Oldalképek
PDF
ePub

"Compare thyfelf in this fame hour depriv❜d
"Of this foft heart, from whence are all deriv'd
"The fame bewitching graces which adorn,
"And make thy face appear like beauteous morn,
"With me its brilliant ornaments are fled,

"And all thy features, like thy soul, are dead.
"Tis I that make thee other's pleasure share,
"And in a fifter's joy forget thy care;
"'Tis by my dictates thou art taught to find
"A godlike pleasure in a godlike mind;
"That makes thee oft relieve a ftranger's woes,
"And often fix thofe friends that would be foes.
"'Tis I that tremblingly have taught thine ear
"To cherish mufic; and 'tis I appear

"In all its fofteft drefs, when to the hearts
"Of all beholders my dear voice imparts
"Harmonic ftrains: 'tis not because 'tis fine,
"For ev'ry note that's felt is furely mine.
"In fmoothest numbers all that I indite,
"For 'tis I taught thy fearful hand to write;
"My genius has with watchful care fupplied
"What Education to thy fex denied ;
"Made Sentiment and Nature all combine
"To melt the reader in each flowing line,
""Till they in words this feeling truth impart,
"She needs no more who will confult the heart;
"And own, in reading what is writ by thee,

No ftudy ever could improve like me.

VOL. VI.

D

And

"And when thy bloom is gone, thy beauty flown, "And laughing Youth to wrinkled Age is grown, "Thy actions, writings, friendship, which I gave, "Still fhall remain, an age beyond the grave. "Then do not thus difplac'd let me remain, But take me to thy tender breaft again."

"Yes, soft perfuader, (I return'd) I will ; "And if I am deceiv'd, deceive me still."

Seduc'd I was in hafte; then stooping low,
Soon reinstated my fweet, pleafing foe;
And, waking, found it had nor less nor more
Than all the joys, the pangs it had before.

ADDRESS TO LADY CRAVEN's HEART.

No wonder, little fluttering thing,

That you fo foon fhould leap and spring
To Craven's fair and beauteous breast,
Where gods themfelves would wish to rest!
But te'l me, trifier, tell me, why
You could from fuch a manfion fly,
Where ev'ry virtue you'd in ftore?
Mifer what could you wish for more?
Say, d d you long at will to roam,
And quite forfake your native home?

Or

Or had you been too close confin'd,
And for sweet Liberty you pin'd?

Oh! had I found

you

in fome grove,

Cafket of Friendship and of Love!

I'd place thee, wand'ring heart!-by mine;
Uniting both with Friendship's twine:

Of fuch a jewel-fafe poffeft,

Not worlds fhould tear thee from my breast;
Exulting round the rural plains,

Boast of the prize-to nymphs and swains.
But hufh!-my ruftic mufe!-nor dare
To with a friend fo great, fo fair;
For vain will all thofe wishes prove,
Then hide thee in thy lonely grove!
But if fair Craven e'er fhou'd ftray,
By my lone cottage bend her way,
I'd lead her to my fhady feat,
And lay my heart, too-at her feet!
Which, if she'd condefcend to view,
She'd find it constant, firm, and true;
To welcome her with many a bound,
'Twould leap with joy and dance around!

OLIVIA, THE HUMBLE COTTAGER,

D 2

ΤΟ

ΤΟ

LADY CRAVEN'S HEART, LYING ON THE

FLOOR.

RETURN! thy native bofom grace,
Where charms unnumber'd play ;

Fit rival to its kindred face,
So beautifully gay.

Once more, Oh! let the trio meet,
Never again to part;

Of all thy fex, who boasts so sweet
A bofom, face, or heart.

Near Reading, Aug. 15, 1780.

FRANZEL.

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE AUTHORESS.

ON the top of the flow'r-deck'd poetical mount,
A tenth Mufe, I dare, fans offending, to count,
Apollo who no way disgraces;

In her wit her nine fifters by far fhe excells,
For charms fhe out-rivals the first of our belles,
United in her all the Graces.

I know her full well, cries the Cyprian Queen,
'Tis CRAVEN, my fav'rite beauty, you mean.

* Parnaffu.

EPILOGUE, *

EPILOGUE, *

SPOKEN BY MRS. WOFFINGTON, AT THE OPENING OF THE THEATRE IN DRURY-LANE,

1747.

BY DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

SWEET doings, truly! we are finely fobb'd!
And at one stroke of all our pleasures robb'd!
No beaux behind the fcenes!-'tis innovation!
Under the fpecious name of reformation!
Public Complaint, forfooth, is made a puff,
Senfe, order, decency, and fuch like stuff.
But arguments like thefe are mere pretence,
The Beaux, 'tis known, ne'er give the leaft offence,
Are men of chastest conduct, and amazing fenfe!
Each actress now a lock'd-up nun must be,
And priestly managers must keep the key.
I know their selfish reafons; tho' they tell us,
While fmarts, and wits, and other pretty fellows,
Murmur their paffions to our flutt'ring hearts,
The stage stands still, and we neglect our parts.
But how mistaken in this filly notion!
We hear 'em talk without the leaft emotion.

* See the Prologue in Dodfley's Collection, Vol. I.

[blocks in formation]
« ElőzőTovább »