight balfrereal'd,

With sighs we view the hoary hill,
Our murmurs--inurinuring brooks return.
Let me when Nature calls to rest,

The leafless wool, the naked field,
And blushing skies the morn foretel,

The snow-topt cot, the frozen rill.

No music warbles through the grore, Sink on the down of Stella's breast,

No vivid colours paint the plain; And bid the waking uorld farewell.

No more with derious steps I rore

Through rerdant paths now sought in vain.

Aloud the driving tempest roars,

Congeal'd, impetuous showers descend;
Hasie, close the window, bar the doors,

Fate leares me Stella, and a friend. Alas! with swift and silent pace,

la nature's aid let art supply Impatient time rolls on the year;

With light and heat my little sphere; The seasons change, and Nature's face

Rouse, rouse the fire, and pile it high, Now sweetly smiles, non frowns severe.

Light up a constellation here. 'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay, Let music sound the voice of joy, Now Autumn bends a ciondy brow;

Or mirth repeat the jocund tale; The flowers of Spring are swept away,

Let Love his wanton wiles employ, And Summer-fruits desert the bough.

And o'er the season wine preval. The verdant leaves that play'd on high,

Yet time life's dreary winter brings, · And wanton'd on the western breeze,

When inirth's gay tale shall please no more ; Now trod in dust neglected lie,

No music charm--thongh Stella sings; As Boreas strips the bending trees.

Nor lore, nor wine, the spring restore. The fields that wav'd with golden grain,

Catch, then, Oh! catch the transient hour, As rasset heaths, are wild and bare ;

Improre each moment as it fies; Not moist with dew, but drevch'd with rain, Life's a short summer-man a flower: Nor health, nor pleasure, wanders there,

lle dies--alas! how soon be dies ! No more while through the midnight shade,

Beneath the Moun's pale orb I stray,
Soft pleasing woes my heart inrade,

As Progne pours the melting lay.
From this capricious clime she soars,

Behold, my fair, -where'er we rore,
Oh! would some god but wings supply !

What dreary prospects round us rise; To where each morn the Spring restores,

The naked bill, the leafless grove, Companion of her fight I'd fy.

The huary ground, the frowning skies! Vain wish! me fate compels to bear

Nor ouly through the wasted plain, The downward season's iron reign,

Stern Winter! is thy force contes'd ; Compels to breathe polluted air,

Still wider spreads thy horrid reign, And shiver on a blasted plain.

I feel thy power usurp my breast. What bliss to life can Autumn yield,

Enlive.i::g hope, and fond desire, If glooms, and showers, and storms prerail;

Resign the heart to spleen and care ; And Ceres fies the naked field,

Scarce frighted lore maintains her fire, And flowers, and fruits, and Phæbus fail? And rapture saddens to despair.


In groundless liope, and causeless fear,

Unhappy man! belo!d thy doom ; Still changing with the changeful year,

The slave of sunshine and of gloom. Tir'd with vain joys, and false alarms,

With mental and corporeal strife, Soatch me, my Stella, to thy arms,

And screen ine from the ills of life.

How passion's well.accorded strife
Gives all the harmony of life ;
Thy pictures shall thy conduct frame,
Consistent still, though not the same;
Thy music teach the nobler art,
To tune the regulated heart.



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TO MISS *****

Evening now from purple wings
Thougu gold and silk their charms unite Sheds the grateful gifts she brings;
To make thy curious web delight,

Brilliant drops bedeck the mead, In vain the varied work would shine;

Cooling breezes shake the reed; If wrought by any hand but thine ;

Shake the reed, and curl the stream Thy hand, that knows the subtle art

Silver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam; To weave those nets that catch the heart,

Near the chequer'd, lonely grore, Spread out by me, the roving coin

Hears, and keeps thy secrets, Love, Thy nets may catch, but not confine;

Stella, thither let us stray, Nor can I hope thy silken chain

Lightly o'er the dewy way. The glittring vagrants shall restrain.

Phoebus drives his burning car, Why, Stella, was it then decreed

Hence, my lovely, Stella, far; The heart once caught should ne'er be freed? In bis stead, the queen of night

Round us pours a lambent light :

Light that seems but just to show
TO MISS *****

Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow.

Let us nur, in whisperd joy, ON HER PLAYING UPON THE HARPSICHORD IN А

Evening's silent hours employ,

Silence best, and conscious shades

Please the hearts that love invades,
When Stella strikes the tuneful string

Other pleasures give them pain,
In scenes of imitated spring,

Lovers all but love disdain.
Where beauty lavishes her powers
On beds of never-fading flowers,
And pleasure propagates around
Each charm of modulated sound;

Ah ! think not, in the dangerous hour,

Whe The nymph fictitious as the flower;

Hether Stella's eyes are found But shun, rash youth, the gay alcove,

Fix'd on earth, or glancing round,

If her face with pleasure glow,
Nor tempt the snares of wily love.
When charms thus press on ev'ry sense,

If she sigh at other's woe,

If her easy air express
What thought of fight, or of defence?
Deceitful hope, and vain desire,

Conscious worth, or soft distress,
For ever futter o'er her lyre,

Stella's eyes, and air, and face,

Charm with undiminish'd grace.
Delighting as the youth draws nigh,

If on her we see display'd
To point the glances of her eye,
And forming with unerring art

Pendant gems, and rich brocade,

If her chintz with less expense
New chains to hold the captive heart.
But on those regions of delight

Flows in easy negligence;

Still she lights the conscious flame,
Might truth intrude with daring flight,
Could Stella, sprightly, fair, and young,

Still her charms appear the same;

If she strikes the vocal strings, One moment hear the moral song,

If she's silent, speaks, or sings, Instruction with her flowers might spring,

If she sit, or if she move, And wisdom warble from her string.

