Which charms each ravish'd fenfe
The ruin'd Abbey's rooflefs iles,
And all the venerable spoils

Of funk magnificence.

VIII.

The verdant lawns, the wood-crown'd hills,
The limpid lakes, the bubbling rills,
The lulling-water-falls

The flow'rs which blended odours fhed,
The robes of mantling ivy spread
Around the mould'ring walls.

IX.

Sweet fcenes! by Nature's pencil plann'd,
Retouch'd by Taste's judicious hand,
Without the glare of Art ;

Tho' rafhly I've abjur'd the Mufe,
Can fhe, when fuch the theme, refufe
Her influence to impart F

X.

Defponding thus did you lament,
But could you hope I would relent

And

And favour your approaches. Nay, ceafe, unjustly (I replied)... To tax me with contempt and pride, And load me with reproaches.

XI.

Whene'er I bow'd before your shrine,
You know that ev'ry pray'r of mine
In empty air was lost:

I never fought poetic fame,
Truth eyer was my leading aim,
Sincerity my boast.

XII.

But could I hope to gain from you
Those pow'rs, which mark the chofen few,
On whom yon deigu to fmile;
Could I fuppofe you would infpire
My bofom with a Churchill's fire,

And elevate my

ftile ?

XIII.

I'd fervently your aid implore;

I'd fcribble doggrel rhimes no more ;
But emulous of fame,

Would grateful join a nation's praise,
And decorate th' immortal-lays

With Camden's honour'd name.

ON the 10th of January, 1777, the Comedy of the Provok'd Hufband was acted, at a New Theatre, near Henley upon Thames, by the following per

fons:

WAS SPOKEN BY LORD VILLIERS.

MOST raw recruits, in times of Peace appear
To brave all dangers, and to mock at fear;
But when call'd forth to tread th' embattl'd plain,
They fairly with themselves at home again.

H

Whilft hardy vet'rans, long inur'd to arms,
Hear, unappall'd, the battle's loud alarms.

Thus we, unpractis'd in the stage's arts,
Have, without fear, rehears'd our various parts,
Talk'd wond'rous big of our theatric feats,
And dar'd the cenfures of the vacant feats.
But now, alas! the cafe is alter'd quite,
When fuch an audience opens on the fight;
Garrick himself, in fuch a fituation,

(Tho' fure to pleafe) might feel fome palpitation.
Our anxious breafts no fuch prefumption cheers,
Light are our hopes, but weighty are our fears;
So (for 'tis now too late to quit the field)
We to your judgment at difcretion yield;
O then be merciful: the fault's not ours,
If, with a wish to please, we want the pow'rs.

EPILOGUE,

WRITTEN BY MR. COLMAN, FOR LADY WRONG.. HEAD, AND ALTERED FOR MANLY.

SPOKEN BY MR. MILLES.

I FEAR the Ladies think my last night's dealing Betray'd a heart quite destitute of feeling;

Who

Which late you rafhly made, When, in a pettish mood, you swore To leave off rhyming, and no more Invoke the Mufe's aid?

II.

When young, by tender tales of love
You with'd young Celia's heart to move,
And eager fnatch'd the lyre,

Help me, fome friendly Mufe, you cried,
Oh deign my artlefs hand to guide,
My fault'ring voice infpire.

And when

III.

you ftrove in verfe to raise
A trophy to your Conway's praise,
His worth, his tafte expreffing;
Again, a fuppliant to the Nine,
I faw you bow before our shrine,
Your languid pow'rs confeffing.

IV.

But older now and wifer

grown,

These vain connexions you difown,

Our