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And, if one varied accent prove thy falsehood,

Or but one moment's pause betray confusion, The sultan comes, still gloomy, still enraged.

Those trembling limbs-Speak out, thou shiv'ring SCENE XI.



The queen requested

MAHOMET. Where's this fair traitress? Where's this smiling

Who? the dead Irene? mischief?

Was she then guiltless! has my thoughtless Whom neither vows could fix, nor favours bind ?

rage Destroy'd the fairest workmanship of Heav'n!

Doom'd her to death unpity'l and unheard, Tbine orders, mighty sultan! are perform’d,

Amidst her kind solicitudes for me! And all Irene now is breathless clay.

Ye slaves of cruelty, ye tools of rage,

[To Has. and Car. MAHOMET,

Ye blind officious ministers of fully, (der?

Could not her charms repress your zeal for murYour hasty zeal defrauds the claim of justice,

Could not her pray’rs, her innocence, her tears, And disappointed vengeance burns in vain.

Suspend the dreadful sentence for an hour? I came to heighten tortures by reproach,

One hour had freed me from the fatal errour! And add new terrours to the face of death. Was this the majd whose love I bought with em

One hour had sar'd me from despair and mad. pire ? True, she was fair; the smile of innocence Play'd on her cheek-So shone the first apos- | Your fierce impatience forc'd us from your preIrene's chamber! Did not roaring Cali, [tate

sence, Just as the rack forc'd out his struggling soul,

Urg'd us to speed, and bade us banish pity, Name for the scene of death Irene's chamber?

Nor trust our passions with her fatal charms. MUSTAPHA.

MAHOMET. His breath prolong'd but to detect her treason,

What hadst thou lost by slighting those comThen in short sighs forsook his broken frame,


Thy life perhaps-Were but Irene spar'd,

Well if a thousand lives like thine had perish'd; Decreed to perish in Irene's chamber !

Such beauty, sweetness, love, were cheaply There had she lall'd me with endearing false

bought hoods,

With half the grov'ling slaves that load the globe. Clasp'd in her arms, or slumb'ring on her breast, And bar'd my bosom to the ruftian's dagger.


Great is thy woe! But think, illustrious sultan, SCENE XII.

Such ills are sent for souls like thine to conquer.

Shake off this weight of unavailing grief, HASAN, CARAZA, MAHOMET, MUSTAPHA, MURZA,

Rush to the war, display thy dreadful banners, ABDALLA.

And lead thy troops victorious round the world.

Forgive, great sultan! that, by fate prevented,
I bring a tardy message, from Irene.

Rubb'd of the maid with whom I wish'd to tri

umph, No more I burn for fame, or for dominion;

Success and conquest now are empty sounds, Some artful wile of counterfeited love!

Remorse and anguish seize on all my breast; Some soft decoy to lure me to destruction !

Those groves, whose shades einbower'd the dear And thou, the curs'd accomplice of her treason

Irene, Declare thy message, and expect thy doom.

(ties, Heard her last cries, and fann'd her dying beau. Shall hide me from the tasteless world for ever.

(Mahomet goes back and returns. The queen requested that a chosen troop

Yet, ere I quit the sceptre of dominion, Might intercept the traitor Greek, Demetrius,

Let one just act conclude the bateful day. Then ling'ring with his captive mistress here.

Hew down, ye guards, those vassals of distraction,

[Painting to Hasan and Caraza.

Those hounds of blood, that catch the hint to The Greek Demetrius! whom th' expiring bassa

kill; Declar'd the chief associate of his guilt!

Bear off with eager haste th' unfinish'd sentence,

And speed the stroke, lest mercy should o'ertake МАНОМЕТ.

them. A chosen troop—to intercept-DemetriusThe queen requested—Wretch, repeat the message ;

Then hear, great Mahomet, the voice of truth.










EPILOGUE. Hear, shall I hear thee! didst thou hear Irene?


Marry a Turk! a baughty tyrant king! Hear but a moment.

Who thinks us women born to dress and sis?

To please bis fancy! see no other man!
Hadst thou heard a moment,

Let him persuade me to it-if he can :
Thou might'st have liv’d, for thou had'st spar'd | To lave the fiftieth part her paltry share?

Besides, he has fifty wires, and who can bear Irene.

'Tis true the fellow's handsome, straight, and

tall, I heard her, pitied her, and wish'd to save her.

But how the devil should he please us all!
My swain is little-true-but, be it known,

My pride's to have that little all my own.
And wish d—be still thy fate to wish in vain. Men will be ever to their errours blind,

Where woman's not allow'd to speak her mind.

