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How will you then, ye impious,'scape your doom, When thrice six hundred times the circling Sun Self-judg'd, abandon'd, overcome?

His annual race shall through the Zodiac run, Your clouds of painted bliss shall inelt before your An'isle remote his mcnument shall rear, sight.

And every generous Briton pay a tear.”
Yet shall you not the giddy chase refrain,

Nor hope more solid bliss t' obtain,
Nor once repeat the joys you knew before;

ADVICE TO MR. POPE,
But sigh, a long eternity of pain,
Tost in an ocean of desire, yet never find a shore. ON HIS INTENDED TRANSLATION OP HOMER'S ILIAD,

1714. But see where the mild Sovereign sits prepar'd His better subjects to reward!

o

Thou, who with a happy genius born, Where am I now! what power divine

Canst tuneful verse in flowing numbers turn, Transports me! what immortal splendours shine! Crown'd on thy Windsor's plains with early bays, Torrents of glory that oppress the sight!

Be early wise, nor trust to barren praise, What joys, celestial King! thy throne surround! Blind was the bard that sung Achilles' rage. The Sun, who, with thy borrow'd bcams so bright,

He sung, and begg'd, and curs'd th' ungiving age: Sees not his peer in all the starry round,

If Britain his translated song would hear, Would here, diminish'd, fade away,

First take the goll-then charm the listening tar; Like his pale sister of the night,

So shall thy father Homer smile to see When she resigns her delegated light,

His pension paid-though late, and paid to thee Lost in the blaze of day. Here wonder only can take place;

Then, Muse, th' adventurous ilight forbear! These mystic scenes thou canst no farther trace; Hope may come boundless future bliss embrace,

THE MEMORY OF MILTON. But what, or when, or how, or where,

HOMER'S DESCRIPTION OF HIMSELF, UNDER THE CH ** Are mazės all, which Fancy runs in vain;

RACTER OF DEMODOCHUS THE MUSICIAN, AT THE Nor can the narrow cells of human brain

FEAST OF KING ALCINOUS. The vast immeasurable thought contain.

FROM THE EIGHTH BOOK OF THE ODYSSEYS.
Tue Muse with transport lor'd him; yet, to fill

His various lot, she blendid good with ill;
TO MR. ADDISON,

Depriv'd him of his eyes, but did impart
The heavenly gift of song, and all the tuneful arte

TO

ON HIS TRAGEDY OF CATO.

WITH THE TRAGEDY OF CATO,

Thoucy Cato shines in Virgil's epic song,
Prescribing laws among th' Elysian throng;
Though Lucan's verse, exalted by his name,

TO A LADY,
O'er gods themselves has rais’d the hero's fame;
The Roman stage did ne'er his image see,
Drawn at full length; a task reserv'd for thee.

Two shining maids this happy work displays; By thee we view the finish'd figure rise,

Each moves our rapture, both divide our praise; And awful march before our ravish'd eyes;

In Marcja, we her godlike father trace; We hear his voice, asserting Virtue's cause;

While Lucia triumphs with each softer grace. His fate, renew'd, our deep attention draws,

One strikes with awe, and one gives chaste delight : Excites, by turns, our various hopes and fears,

That bright as lightning, this serene as light. And all the patriot in thy scene appears.

Yet by the Muse the shadow'd forins were wrought,

And both are creatures of the poet's thought. On Tyber's bank thy thought was first inspir'd;

In her that animates these lines, we view 'Twas there, to some indulgent grove retird,

The wonder greater, the description true; Rome's ancient fortunes rolling in thy mind,

Each living virtue, every grace combin'd, Thy happy Muse this manly work design'd:

And Marcia's worth with Lucia's sweetness join'd. Or, in a dream, thou saw'st Rome's genius stand, And, leading Cato in his sacred hand,

Had she been born ally'd to Cato's name, Toint out th’immortal subject of thy lays,

Numidia's prince had felt a real flame; And ask this labour to record his praise.

