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SCENE XIII.

HASAN, CARAZA, MUSTAPHA, MURZA.

MUSTAPHA to MURZA.

What plagues, what tortures, are in ftore for thee,
Thou fluggish idler, dilatory flave!

Behold the model of confummate beauty,
Torn from the mourning earth by thy neglect.

MURZA.

Such was the will of Heav'n-A band of Greeks That mark'd my courfe, fufpicious of my purpose, Rush'd out and feiz'd me, thoughtless and unarm❜d, Breathlefs, amaz'd, and on the guarded beach Detain'd me, till Demetrius fset me free..

MUSTAPHA.

So fure the fall of greatness rais'd on crimes!
So fix'd the juftice of all-confcious Heav'n!
When haughty guilt exults with impious joy,
Miftake fhall blaft, or accident destroy;
Weak man with erring rage may throw the dart,
But Heav'n fhall guide it to the guilty heart.

EPI

EPILOGUE.

MARRY a Turk! a haughty, tyrant king!
Who thinks us women born to dress and fing
To please his fancy! fee no other man!
Let him perfuade me to it—if he can:
Befides, he has fifty wives, and who can bear
To have the fiftieth part her paltry fhare?

"Tis true, the fellow 's handfome, ftrait, and tall, But how the devil fhould he please us all! My fwain is little-true-but, be it known, My pride's to have that little all my own. Men will be ever to their errors blind, Where woman's not allow'd to speak her mind. I swear this Eastern pageantry is nonsense, And for one man-one wife's enough of confcience.

In vain proud man ufurps what's woman's due; For us alone, they honour's paths pursue: Infpir'd by us, they glory's heights afcend; Woman the fource, the object, and the end. Though wealth, and pow'r, and glory, they receive, These are all trifles to what we can give.

For us the ftatesman labours, hero fights,

Bears toilfome days, and wakes long tedious nights; And, when bleft peace has filenc'd war's alarms, Receives his full reward in beauty's arms.

VOL. I.

K

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PROLOGUE.

SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK, APRIL 5, 1750,
BEFORE THE MASQUE OF COMUS.

Acted at DRURY-LANE THEATRE, for the Benefit of
MILTON'S Grand-daughter *.

YE patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame,
Ye nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's name,
Whose gen'rous zeal, unbought by flatt'ring rhymes,
Shames the mean penfions of Auguftan times,
Immortal patrons of fucceeding days,
Attend this prelude of perpetual praife;
Let wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage
With close malevolence, or publick rage,
Let study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore,
Behold this theatre, and grieve no more.
This night, diftinguish'd by your smiles, fhall tell
That never Britain can in vain excel;
The flighted arts futurity fhall truft,
And rifing ages haften to be juft.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays
Fill the loud voice of universal praise;
And baffled spite, with hopeless anguish dumb,
Yields to renown the centuries to come;
With ardent hafte each candidate of fame,
Ambitious, catches at his tow'ring name;
He fees, and pitying fees, vain wealth bestow
Those pageant honours which he fcorn'd below,
While crowds aloft the laureat buft behold,
Or trace his form on circulating gold.

* See Vol. IX. P. 150.

K 2

Unknown,

Unknown, unheeded, long his offspring lay,
And want hung threat'ning o'er her flow decay.
What though fhe fhine with no Miltonian fire,
No fav'ring Mufe her morning dreams infpire;
Yet fofter claims the melting heart engage,
Her youth laborious, and her blameless age;
Hers the mild merits of domestic life,
The patient fufferer, and the faithful wife.
Thus, grac'd with humble virtue's native charms,
Her grandfire leaves her in Britannia's arms;
Secure with peace, with competence, to dwell,
While tutelary nations guard her cell.

Yours is the charge, ye fair, ye wife, ye brave !
'Tis yours to crown defert - beyond the grave.

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PREST by the load of life, the weary mind
Surveys the gen'ral toil of human kind,
With cool fubmiffion joins the lab'ring train,
And focial forrow lofes half its pain:
Our anxious bard without complaint may share
This bustling feafon's epidemick care;
Like Cæfar's pilot dignify'd by Fate,

Toft in one common ftorm with all the great;

Diftreft

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