To wit, reviving from its author's duft,
Be kind, ye judges, or at least be just ;
For no renew'd hoftilities invade

Th' oblivious grave's inviolable shade.
Let one great payment every claim appease,
And him who cannot hurt, allow to please ;
To please by scenes unconscious of offence,
By harmless merriment, or useful fenfe.
Where aught of bright, or fair, the piece displays,
Approve it only-'tis too late to praise.
If want of skill, or want of care, appear,
Forbear to hifs-the poet cannot hear.

By all, like him, must praise and blame be found,
At beft, a fleeting gleam, or empty found.
Yet then hall calm reflection blefs the night,
When liberal pity dignify'd delight;

When pleasure fir'd her torch at Virtue's flame,
And Mirth was Bounty with a humbler name.

PROLOGUE to the SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. By Mr, GARRICK.

A

Spoken by Mr. KING.

SCHOOL for Scandal! Tell, me, I befeech you,

Needs there a School-this modish art to teach you

No need of leffons now-the knowing think

We might as well be taught to eat and drink.

Caus'd by a dearth of Scandal, should the vapours
Diftrefs our fair-ones-let 'em read the papers :
Their pow'rful mixtures such disorders hit,
Crave what they will, there's quantum fufficit.
Lord! cries my Lady Wormwood, (who loves tattle,
And puts much falt and pepper in her prattle)
Just ris'n at noon, all night at cards, when threshing
Strong tea and Scandal-blefs me, how refreshing!
Give me the papers, Lifp-how bold and free-fips)-
"Laft night Lord L.-fips)was caught with Lady D."
-For aching heads, what charming falvolatile !(Sips)—
If Mrs. B. will fill continue flirting,

"We hope fhe'll draw, or we'll undraw, the curtain."
Fine fatire, poz-In public all abuse it,

But by ourselves-fips)-our praise we can't refuse it.
Now, Lifp, read you there at that dafh and ftar-
Yes, Ma'am" A certain Lord had beft beware,
"Who lives not twenty miles from Grofv'nor-fquare;
"For fhould he Lady W- find willing-

Wormwood is bitter."-Oh! that's me-the villain!
04

}

Throw

Throw it behind the fire, and never more
Let that vile paper come within my door.

Thus at our friends we laugh, who feel the dart;
To reach our feelings, we ourselves must smart.
Is our young bard fo young-to think that he
Can ftop the full spring-tide of calumny ?
Knows he the world fo little, and its trade?
Alas! the Devil's fooner rais'd than laid.

So ftrong, so swift, the monfter, there's no gagging;
Cut Scandal's head off-ftill the tongue is wagging.
Proud of your fmiles, once lavishly bestow'd,
Again your young Don Quixote takes the road;
To fhew his gratitude-he draws his pen,
And feeks this Hydra Scandal in its den;
From his fell gripe the frighted fair to save,

Tho' he should fall-th' attempt muft please the brave;
For your applaufe, all perils he would thro'
He'll fight-that's write-a cavalliero true,

'Till ev'ry drop of blood-that's ink-is split for you.

EPILOGUE to the SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Written by G. COLMAN, Esq.

}

And Spoken by Mrs. ABINGTON, in the Character of Lady Teazel,

I,

Who was late fo volatile and gay,

Like a trade wind, must now blow all one way,
Bend all my cares, my ftudies, and my vows,
To one old rufty weather-cock-my spouse;
So wills our virtuous bard !-the pyebald Bayes
Of crying epilogues and laughing plays.

Old batchelors, who marry fmart young wives,
Learn from our play to regulate your lives!
Each bring his dear to town-all faults upon her
London will prove the very fource of honour;
Plung'd fairly in, like a cold bath, it ferves
When principles relax, to brace the nerves.
Such is my cafe-and yet I must deplore
That the gay dream of diffipation's o'er ;
And fay, ye fair, was ever lively wife,
Born with a genius for the higheft life,
Like me, untimely blafted in her bloom,
Like me, condemn'd to fuch a dismal doom?

Save money-when I just knew how to waste it!
Leave London-juft as I began to taste it!

Muft

Muft I then watch the early-crowing cock!
The melancholy ticking of a clock ?

In the lone ruftic hall for ever pounded,

With dogs, cats, rats, and fqualling brats, furrounded?
With humble Curates can I now retire?

(While good Sir Peter boozes with the 'Squire,)

And at back-gammon mortify my foul,

That pants for loo, or flutters at a vole?
Seven's the main !-dear found!—that muft expire,
Loft at hot-cockles round a Christmas fire!
The tranfient hour of fashion too soon spent,
"Farewel the tranquil mind, farewel content!
"Farewel the plumed head-the cushion'd tete,
"That takes the cushion from its proper feat!
"The spirit-ftirring drum !-card drums I mean
"Spadille, odd trick, pam, basto, king and queen!
"And you, ye knockers, that with brazen throat
"The welcome vifitor's approach denote,
"Farewel!-all quality of high renown,
"Pride, pomp, and circumftance of glorious town,
"Farewel!-your revels I partake no more,

"And Lady Teazel's occupation's o'er."