And pouring his resistless troops from far,

With bolder deeds had turn'd the doubtful war; ''Tis done--the hero lives and charms our 'age! Cæsar had fled before his conquering arms, While nobler morals grace the British stage. And Roman Muses sung her bcauty's charms Great Shakespeare's ghost, the solemn strain to

hear,
(Methinks I see the laureld shade appear!)
Will hover o'er the scene, and, wondering, view

A FRAGMENT.
His favourite Brutus rival'd thus by you.
Such Roman greatness in each action shines, PromiscuOUS

ROMISCtous crowds to worthless riches born, Such Roman eloquence adorns your lines,

Thy pencil paints, 'tis true, yet paints with scoria That sure the Sibyls books this year foretold, Sometimes the fool, by Nature left half-made, And in some mystic leaf was found enrollid, Mov d by some happy instinct, asks thy aid, Rome, turn thy mournful eyes from Afric's shore, | To give his face to reason some pretence, Nor in her sands thy Cato's tomb explore! And raise his looks with supplemental senses

SEREYATA FOR TWO VOICES,

HORATIUS.
ON THE MARRIAGE OF THE

IN LIBRO PRIMO EPISTOLARUM.
RIGHT HON. THE LORD COBHAM TO MRS. Dimidium facti, qui cæpit, habet. Sapere aude:
ANNE HALSEY.

Incipe. Vivendi rectè qui prorogat horain,

Rusticus expectat dum defluat amnis : at ille
DUETTO.

Labitur & labetur in omne volubilis ævum.
Ware th’ harmonious voice and string,
Lore and Hymen's triumph sing.

TRANSLATED.
Sounds with secret charms combining,

TO-MORROW cheats us all.' Why dost thou stay In unelodious union joining, Best the wondrous joys can tell,

And leave undone what should be done to-day? That in hearts united dwell.

Begin-the present minute's in thy power;

But still t'adjourn, and wait a fitter hour,
RECITATIVE.

Is like the clown, who at solne river's side
FIRST voice.

Expecting stands, in hopes the running tide

Will all ere long be past-Fool! not to know To young Victoria's happy fame,

It still has flow'd the same, and will for ever flow. Well may the Arts a trophy raise,

Music grow's sweeter in her praise,
And on n'd by her, with rapture speaks her name.
Tu touch the brave Cleander's heart,

ON A COLLAR
The Graces all in her conspire;
Lure arms her with his surest dart,

PRESENTED FOR HAPPY CILL, 1712. | apollo with his lyre.

Thou little favourite of the fair!

When thou these golden bands shalt wear, The listening Muses, all around her,

The hand that binds them softly kiss, Think 'tis Phaebus' strains they hear:

With conscious joy, and own thy bliss. Aal Cupid, drawing near to wound her,

Proud of his chain, who would not be Drops his bow, and stands to hear.

A slave, to gain her smiles, like thee?

AIR.

RECITATIVE.

TIIE CHARACTER OF THE
LADY HENRIETTA CAVENDISHI HOLLES,

1712-13.
Such early wisdom, such a lovely face,
Such modest greatness, such attractive grace;
Wit, beanty, goodness, charity, and truth,
The riper sense of age, the bloom of youth!
Whence is it, that in one fair piece we find
These various beauties of the female kind •
Sure but in one such different charms agree,
And Henrietta is that phenix-she.

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TRUTH, HONOUR, HONESTY.

SECOND VOICE.
While crowds of rivals, with despair,
Slant aimire, or rainly court the fair;
Este old the happy conquest of her eyes,

A bero is the glorious prize!
Le courts, in camps, through distant realms re-

Cleander comes-- Victoria, see, [nown'd,
He comes, with British honour crown'd;
Love leads his eager steps to thee.

AIR,
la tener sighs he silence breaks,

The fair his flame approves. (oxuting blushes warm her cheeks, She smules,-she yields,--she loves.

RECITATIVE.

FIRST VOICE.
Nor Hymen at the altar stands,
And while he joins their faithful hands,
Bebold! by arlent vows drawn down,
Immortal Concord, hearenly bright,
Array'd in robes of purest light,
Ilescends, th' auspicious rites to crown.
Her golden barp the goddess brings;

Its magic sound
lonmanos a sudden silence all around,
4.1 strains prophetic thus attune the strings.

DUETTO.
The swain bis nymph possessing,

The nymph her swain caressing, 1 and 2.

SShall still improve the blessing.

For ever kind and true.
While rolling years are flying,
Love, Hymen's lamp supplying,
With fuel never dying,
Sball still the flame renew.

THE MOTTO CHOSEN BY THE RIGHT HON. THE

LADY HENRIETTA CAVENDISH HOLLES.
In thee, bright maid, though all the virtues shine,
With rival beams, and every grace is thine,
Yet three, distinguish'd by thy early voice,
Excite our praise, and well deserve thy choice.
Immortal Truth in Heaven itself displays
Her charms celestial born, and purest rays,
Which thence in streams, like golden sunshine, flow,
And shed their light on minds like yours below.

