AN ELEGY ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX,
GOOD people all, with one accord,
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word-
From those who spoke her praise.
The needy seldom pass'd her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor—
Who left a pledge behind.
She strove the neighbourhood to please,
With manners wondrous winning;
And never follow'd wicked ways-
Unless when she was sinning.
At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size;
She never slumber'd in her pew—
But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has follow'd her--
When she has walk'd before.
But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead-
Her last disorder mortal.
Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
For Kent-street well may say,
That had she liv'd a twelvemonth more
She had not died to-day.
THIS tomb inscribed to gentle Parnell's name,
May speak our gratitude, but not his fame.
What heart but feels his sweetly moral lay,
That leads to truth through pleasure's flowery way?
Celestial themes confess'd his tuneful aid;
And heaven, that lent him genius, was repaid.
Needless to him the tribute we bestow,
The transitory breath of fame below:
More lasting rapture from his work shall rise,
While converts thank their poet in the skies.
A PROLOGUE WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE POET LABERIUS,
A ROMAN KNIGHT, WHOM CESAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE.
(Preserved by Macrobius.)
WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage,
And save from infamy my sinking age!
Scarce half alive, oppress'd with many a year,
What in the name of dotage drives me here?
A time there was, when glory was my guide,
Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside;
Unaw'd by power, and unappall'd by fear,
With honest thrift I held my honour dear:
But this vile hour disperses all my store,
And all my hoard of honour is no more;
For ah! too partial to my life's decline,
Cæsar persuades, submission must be mine;
Him I obey, whom heaven itself obeys,
Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclin'd to please.
Here then at once I welcome every shame,
And cancel at threescore a life of fame;
No more my titles shall my children tell,
The old buffoon will fit my name as well;
This day beyond its term my fate extends,
For life is ended when our honour ends.
WRITTEN BY JOSEPH CRADDOCK, ESQ.
IN these bold times, when learning's sons explore
The distant climates, and the savage shore;
When wise astronomers to India steer,
And quit for Venus many a brighter here;
While botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling,
Forsake the fair, and patiently-go simpling,
Our bard into the general spirit enters,
And fits his little frigate for adventures.
With Scythian stores, and trinkets deeply laden,
He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading—
Yet ere he lands has ordered me before,
To make an observation on the shore.
Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is lost!
This seems a rocky and dangerous coast.
Lord, what a sultry climate am I under!
You ill foreboding cloud seems big with thunder.
[Upper Gallery. There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen 'em
Here trees of stately size-and billing turtles in 'em—
Here ill-condition'd oranges abound
And apples, bitter apples, strew the ground:
The inhabitants are cannibals, I fear:
I heard a hissing-there are serpents here!
Oh, there the people are best keep my distance :
Our Captain, gentle natives, craves assistance;
Our ships well stored-in yonder creek we've laid her,
His honour is no mercenary trader.
This is his first adventure: lend him aid,
And we may chance to drive a thriving trade.
His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far,
Equally fit for gallantry and war.
What? no reply to promises so ample!
I'd best step back-and order up a sample.
IN all my Emma's beauties blest,
Amidst profusion still I pine;
For though she gives me up her breast,
Its panting tenant is not mine.
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