Path to difcontent and frenzy, Fighting ftill, and ftill destroying, Think, oh! think it worth enjoying: Fitzgig, unable to conceal his pain, Who check'd his plan, And groan'd and hifs'd, and groan'd and hifs'd, Groan'd and hifs'd, and groan'd again. At length with fear and fhame at once oppreft, Away the Gen'ral flunk, and left the reft. Lo! now the ruffians roar amain, A louder yet, and yet a louder strain, Break his bands of shame asunder, Recall him with a rattling peal of thunder! Hark! hark! at the clattering found, Burky rears up his head, And cries, "Is he fled ?" And amaz'd he ftares round Revenge! Revenge! then Burky cries, Lo! the plunderers rife! See the fconces they tear, How they clash in the air, And the rapine that glares in their eyes. Behold Behold a dirty band, Each a club in his hand, Thofe are hireling flaves, who to eating are ftrangers. Who obey the command, Tho' fhock'd at the dangers; Give the vengeance due To the bluft'ring crew Behold, how they tofs up the benches on high, To guide them to their prey, And, like another Ganymede, reduc'd another ́ Troy. Not long ago 'Ere bouncing braggarts dealt the blow, While blockheads yet were mute, Our Garrick to the feeling mind could fuit His various art, each paffion could infpire, Could kindle manly rage, or melt with foft defire. At last enormous Fitzgig came, Infpirer of the robber's claim, The The ftrange enthufiaft impofitions gives; Adds length and ftrength to mimic bounds, With impudence and pride, and arts unknown to thieves. Let judgment then refign the prize, The plund'rers rend the roof with loud applaufe: ON MO ONODY Μ THE DEATH OF MR. GARRICK: OH, GARRICK!-dearest to the tenderest mind, Pupil of Nature! fure as feen to please, Thy voice was harmony, thy motion ease; Matchlefs artificer of joy and woe, To long oblivion must thy talents go? All that we fuffer'd-when thy magic glance, O'er thousands drew at once th' infectious trance; VOL. II. Fear, guilt, difdain, or heart-corroding care, The happier Bard, whofe tuneful numbers roll, And speak fweet ecftafy from foul to foul, Scarce charms the prefent more than future times, But lives, long ages on, in deathlefs rhymes. Johnson, thine earliest friend, his pen shall give Down to the world's laft hour his name to live; His fterling reasoning, and his móral pure, Till truth herself fhould fail, his fame fecure. The painter's hand, which each fair form can trace, Embody thought, and fix vanefcent grace, Con Condens'd on paper, gives the sons to know Those heav'nly founds that footh'd their father's woe; While thine unequall'd skill, which brought to view, In Shakespear, beauties that fcarce Shakespear knew ; In Kitely's fufferings gave us more than mirth, To ftrike, or fhine, to melt, or please the heart; His scarce could follow where thy fancy led, * Dr. Arne told the writer of thefe lines, at Stratfordupon-Avon, that he never found compofition fo difficult as in the music for Mr. Garrick's Ode in the Jubilee, nor ever received fo much fatisfaction as on that occafion, after he completed the score. |