VOICE.
BOICE.

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Fair lionour, next in beauty and in grace,

Yet stone and brass our hopes betray, Shines in her turn, and claims the second place; Age steals the mimic forms and characters away. She fils the well-born soul with noble fires,

In vain, O Egypt, to the wondering skies, And generous thoughts and godlike acts inspires. With giant pride, thy pyramids arise; Then Honesty, with native air, succeeds,

Whate'er their vast and gloonny vaults contain, Plain is her look, unartful are her deeds;

No names distinct of their great dead remain.

Beneath the mass confus'), in heaps thy monarchs And, just alike to friends and foes, she draws

Unknown, and blended in mortality. [lie, The bounds of right and wrong, nor errs froin equal laws.

To Death ourselves and all our works we owe. From Heaven this scale of virtue thus descends

But is there nought, O Muse, can save

Our inemories from darkness and the grave, By just degrees, and thy full choice defends. So when, in visionary trains, by night

And some short after-life bestow? Attending angels bless'd good Jacob's sight,

“ That task is mine,” the Muse replies, The mystic ladder thus appear'd to rise,

And, hark! she tunes the sacred lyre!

Verse is the last of human works that dies,
Its foot on earth, its summit in the skies.

When Virtue does the song inspire.

HYMN.
SUNG BY THE CHILDREN OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL, AT THE

ENTRY OF KING GEORGE ·

INTO LONDON, 1714.
Hear us, O God, this joyful day!

Whole natjons join their voice,
To thee united thanks to pay,

And in thy strength rejoice.
For led by thee, O King of Kings!

Our sovereign George we see;
Thy hand the royal blessing brings,

He comes, he reigns, by thee!
Plenteous of grace, pour froin above

Thy favours on his head;
Truth, Mercy, Righteousness, and Love,

As guards around hin spread.
With length of days, and glory crown'd,

With wealth and fair increase,
Let him abroad be far renown'd,

Still blest at huine with peace.

Then look, Eliza, happy saint, look down!

Pause from immortal joys awhile
To hear, and gracious, with a smile,
The dedicated numbers own;
Say, how in thy life's scanty space,

So short a space, so wondrous bright,
Bright as a summer's day, short as a summer's night,
Could'st thou find room for crery crowded grace?

As if thy thrifty soul foreknew,
Like a wise envoy, Heaven's intent,

Soon to recall whom it had sent,
And all its task resolv'd at once to do.
Or wert thou but a traveller below,

That hither didst awhile repair,
Curious our customs and our laws to know?

And, sickening in our grosser air,
And tir'd of vain repeated sights,
Our foolish cares, our false delights,

Back to thy native seats would'st go ?
Oh! since to us thou wilt no more return,

Permit thy friends, the faithful fow,
Who best thy nunerous virtues knew,

Themselves, not thce, to mourn.
Now, pensive Muse, enlarge thy flight!
(By turns the pensive Muses love
The hilly heights and shady grove)
Behold where, swelling to the sight,
Balls, a fair structure, graceful stands!
And from yon verdant rising brow

Sees Hertford's ancient town, and lands,
Where Nature's hand, in slow meanders, leads

The Lee's clear stream its course to flow

Through flowery vales, and moisten'd meads, And far around in beauteous prospects spreads

Her map of plenty all below.
'Twas here and sacred be the spot of earth!

Eliza's soul, born first above,
Descended to an humbler birth,

And with a mortal's frailties strove.
So, on some towering peak that meets the sky,

When missive Seraphs downward fly,
They stop, and for a while alight,

Put off their rays celestial-bright,
Then take some milder form familiar to our eyes

Swiftly her infant virtues grew:
Water'ıl hy Heaven's peculiar care,
Her morning bloom was doubly fair,
Like Summer's day-break, when we see
The fresh-iropp'd stores of rosy dew
(Transparent beautics of the dawn)
Spread v'er the grass their cobreb-kaub,

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EDWARD HUGIES, ESQ.
OF HERTINGFORDBURY, IN THE COUNTY OF HERTFORD,

AND DAUGHTER OF RICHARD HARRISON, ESQ. OF
BALLS, IN THE SAME COUNTY.

OBIT 15 nov. MDCCXIV.
See! how those dropping monuments decay!

Frail mansions of the silent dead,
Whose souls, to uncorrupting regions fled,
With a wise scorn their mouldering dust survey.
Their tombs are rais'il from dust as well as they ;

- For see! to dust they both return,
And Time consumes alike the ashes and the urn.

