THE CLOWN'S REPLY.

JOHN TROTT was desired by two witty peers
To tell them the reason why asses had ears;

'An't please you,' quoth John, I'm not given to letters, Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters; Howe'er from this time, I shall ne'er see your graces As I hope to be saved! — without thinking on asses.'

EPITAPH ON DR. PARNELL.

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 works shall rise,
While converts thank their poet in the skies.

EPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDON.*
HERE lies Ned Purdon, from misery freed,
Who long was a bookseller's hack:
He led such a damnable life in this world,
I don't think he'll wish to come back.

*This gentleman was educated at Trinity College, Dublin; but having wasted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot soldier. Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his discharge, and became a scribbler in the newspapers. He translated Voltaire's Henriade.

STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC.

AMIDST the clamor of exulting joys,

Which triumph forces from the patriot heart,
Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasure start.

O Wolfe!* to thee a streaming flood of woe
Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear ;
Quebec in vain shall teach our breast to glow,
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.

Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigor fled,

And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes: Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead! Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.

STANZAS ON WOMAN.

WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy?
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye,

To give repentance to her lover,

And wring his bosom, is to die.

*Goldsmith claimed relationship with this gallant soldier, whose character he greatly admired.

A SONNET.*

WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight,
Myra, too sincere for feigning,

Fears th' approaching bridal night.

Yet why impair thy bright perfection,
Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had Myra followed my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear

SONG.

From the Oratorio of the Captivity.
THE wretch condemned with life to part,

Still, still on hope relies

;

And every pang that rends the heart

Bids expectation rise.

Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,

Adorns and cheers the way;

And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.

SONG.

From the Oratorio of the Captivity.

O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain,
To former joys recurring ever,

And turning all the past to pain.

*This sonnet is imitated from a French madrigal of St. Pavier.

Thou, like the world, the oppress'd oppressing,

Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe;
And he who wants each other blessing,

In thee must ever find a foe.

SONG.

Intended to have been sung in the Comedy of She Stoops to Conquer, but omitted, because Mrs. Bulkley, who acted the part of Miss Hardcastle, could not sing.

AH me! when shall I marry me?

Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me;

He, fond youth, that could carry me,

Offers to love, but means to deceive me.

But I will rally, and combat the ruiner:

Not a look, nor a smile, shall my passion discover. She that gives all to the false one pursuing her, Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover.

PROLOGUE TO ZOBEIDE, A TRAGEDY;

WRITTEN BY JOSEPH CRADOCK, ESQ., ACTED AT THE

THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN, 1772.

SPOKEN BY MR. QUICK.

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 he's ordered me before,

To make an observation on the shore.

Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is lost!
This seems a rocky and a dangerous coast.
Lord, what a sultry climate am I under!

Yon ill-foreboding cloud seems big with thunder:

[Upper Gallery.

There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen

'em

[Pit.

Here trees of stately size and billing turtles in 'em.

[Balconies.

Here ill-condition'd oranges abound

[Stage.

And apples, bitter apples, strew the ground:

[Tasting them.

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 ship's well stored-in yonder creek we've laid her,

His Honor 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.