Fair, gentle firs, moft foft alluring beaux,
Think 'tis a lady, that for pity sues.
Bright ladies---but to gain the ladies grace,
I think I need no more than fhew my face.
Next then, you authors, be not you fevere;
Why, what a fwarm of fcribblers have we here !
One, two, three, four, five, fix, seven, eight, nine, ten,
All in one row, and brothers of the pen.
All would be poets; well, your favour's due
To this day's author, for he 's one of you.
Among the few which are of noted fame,
I'm fafe; for I myself am one of them.
You've seen me fmoak at Will's among the wits ;
I'm witty too, as they are---that's by fits.
Now, you, our city friends, who hither come
By three o'clock, to make fure elbow-room:
While spouse, tuckt-up, does in her pattens trudge it,
With handkerchief of prog, like trull with budget,
And here, by turns, you eat plumb-cake and judge it;
Pray be you kind, let me your grace importune,
Or elfe---egad, I'll tell you all your fortune.
Well now,
I have but one thing more to fay,
And that's in reference to our third day;
An odd request---may be you'll think it fo;
Pray come, whether you like the play or no :
And if
you 'll ftay, we fhall be glad to see you,
If not---leave your half-crowns, and peace be wi' you!
HE happy Mufe, to this high fcene preferrd,
Hereafter fhall in loftier ftrains be heard:
And, foaring to tranfcend her ufual theme,
Shall fing of virtue and heroic fame.
No longer fhall fhe toil upon the stage,
And fruitlefs war with vice and folly wage;
No more in mean difguife fhe fhall appear,
And fhapes fhe would reform be forc'd to wear :
While ignorance and malice join to blame,
And break the mirror that reflects their fhame.
Henceforth he fhall purfue a nobler task,
Shew her bright virgin face, and scorn the Satyr's mask.
Happy her future days! which are defign'd
Alone to paint the beauties of the mind.
By juft originals to draw with care,
And copy from the court a faultlefs fair:
Such labours with fuccefs her hopes may crown,
And fhame to manners an incorrigible town.
While this defign her eager thoughts purfues,
Such various virtues all around the views,
She knows not where to fix, or which to chufe.
Yet, ftill ambitious of the daring flight,
ONE only awes her with fuperior light.
From that attempt the confcious Mufe retires,
Nor to inimitable worth afpires :
But fecretly applauds, and filently admires.
Hence the reflects upon the genial ray
That firft enliven'd this aufpicious day :
On that bright ftar, to whofe indulgent power
We owe the bleffings of the prefent hour.
Concurring omens of propitious fate
Bore, with one facred birth, an equal date;
Whence we derive whatever we poffefs,
By foreign conqueft, or domeftic peace.
Then, Britain, then thy dawn of bliss begun :
Then broke the morn that lighted-up this fun!
Then was it doom'd whofe councils fhould fucceed;
And by whofe arm the christian world be freed;
Then the fierce foe was pre-ordain'd to yield,
And then the battle won at Blenheim's glorious field.
Infcribed to the Right Hon. the Lord GODOLPHIN, Lord High-Treafurer of England.
"Qualis populeâ morens Philomela fub umbrâ "Amiffos queritur fœtus --
“Integrat, & moftis latè loca questibus implet."
WAS at the time, when new-returning light With welcome rays begins to chear the fight; When grateful birds prepare their thanks to pay, And warble hymns to hail the dawning day; When woolly flocks their bleating cries renew, And from their fleecy fides first shake the filver dew. 'Twas then that Amaryllis, heavenly fair, Wounded with grief, and wild with her despair,
Forfook her myrtle bower and rofy bed,
To tell the winds her woes, and mourn Amyntas dead.
Who had a heart fo hard, that heard her cries
And did not weep? who fuch relentless eyes?
Tigers and wolves their wonted rage forego,
And dumb diftrefs and new compaffion fhow;
As taught by her to taste of human woe.
Nature herself attentive filence kept,
And motion feem'd fufpended while fhe wept;
The rifing fun restrain'd his fiery course,
And rapid rivers liften'd at their fource;
Ev'n Echo fear'd to catch the flying found,
Left repetition fhould her accents drown;
The very morning-wind with-held his breeze,
Nor fann'd with fragrant wings the noifelefs trees;
As if the gentle Zephyr had been dead,
And in the grave with lov'd Amyntas laid.
No noife, no whispering figh, no murmuring groan,
Prefum'd to mingle with a mother's moan;
Her cries alone her anguifh could exprefs,
All other mourning would have made it less.
"Hear me," fhe cried, "ye nymphs and sylvan gods, "Inhabitants of thefe once-lov'd abodes;
"Hear my diftrefs, and lend a pitying ear,
"Hear my complaint---you would not hear my prayer; "The lofs which you prevented not, deplore, "And mourn with me Amyntas now no more. "Have I not caufe, ye cruel powers, to mourn? "Lives there like me another wretch forlorn;
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