We ask the sculptor's art in vain
To make us for a space ourselves survive;
In Parian stone we proudly breathe again,

Or seen in ligur'd brass to live

Or hang moist pearls on every tree.

Send me to Whigs as true and hearty,
Pleas'd with the lovely sight, awhile

“As ever pity'd poor Maccarty;
Her friends behold, and joyful smile,

Let Townshend, Sunderland, be there,
Not think the Sun's exhaling ray

Or Robin Walpole in the chair;
WiH change the scene ere noon of day, Or send ine to a club of Tories,
Dry up the glistering drops, and draw those dews That daun and curse at Marlborough's glor'es.
away.

And drink—but sure none such there are !

The Devil, the pope, and rebel Mar;
Yet first, to fill her orb of life,

Yet still my loyalty I'll boast,
Bebold, in each relation dear,

King George shall ever be iny toast;
The pious saint, the duteous child appear, Unbrib'd his glorious cause I'll own,
The tender sister, and the faithful wife.

And fearless scorn each traitor's frown.
Alas! but must onc circlet of the year

l'nite in bliss, in grief divide
The destin'd bridegroom and the bride?
Stop, gegerous youth, the gathering tear,
That, as you read these lines or hear,

A FRAGMENT.
Perhaps may start, and seem to say, O SAY, ye saints, who shine in realms above,
" That short-liv'd year was but a day!”

And tune your harps to sing eternal love, Forbrar-nor fruitless sorrowings now employ, When shall my voice attain your high degree; Think she was lent awhile, not given,

When shall my soul, froin clouds of sorrow free, (Such was th' appointed will of Heaven)

Hear your celestial song, and aid the harmony? Then, grateful, call that year an age of virtuous

joy.

APOLLO AND DAPHNE.

AN ALLUSION TO HORACE.

A MASQUE.

BOOK 1.

ODE XXII.

SET TO MUSIC BY DR. PE PUSCH.

AND PERFORMED AT THIE THEATRE-ROYAL IN DRURY

LANE.

Protinus alter amat; fugit altera nomen amantis.

Ovid.

DRAMATIS PERSON.E.
Apollo ,

M.S. MARGARITA.
Daphne

MRS. BARBIER.
Peneus

MR. TURNER.
Doris ..

MRS. WILLIS,

SCENE, THE VALLEY OF TEMPE, IN THESSALY,

PRINTED AT THE BREAKING OUT OF THE REBELLION

IN THE YEAR 1715.
The man that loves his king and nation,
And shuns each vile association,
That trusts his honest deeds i’ th' light,
Nor meets in dark cabals, by night,
With fools, who, after much debate,
Get themselves hang'd, and save the state,
Nerds not his hall with weapons store;
Nor dreads each rapping at his door;
Nor sculks, in fear of being known,
Or hides bis guilt in parson's gown;
Nur sants, to guard his yeucrous heart,
The poniard or the poison'd dart;
And, but for ornament and pride,
A sword of lath might cross his side.

If o'er St. James's park he stray,
He stops not, pausing in his way;
Nor pulls his hat down o'er his face,
Nor starts, looks back, and mends his pace:
Or if he ramble to the Tower,
He knows no crime, and dreads no power,
But thence returning, free as wind,
Smiles at the bars he left behind.
Thus, as I loiter'd t other day,
Humıning- every month was Maya
And, thoughtless how my time I squander'd,
From Whitehall, through the Cockpit wanderd,
A messenger with surly eye
Vier'd me quite round, and yet pass'd by.
to sharper look or rougher mien
in Scottish highlands c'er was seen;
Nor ale and brandy ever bred
More pimpled cheeks, or nose more red;
And yet, with both bands in my breast,
Careless I walk'd, nor shunn's the beast.

Place me among a hundred spies,
Let all the room be ears and eyes;
1 Os search my pocket-books and papers,
No word or line sball give me vapours.

VOL X,

APOLLO AND DAPHNE.

THE FIRST SCENE IS A RIVER.
Pencus, a river-god, appears on a bed of rushes,

leaning on his urn. He rises and comes forward,
his head crowned with rushes and flowers, a reci!
in his hand.

PENEL'S.