Still we love and still approve, Mark, when from thousand mingled dyes

Vain the casual, transient glance, Thou seest one pleasing form arise,

Which alone can please by chance, How active light, and thoughtful shade,

Beauty, which depends on art, In greater scenes each o her aid ;

Changing with the changing heart, Mark, when the different notes agree

Which demands the toilet's aid, In friendly contrariety,

Pendent gems and rich brocade.

I those charms alone can prize 1 Printed among Mrs. Williams's Miscella- Which from constant nature rise, nies,

Which nor circumstance, nor dress, 2 Printed among Mrs. Williams's Miscella- E'er can make, or more, or less. nies.

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No more thus brooding o'er yon heap,
With avarice paintul vigils keep;
Still unenjoy'd the present store,
Still endless sighs are breath'd for more.
Oh! quit the shadow, catch the prize,
Which not all India's treasure buys!
To purchase Heaven has gold the power ?
Can gold remove the mortal hour
In life can love be bought with gold?
Are friendship's pleasures to be sold?
No-all that's worth a wish-a thought,
Fair virtue gives unbrib'd, unbought.
Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind,
Let nobler views engage thy mind.

With science tread the wond'rous way,
Or learn the Muses' moral lay ;
In social hours indulge thy soul,
Where mirth and temperance mix the bowl !
To virtuous love resign thy breast,
And be, by blessing beauty-blest.

Thus taste the feast by Nature spread,
Ere youth and all its joys are fled;
Come taete with me the balm of life,
Secure from pomp, and wealth, and strife,
I boast wbate'er for man was meant,
In bealth, and Stella, and content ;
And scorn! oh! let that scor be thine!
Mere things of clay that dig the mine.

VERSES. WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF A GENTLEMAN 10 WHOM A LADY HAD GIVEN A SPEIG OF Myatle'. What hopes,what terrours, does thy gift create? Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate! The myrtle(ensign of supreme command, Consign'd by Venus to Melissa's hand) Not less capricious than a reigning fair, Oft favours, oft rejects, a lover's pray'r. In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain, In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain. The myrtle crowns the happy lovers' heads, Th' unhappy lovers graves the myrtle spreads, Oh! then, the meaning of thy gift impart, And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart. Soon must this bough, as you shall fix its doom, Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb.


AT BURY ASSIZES. At length must Suffolk beauties sbine in vain, So long renown'd in Bn's deathless strain? Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace, might in

spire Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre; For, such thy beauteous mind and lovely face, Thou seem'st at once, bright nymph, a Muse and


STELLA IN MOURNING. When lately Stella's form display'd The beauties of the gay brocade, The nymphs, who found their power decline, Proclaim'd her not so fair as fine. “ Fate! spatch away the bright disguise, “ And let the goddess trust ber eyes." Thus blindly pray'd the fretful fair, And Fate malicious heard the pray'r; But, brighten'd by the sable dress, As virtue rises in distress, Since Stella still extends ber reign, Ah! how sball envy sooth her pain ?

Th’adoring youth and envious fair, Henceforth shall form one common prayer : And love and hate alike implore The skies—" That Stella mourn no more."

TO LYCE, AN ELDERLY LADY. Ye nymphs whom starry rays invest,

By flatt'ring poets given,
Who sbine, by lavish lovers drest,

To all the pomp of Heaven;
Engross not all the beams on bigb,

Which gild a lover's lays,
But as your sister of the sky,

Let Lyce share the praise.
Her silver locks display the Moon,

Her brows a cloudy show,
Strip'd rainbows round her eyes are seen,

And show'rs from either flow.


TO STELLA. Not the soft sighs of vernal gales, The fragrance of the flowery vales, The murmurs of the crystal rill, The vocal grove, the verdant bill; Not all their charms, though all unite, Can touch my bosom with delight. Not all the gems on India's shore, Not all Peru's unbounded store, Not all the power, nor all the fame, That heroes, kings, or poets, claim; Nor knowledge which the learn'd approre; To form one wish my soul can move. Yet Nature's charms allures my eyes, And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize;

1 These verses were first printed in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1768, p. 439, but were written many years earlier. Elegant as they are, Dr. Johnson assured me, they were composed in the short space of five minutes.

2 This lady was Bridget, third daughter of Philip Bacon, esq. of Ipswich, and relict of Philip Evers, esq. of that town. She became the second wife of sir Cordell Firebrace, the last baronet of that name (to whom she brought a fortune of 25,0001.), July 26, 1757. Being again left a widow in 1759, she was a third time married, April 7, 1762, to William Campbell

, esq. uncle to the present duke of Argyle ; and died July 3, 1782.

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