Imatges de pÓgina
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And when in death my vows shall cease,
My children shall the note prolong.

MAN Speaker.
The hardy veteran after struck the sight,
Scarr'd, mangled, maimed in every part,
Lopp'd of his limbs in many a gallant fight,
In nought entire - except his heart;
Mute for awhile, and sullenly distress'd,
At last the impetaous sorrow fir'd his breast.
“Wild is the whirlwind rolling
O'er Afric's sandy plain,
And wild the tempest howling
Along the billow'd main;
But every danger fell before,
The raging deep, the whirlwind's roar,
Less dreadful struck me with dismay,
Than what I feel this fatal day.
Oh, let me fly a land that spurns the brave,
Oswego's dreary shores shall be my grave;
I'll seek that less iohospitable coast,
And lay my body where my limbs were lost."

Song. — By a Man.
Old Edward's sons unknown to yield,
Shall crowd from Cressy's laurell'd field,
To do thy memory right;
For thine and Britain's wrongs they feel,
Again they snatch the gleamy steel,
And wish the avenging fight.

WOMAN Speaker.
In innocence and youth complaining,
Next appear'd a lovely maid,
Affliction o'er each feature reigning.
Kindly came in beauty's aid;
Every grace that grief dispenses,
Every glance that warms the soul,
Io sweet succession charms the senses,

While pity barmoniz'd the whole.
“The garland of beauty" ('t is this she would say,)
“No more shall my crook or my temples adorn,
I'll not wear a garland – Augusta 's away,
I'll not wear a garland until she return;
But alas! that return I never sball see,
The echoes of Thames shall my sorrows proclaim,
There promis'd a lover to come, but, ah me!
'T was Death, - 't was the death of my mistress that came.
But ever, for ever, her image shall last,
I 'll strip all the spring of its earliest bloom;
On her grave shall the cowslip and primrose be cast,
And the new blossom'd thorn shall whiten her tomb."
SONG.

- By a WOMAN. - Pastorale.
With garlands of beauty the Queen of the May,
No more will her crook on her temples adorn;
For who'd wear a garland when she is away,
When she is remov'd and shall never return.
On the grave of Augusta these garlands be plac'd,
We'll rifle the spring of its earliest bloom;
And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast,
And the new blossom'd thorn shall whiten her tomb.

CHORUS.
On the grave of Augusta this garland be plac'd,
We 'll rifle the spring of its earliest bloom;
And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast,
The tears of her country shall water her tomb.

LETTER, IN PROSR AND VERSB, TO MRS. RUNBURY. Madam: I read your letter with all that allowance which critical candour could require, but after all find so much to object to, and so much to raise my indignation, that I cannot help giving it a serious answer. I am not so ignorant, Madam, as not to see there are many sarcasms contained in it, and solecisms also, (80lecism is a word that comes from the town of Soleis in Attica among the Greeks, built by Solon, and applied as we use the word Kidderminster for curtains from a town also of that Dame; but this is learning you have no taste for.) - I say, Madam, there are sarcasms in it and solecisms also. But, not to seem an illnatured critic, I'll take leave to quote your own words, and give you my remarks upon them as they occur. You begin as follows:

“I hope, my good Doctor, you soon will be here,
And your spring velvet coat very smart will appear,

To open our ball the first day in the year.” Pray, Madam, where did you ever find the epithet "good" applied to the title of Doctor? Had you called me learned Doctor, or grave Doctor, or noble Doctor, it might be allowable, because they belong to the profession. But, not to cavil at trifles, you talk of my spring velvet coat, and advise me to wear it the first day in the year, that is in the middle of winter; - a spring velvet in the middle of winter!!! That would be a solecism indeed; and yet, to increase the inconsistence, in another part of your letter you call me a beau: now, on one side or other, you must be wrong. If I am a beau, I can never think of wearing a spring velvet in winter; and if I am not a beau - why-- then

- that explains itself. But let me go on to your two next strange lines :