I swear this eastern pageantry is nonsense, I heard, and soften'd, till Abdalla brought And for one man-one wife's enough of coaHer fival doom, and hurried her destruction.

science. In vain proud man usurps what's woman's due,

For us alone, they bononr's patbs pursue : Abdalla brought her doom! Abdalla brought it, Inspir'd by us, they glory's heights ascend; The wretch, whose guilt, declar'd by torturd Woman the source, the object, and the end. Cali,

(brance: Though wealth, and pow'r, and glory, they reMy rage and grief had hid from my remem

ceive, Abdalla brought her doom !

These are all trifles to what we can give.
For us the statesman labours, hero fights,

Bears toilsome days, and wakes long tedioas
Abdalla brought it,

nights; While yet she begg'd to plead her cause before And, when blest peace has silenc'd war's alarms, thee.

Receives his full reward in beauty's arins.






O seize me, madness-Did she call on me!
I feel, I see the ruffian's barb'rous rage.

He seiz'd her melting in the fond appeal,
And stopp'd the heav'nly voice that callid on me.

PROLOGUE My spirits fail, awhile support me, vengeance- SPOKEN BY DR. GARRICK, APRIL 5, 1750, Be just, ye slaves; and, to be just, be cruel ; Contrive new racks, imbitter ev'ry pang, Inflict whatever treason can deserve,


NEFIT OF MILTON'S GRAND-DAUGHTER. Which murder'd innocence that callid on me, [Erit Mahomet; Abdalla is dragged off. Ye patriot crowds, who burn for England's SCENE XIII.



Ye nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's HASAN, CARAZA, MUSTAPHA, MURZA.

Whose geu'rous zeal, unbought by fatt'ring MUSTAPHA to MURZA.

rhymes, What plagues, what tortures are in store for thee, Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times, Thou sluggish idler, dilatory slave!

Immortal patrons of succeeding days, Behold the model of consummate beauty,

Attend this prelude of perpetual praise;
Torn from the mourning Earth by thy neglect.

Let wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage
With close malevolence, or public rage,
Let study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore,

Behold this theatre, and grieve no more. [tell
Such was the will of Hear'n-A band of Greeks
That mark'd my course, suspicious of my pur-

This night, distinguish'd by your smiles, shall pose,

That never Britain can in vain excel;

[arm'd, Rusb'd out and seiz'd me, thoughtless and un

The slighted arts fulurity shall trust, Breathless, amaz'd, and on the guarded beach

And rising ages hasten to be just. Detain'd me, till Demetrius set me free.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays Fill the loud voice of universal praise;

And baffled spite, with hopeless anguish dumb, So sure the fall of greatness, rais'd on crimes !

Yields to renown the centuries to come; So fix'd the justice of all-conscious Heav'n!

With ardent haste each candidate of fanie, When haughty guilt exults with impious joy,

Ambitious, catches at his tow'ring name; Mistake shall blast, or accident destroy;

He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth bestow, Weak man with erring rage may throw the Those pageant honours which he scorn'd belos, dart,

While crowds aloft the laureat bust behold, But Heav'n shall guide it to the guilty beart.

Or trace bis forin on circulating gold




oknown, unheeded, long his offspring lay, From zeal or malice, now no more we dread, nd want hang threatning o'er ber slow decay. | For English vengeance wars not with the dead. That though she shine with no Miltonian Gre, A generous foe regards with pitying eye o fav'ring Muse her morning dreams inspire; The man whom fate bas laid where all must lie. et softer claims the melting heart engage, To wit reviving from its author's dust er youth laborious, and her blameless age; Be kind, ye judges, or at least be just. ers the mild merits of domestic life,

For 110 renew'd hos ilities invade he patient sufferer, and the faithful wife. Th' oblivious grave's inviolable shade. hus, grac'd with humbie virtue's vative charms, Let one great payment every claim appease, ler grandsire leaves her in Britannia's arms; And him, who cannot burt, allow to please ; ecure with peace, with competence, to dwell, To please by scenes unconscious of offence, While tutelary nations guard her cell.

By harmless merriment, or useful sense. Cours is the charge, ye fair, ye wise, ye brave ! Where aught of bright or fair the piece displays, Tis yours to crown desert-beyond the grave. Approve it only—'tis too late to praise.

If want of skill or want of care appear,

Forbear to hiss—the poet cannot hear.

By all like him must praise and blame be found,

At best a fleeting gleam, or empty sound. TO THE COMEry Of The GOOD-NATURED MAN,

Yet then shall calm reflection bless the night, 1769.

When liberal pity dignify'd delight; REST by the load of life, the weary mind

When pleasure fir'd her torch at virtue's fame,

And mirth was bounty with an humbler name.
jurveys the gen’ral toil of human kind,
With cool submission joins the lab’ring train,
And social sorrow loses half its pain:
Dar anxious bard without complaint may share

This bustling season's epidemic care ;
Like Cæsar's pilot dignified by fate,

STERN Winter iw by Spring repressid,
Tost in one common storm with all the great ;
Distrest alike the statesman and the wit,

Forbears the long-continued strife;
When one a borough courts, and one the pit.