How long 'must Peneus chide in vain

His daughter's coyness and disdain?
Through Teinpe's pleasant vales and bowers
As my full urn its current pours,
In every plain, from every grove

I hear the sighs of slighted love;
And on my rushy banks the Sylvans cry

Why ever cruel, Daphne, why?
But see she comes, the beauteous cause;
Daphne, my just commands attend,

Hear me, thy father and thy friend,
And yield at last to Luve and Hymen's laws.

DAPHNE.
O Peneus, urge this cruel suit no more;
Hare I aut to Diana swore?

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DAPHNE.

APOLLO.

APOL.

Behold again to her I bgw,

DAPHNE. Devoted ever to remain

Canst thou the mountain tiger hind, A virgin of her spotless train ;

Or stop the floods, or fix the wind? Hear, Cynthia, and confirm my vow.

Do this--then Daphne will perhaps be kind

APOLLO.
How happy are we,
How airy, how free,

Ev'n tigers Love's soft laws obey;
That rove through the woods and the plains !

Art thou more savage far than they?
In vain the blind boy

Look all around thee, and above !
Our hearts would decoy,

Love lights the skies, and paints the meads;
We scorn all his joys and his pains.

Its genial flame [Erit Daphne.

Though heav'n, and earth, and occan spreada; prseus.

Thou art thyself the happiest child of Love,

Do not thy birth disclaim.
Rash maid, return

What hast thou sworn?
With thee shall Peneus' race expire?

Though fair as Phæbus thou should'st seem,
Then hear once more thy slighted sire,

And were thy words soft as his lyre, And know, thy fatal vow draws down

They could not move me to desire ; The curse of Heaven, a father's frown,

Wake, shepherd, from thy dream, And sure destruction waits thy scorn.

Cease to sooth thy fruitless pain;

Why for frowns wilt thou be suing?
Feeble Cupid! vain deceiver !

Cease to languish and complain,
What avails thy boasted quiver?

'Tis to seek thy own undoing,
Where are all thy conquering arts?

Still to love, and love in vain.
They that fly thee
May defy thee;

In her soft cheek and beauteous eyes,
They who fear thee,

What new enchanting graces rise !
And revere thee,

[Asides Ever meet thy keenest darts.

DUETTO POR APOLLO AND DAPHNE,
[Exit Peneus.

No more deny me,
SCENE CHANGES TO A FOREST.

O cease to fly me
Apollo enters with his bow and arrows, as having

Your faithful swain. newly slain the Python.

DAPH.

No longer try me,
APOLLO.

For ever fly me, 'Tis done-the monster Python, slain

Despairing swain. By Phæbus' shafts, lies breathless on the plain.

Yet hear me. Yet why with conquest am I thus adorn'd ?

Forbear me. Alas! I feel a mortal's pain,

Let sighs imploring, Conquer'd by Love, whom once I scorn'd.

And looks adoring, O Daphne! till thy smiles I can obtain,

Still speak my pain. No more these marks of triumph let me bear;

Your sighs imploring, But thus a shepherd's semblance wear,

And looks adoring, Till blest by thee I grow a gud again.

But more disdain.

[Eril Daphne. [Throws away his bow and arrows, and takes

APOLLO. up a sheep-hook.]

She's gone nor knows from whom she flies. See-she appears; how wondrous fair!

Mistaken coyness ! false disdain ! Hail, goddess of these verdant groves !

Phæbus she prais'd, but scorns the swain DAPRXE.

Then, breaking from this dark disguise,
What art thou, or from whence?

When Phæbus what he is shall seem,
APOLLO.

My glittering rays, and melting lyre,
A swain that loves.

At last shall warm thee to desire,
DAPHNE.

And wake thee, Daphne, from thy dream
Thy unavailing courtship spare.

Where Cupid's bow is failing,
Dost thou not daily hear the shepherds cry

Ambition's charms prevailing,
Why ever cruel, Daphne, why?

Shall triumph o'er the fair.
Go—with the rest despair.

The nymph that love despises,

Some sccret passion prizes,
No, let the rest despair, while I

That still forbids despair.
Distinguish'd, triumph in the joy.

[Erit apollo

EXTER DAPHNE AND DORIS.
Fair blooming creature!
Each tender feature
Speaks thee by nature

Doris, why this trifling tale?
For love design'd.
'Then smile consenting,

That good advice may once prevail;
Lost time repenting,

Save one-nor all your lovers lose,
Let soft relenting

Alas! that I, poor I might gain
Now show thee kind.

What you each day refuse !

APOL.

DAPH.

APOL.

DAPH.

APOLLO.

DAPIINE.

DORIS.

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