“And bring with you a wig that is modish and gay,

To dance with the girls that are making of bay." The absurdity of making bay at Christmas you yourself seem sensible of; you say your sister will laugh, and so indeed she well may. The Latins have an expression for a contemptuous sort of laughter, Naso contemnere adunco; that is, to laugh with a crooked nose; she may laugh at you in the manner of the ancients if she thinks fit. But now I am come to the most extraordinary of all extraordinary propositions, which is, to take your and your sister's advice in playing at loo. The presumption of the offer raises my indignation beyond the bounds of prose; it inspires me at once with verse and resentment, I take advice! And from whom? You shall hear,

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First let me suppose, what may shortly be true, The company set and the word to be loo;

All smirking and pleasant and big with adventure,
And ogling the stake which is fixed in the centre.
Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly damo,
At never once finding a visit from pam;
I lay down my stake apparently cool,
While the harpies about me all pocket the pool;
I fret in my gizzard, get cautious and sly,
I wish all my friends may be bolder than I;
Yet still they sit snug; not a creature will aim,
By losing their money, to venture at fame.
'Tis in vain that at niggardly cautiop I scold,
'Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold;
All play their own way, and they think me an ass;
What does Mrs. Bunbury? I, Sir? I pass.
Pray what does Miss Horneck ? Take courage, come, do.
Who, 1? Let me see, Sir; why I must pass too.
Mrs. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the Devil,
To sec them so cowardly, lucky, and civil;
Yet still I sit snug,

and

ptinue to sigh on, Till made by my losses as bold as a lion. I venture at all; while my avarice regards The whole pool as my own. Come, give me five cards. Well done! cry the ladies; ah! Doctor, that 's good, The pool 's very rich. Ahl the Doctor is loo'd. Thus foiled in my courage, on all sides perplext , I ask for advice from the lady that's next. Pray, Ma'am, be so good as to give your advice; Don't you think the best way is to venture for 't twice? I advise, cries the lady, to try it I own; Ah! the Doctor is loo'd. Come Doctor, put down. Thus playing and playing I still grow more eager, And so bold and so bold, I'm at last a bold beggar. Now, ladies, I ask if law inatters you 're skilled in, Whether crimes such as yours should not come before Fielding; For giving advice that is not worth a straw, May well be called picking of pockets in law; And picking of pockets with which I now charge ye,

on!

Is by Quinto Elizabeth, death without clergy.
What justice, when both to the Old Bailey brought!
By the gods I'll enjoy it, tho' 't is but in thought!
Both are placed at the bar with all proper decorum,
With bunches of fennel and posegays before 'em;
Both cover their faces with mobs and all that,
But the Judge bids them angrily take off their hat,
When uncover'd, a buzz of enquiry goes round,
Pray what are their crimes? They've been pilfering found.
But, pray whom have they pilfer'd? A Doctor, I hear;
What, yon solemp-faced odd-looking man that stands near?
The same. What a pity! How does it surprise one!
Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes
Then their friends all come round me with cringing and leering,
To melt me to pity and soften my swearing.
First Sir Charles advances with phrases well strung,
Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young.
The younger the worse, I return him again,
It shows that their babits are all dyed in grain;
But then they 're so handsome, one's bosom it grieves :
What signifies handsome when people are thieves !
But where is your justice? Their cases are hard;
What signifies justice? — I want the reward.

There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty pouud There's the parish of St. Leonard, Shoreditch, offers forty pound There's the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog in the Pound to St. Giles's Watchhouse, offers forty pound - I shall have all that if I convict them.

But consider their case, it may yet be your own,
And see how they kneel; is your heart made of stone?
This moves; so at last I agree to relent,
For ten pounds in hand and ten pounds to be spent.

I challenge you all to answer this. I tell you, you cannot. It cuts deep; but now for the rest of the letter; and next - but I want room. - So I believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next woek. – I don't value you all.

0. G.

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