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But then the play must have some wit, so me For a Jew many people the master mistook, spirit,
Whose Levites were scullions, his high-priest a And we allow'd sole umpires of its merit.
For those deep sages of the judging pit, And thought he design'd onr religion to alter, Whose taste is too refin'd for modern wit, When they saw the burnt-offering smoke at the From Rome's great theatre we'll cuil the piece,
altar. And plant, on Britain's stage, the flow'rs of The bell's solemn sound, that was heard far and Greece,
near, If some there are our British bards can
And oft rous'd the chaplain yowilling to pray'r, please,
No more to good serions now summons the sinWho taste the ancient wit of ancient days,
ner, Be our's to save, from time's devouring womb,
But blasphemous rings in—the country to dinner. Their works, and snatch their laurels from the tomb.
When my good lord the bishop had heard the For you, ye fair, who sprightlier scenes may
[G-'s glory; chuse,
How the place was profan'd, that was built to Where music decks in all her airs the Muse,
Full of zeal he cried out, “Oh, how impious the Gay opera shall in all its charms dispense,
deed, Yet boast no tuneful triumph over sense;
To cram Christians with pudding, instead of the The nobler bard shall still assert his right,
creed!” Nor Handel rob a Shakespeare of his night.
Then away to the Grove hied the church's proTo greet their mortal brethren of our skies,
tector, Here all the gods of pantomime shall rise : Resolving to give his lay-brother a lecture; Yet ’midst the pomp and magic of machines, But he scarce had begun, when he saw, plac'd Some plot may mark the meaning of our scenes ;
before 'ein, Scenes which were held, in good king Rich's A haunch piping hot from the Sanctum Sancto
days, By sages, no bad epilogues to plays, If terms like these your suffrage can engage,
" Troth !" quoth he, “ I find no great sin in the To fix our mimic empire of the stage;
(man: Confirm our title in your fair opinious,
What was useless to God to make useful to And croud each night to people our dominions.
Besides, 'tis a true christian duty, we read,
Then again on the walls he bestowed consecration, VERSES
But reserv'd the full rights of a free visitation:
Thus, 'tis still the Lord's house-only varied the ON CONVERTING THE CHAPEL TO A KITCHEN, AT
treat, THE SEAT OF THE LORD DONNERAYJE, CALLED
Now there's meat without grace-where was
grace without meat.
ON THE DUKE OF CUMBERLAND'S VICTORY AT The lord of the mansion most rightly conceiting,
CULLODEN, IN THE YEAR 17 16. His guests lov'd good prayers much less than good eating;
[ye, | As his worm-eaten volumes old Time tumbled And possess'd by the devil, as some folks will tell
[yore, What was meant for the soul, he assign'd to the To review the great actions that happen'd of belly.
When the names of young Ammon and Casar The word was scarce giv'n—when down dropp'd He to one oppos'á Churchill—to th’other Nassan;
he saw, the clock, And straight was seen fix'd in the form of a jack;
Then said, with a sigh, “What! has Britain na And, shameful to tell! pulpit, benches, and pews,
end?" Form'd cupboards and shelves for plates, sauce
“ With these must her long race of heroes have pans, aud stews.
When straight a loud blast og ber trumpet Fame blew,
[scarce kner; Pray'r-books turn'd into platters; nor think it a Which so long had barn silent, the suund he fable,
But soon in his sight the swil goddess appeard, A dresser sprung out of the communion table; And, half out of breath, cry'd—“ News, uews! Which, instead of the usual repast, bread and
have you heard? -
I yet have one hero to add to your store,
Well pleas'd, in his annals Time set down the
The muse unfetter'd trod the Grecian stage;
Free were her pinions, unrestrain d her rage: INSCRIBED ON A MONUMENT
Bold and secure she aim'd the pointed dart, OF CARS, IN THE GARDEN OF THE LATE JOHN And ponr'd the precept poignant to the heart, RICH, ESQ. AT COWLEY, IN MIDDLESEX; WHERE- Till dire dominion stretch'd her lawless sway, OX THREE BEAUTIFUL BOYS
COVERING A And Athens' sons were destin'd to obey: FUNERAL URN WITH A VEIL OF FLOWERS, Then first the stage a licens'd bondage knew, Way, busy boys, why this entwine
And tyrants quash'd the scene they fear'd toview:
Fair Freedom's voice no more was heard to The flowery veil around this shrine ?
charm, As if, for balcyou days like these, The sight too solemn were to please ;
Or Liberty the Attic andience warm. Mistaken boşs, what sight's so fair
Then fled the mose, indignant from the shore, To mortals, as the Tomb of Care?