HOUSE

RHODES

OXFORD

LIBRARY

-All this I told our bard-he fmil'd, and said 'twas clear

I ought to play deep tragedy next year:

Meanwhile he drew wife morals from his play,

And in these folemn periods ftalk'd away:

"Bleft were the fair, like you her faults who ftopt,
"And clos'd her follies, when the curtain dropt!

"No more in vice or error to engage,

"Or play the fool at large on life's great ftage!"

EPITAPH, by Mr. GARRICK, on PAUL WHITEHEAD, Efq; whe was born Jan. 25, 1710, and died Dec. 30, 1774.

H

ERE lies a man misfortune could not bend, *
Prais'd as a Poet, honour'd as a friend!
Tho' his youth kindled with the love of fame,
Within his bofom glow'd a brighter flame!
Whene'er his friends with sharp afflictions bled,
And from the wounded deer the herd was fled,
Whitehead flood forth, the healing balm applied,
Nor quitted their diftreffes-till he died,

D. G.

* Alluding, it is imagined, to his long imprisonment for Mr. Fleetwood.

To a LADY who loved Dancing.

Written by the late Judge BURNET.

AY I prefume, in humble lays,

M My dancing fair, thy steps to praise ¿—

While this grand maxim I advance,
. That all the world is but a dance.
That human-kind, both man and woman,
Do dance, is evident and common;
David himself, that God-like King,
We know could dance as well as fing:
Folks who at Court would keep their ground
Muft dance the year attendance round:
Whole nations dance; gay friking France
Has led the nation many a dance;
And fome believe both France and Spain
Refolve to take us out again.
All Nature is one ball, we find ;
The water dances to the wind;
The fea itself, at night and noon,
Rifes and capers to the moon ;
The moon around the earth does tread
A Cheshire round in buxom red;
The earth and planets round the fan
Dance; nor will their dance be done
Till Nature in one mass is blended ;
Then we may fay, the ball is ended.

BATH; its BEAUTIES and AMUSEMENTS.
Parve (nec invideo) fine me liber ibis in ignem.
Thou, who erft from Baia's smoking plain,
Didft to thefe rocks transfer thy healing reign!

Lord of each ftagnant: and fulphureous ditch,

Great foe to vegetation and the itch!

Affift my fong, infpire my votive lays,.
For Bath demands, and Bath deferves my praife.
Bath, the divine Hygeia's favour'd child,

Where Pigs were once, and Princes now are boil'd,
Where Arts and Elegance have fix'd their feat,
And Graces ply, like chairmen,-in the ftreet;
Where free from ling'ring Education's plan,
By which the brute is polish'd into man,
We learn a shorter and more pleafing road,
And grow (like beef) by stewing-Alamode.

"Tis here alone that Architecture frames
Such folid buildings, with fuch founding names :
A Circus, that three ranks of columns boafts-

Three ranks of columns, like three rows of pofts;
Where none to dang'rous merit make pretence,
Or feek a painful fad pre-eminence.
No kind pilafter at that giddy height
Difpels our terrors or relieves our fight,
Because we're told (tho' different the name).
That maffive and majestic are the same.
Not thus the Crefcent towers thro' the air,
The proud Ionic reigns unrival'd there;
Her pedestals are eas'd of half their trouble,
Like gen'rous fteeds, unfit to carry double.
But then that Square-within whose center rail'd
Like Taste upon an obelisk impal'd;
Mark, how from fervile fqueamish order free,
The different buildings fweetly disagree!
This boasts a richer, that an humbler grace,
Like courtiers in, and courtiers out of place!

But while the Mufe thro' lifeless rubbish ftrays,
Say, can no living wonders claim her lays ?
What names, what titles might the not rehearse!
'Twould almoft make a chronicle in verfe.
What Peers last night were melted drop by drop,
To fhew how well Right Honourables hop,
(While thinly scatter'd poor Plebeians ftare,
And wonder how the devil they came there.)
What Nabobs, rich in every thing but fenfe,
Difplay their haughty dull magnificence:
What Beaux, whom Heaven had fent us for our fins,
To teach us graces, and to kick our thins;
What cloud-capt Belles-But fhall the honeft Mufe
Accept that talk which Envy would refufe?
-Shall the 'gainst Heav'n exert her impious skill ?
For tho' conceal'd by clouds, 'tis Heaven still.
Το you, ye fnarling, fcribbling, fceptic crew,
Who in perfection's self some flaw can view;
You, who unmov'd on Julia's felf can gaze,

While o'er her cheek the foft fmile trembling plays;"
Whom, nor the piercing glance of conscious fenfe,
Nor the meek eye of anxious diffidence;

To fomething like humanity can move—

Whom gods might fear, and devils cannot love-
To you th' unmanly cenfure I refign,-
To love, to pity, to protect, be mine.