Nor deign’d to dwell where Frecdom was no more: Ilere let the gloomy tyrant lie;
Vain then, alas! she sought Britannia's isle, His urn an altar shall supply,
Charm'd with her voice, and cheer'd us with a Sacred to Ease, and social Mirth ;
smile. For Care's deceasemis Pleasure's birth.
If Gallic laws her gen'rous flight restrain,
Fiee flowd her numbers, flourish'd fair lyer bays;
O'er Britain's stage majestic, unconfin'd,
She tun'd her patriot lessons to mankind ; (IN LETTERS OF BRASS, INSERTED BY A FEMALE
For mighty heroes ransack'd ev'ry age, FIGURE REPRESENTING HISTORY) ON A MARBLE
Then beam'd them glorious in her Shakespeare's. PYRAMID OF THE MONUMENT OF JOHN, DUKE
page. Shakespeare's no more!-lost was the poet's name,
[fame; Briton, behold, if patriot worth be dear, Till thon, my friend, my genius, sprung to A shrine that claims thy tributary tear !
Lur'd by his Jaurel's never-fading bloom, Silent that tongue admiring senates heard, You boldly snatch'd the trophy from his tomb, Nerveless that arm opposing legions feard ! Taught the declining muse again to soar, Nor less, O Campbell! thine the pow'r to please, and to Britannia give one poel more. And give to grandeur all the grace of ease.
Pleas'd in thy lays we see Gustavus live; Long: from thy life, let kindred heroes trace But, O Gustavus ! if thou can'st, forgive Arts which ennoble still the noblest race.-- Britons, more savage than the tyrant Dane, Others may owe their future fame to me; Beneath whose yake you drew the galling chain, I borrow immortality from thee.
Degen’rate Briton's, by thy worth dismay'd, Westminster Abbey. P. WHITEHEAD. Prophane thy glories, and proscribe thy shade.
SONG. ON THE NAME, P. WHITEHEAD,
THE ABOVE INSCRIPTION, BEING REMOVED THENCE As Granville's soft numbers tune Myra's just SOME TIME AFTER THE MONUMENT WAS ERECT
And Chloe shines lovely in Prior's sweet lays; O'er the tombs as pale Envy was hovering So, wou'd Daphne but smile, their example I'd
[Apollo : The manes of each hallow'd hero to wound;
And, as she looks like Venus, I'd sing like Ou Argyle's, when she saw only truth was related
But, alas ! while no smiles from the fair-one Of him, whom alive she most mortally hated,
inspire, And finding the record adopted by Fame,
How languid my strains, and how tuneless my In revenge to the poet-she gnaw'd out his
Go, Zephyrs, salute in soft accents her ear,
But whisper it softly, for fear you ofiend, [pain ;
For sure, O ye winds, ye may tell her my TO MR. BROOKE, ON THE REFUSAL OF A LICENCE
'Tis Strephon's to suffer, but not to complain. TO HIS PLAY OF GUSTAVUS VASA.
Whererer I go, or wbatever I do, [view : First published in the Gentleman's Magazine, Still something presents the fair nymph to my 1739.
If I traverse the garden, the garden still shows nile Athens glory'd in her free-born race,
Me her neck in the lily, her lip in the rose: And science flourish'd round her fav’rite pace,
But with her neither lily nor rose can compare;
Far sweeter's her lip, and her bɔsom more fair. * These verses appeared first in captain Thomson's Life of Whitehead, and perhaps were lis If, to vent my fond anguish, I steal to the grove,
The spring there presents the fresh bloom of my was written at the request of
own. The Epitapb the duchess. c.
The nightingale too, with impertinent noise, Pours forth her sweet strains in my syren's sweet voice:
To Schomberg quoth Death, “ I your patient If, forsaking the groves, I fy to the court,
will have :"
(save.” Where beauty and splendour united resort, To Death replied Schomberg, “My patient I'll Some glimpse of my fair in each charmer I spy,
Then Death seiz'd his arrow, the doctor his pen, In Richmond's fair form, or in Brudepel's bright and each wound the one gave, t'other heal'd it eye;
[ance, But, alas! what wou'd Brudenel or Richmond 'Till Death swore he never had met such detiUnheeded they'd pass, were my Daphne but since he and the college had been in alliance.
there. If to books I retire, to drown my fond pain, And dwell over Horace, or Ovid's sweet strain;
Prais'd as a poet, honour'd as a friend :