And Nature on her naked breast The busy candidates for power and fame

Delights to catch the gales of life. Hare hopes, and fear, and wishes, just the same;

Now o'er the rural kingdom roves Disabled both to combat or to fly,

Soft pleasure with the laughing train,

Love warbles in the vocal groves,
Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply.
Uncheck'd on both loud rabbles vent their rage,

And vegetation plants the plain,
As mongrels bay the lion in a cage.

Unhappy! whom to beds of pain, Th' offended burgess hoards his angry tale,

Arthr.tic'tyranny consigus;

Whom smiling Nature courts in vain,
For that blest year when all that vote may rail;
Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss,

Though rapture sings and beauty shines. Till that glad night when all that hate may hiss.

Yet though my limbs disease iavades, “ This day the powder'd curls and golden

Her wings linagination tries,

And bears me to the peaceful shades, coat,”

Where 's humble turrets rise. Says swelling Crispin, “ begg'd a cobbler's vote.' "This night our wit,” the pert apprentice cries, Here stop, my soul, thy rapid fight "Lies at my feet; I hiss him, and he dies."

Nor from the pleasing groves depart, The great, 'tis true, can charm the electing Where first great Nature charm'd my sight,

Where Wisdom first inform'd my heart. The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe ;

Here let me through the vales pursue Yet, judg'd by those whose voices ne'er were sold,

A guide-a father and a friend, He feels no want of ill-persuading gold;

Once inore great Nature's works renew,

Once more on Wisdom's voice attend. But, confident of praise, if praise be due,

From false caresses, causeless strife, Trusts without fear to merit and to you.

Wild hope, vain fear, alike removed;

Here let me learn the use of life,

When best enjoy'd—when most improv'd.

Teach me, thou venerable bower, TO TUE COMEDY OF A WORD TO THE wise'. Cool meditation's quiet seat,

The gen'rous scorn of venal power,

The silent grandeur of retreat.
This night presents a play which public rage, When pride by guilt to greatness climbs,
Or right, or wrong, once hooted from the stage, Or raging factions rush to war,

Here let me learn to shun tbe crimes
1 Performed at CoventGarden theatre in 1777, I can't prevent, and will not share.
for the benefit of Mrs. Kelly, widow of Hugh But lest I fall by subtler foes,
Kelly, esq. (the author of the play) and her Bright Wisdom, teach me Curio's art,

The swelling passions to compose, • Upon the first representation of this play, And quell the rebels of the heart. 1770, a party assembled to damn it, and succecded.

| The author being ill of the gout.






Oh! what remains, what lingers çet,

To cheer me in the darkening bour !
The grape remains ! the friend of wit,

In love, and mirth, of mighty power.
O PH@BUS! down the western sky,

Haste-press the clusters, fill the bowl; Far hence diffuse thy burning ray,

Apollo! shoot thy parting ray: Thy light to distant worlds supply,

This gives the sunshine of the soul, And wake them to the cares of day.

This god of health, and verse, and day. Come, gentle Eve, the friend of care,

Still still the jocund strain shall flos, Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night!

The pulse with rigorous rapture beat; Refresh me with a cooling air,

My Stella with new charms shall glow, And cheer me with a lambent light.

And ev'ry bliss in wine shall meet.
Lay me, where o'er the verdant ground

Her living carpet Nature spreads ;
Where the green bower, with roses crown'd,

In showers its fragrant foliage sheds ;
Improve the peaceful hour with wine,
Let music die along the grove ;

No more the inorn, with tepid Rys,
Around the bowl let myrtles twine,

Unfolds the flower of various bue; And ev'ry strain be tun'd to love.

Noon spreads no more the genial blaze, Come, Stella, queen of all my heart !

Nor gentle eve distils the dew.
Come, born to fill its vast desires !

The ling'ring hours prolongs the night,
Thy looks perpetual joys impart,
Thy voice perpetual love inspires.

Usurping darkness shares the day;

Her mists restrain the force of light,
Whilst all my wish and tbine complete,

And Phæbus bolds a doubtful sway.
By turns we languish and we burn,
Let sigbing gales our sighs repeat,

By gloomy twilight half reveal'd,

With sighs we view the boary hill,
Our murmurs-murmuring brooks return.

The leafless wood, the naked field,
Let me when Nature calls to rest,
And blushing skies the morn foretel,

The snow-topt cot, the frozen rill.

No music warbles through the grove, Sink on the down of Stella's breast,

No vivid colours paint the plain; And bid the waking world farewell.

No more with devious steps I rove

Through verdant paths now sought in rain.

Aloud the driving tempest roars,

Congeald, impetuous showers descend;
Haste, close the window, bar the doors,

Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend. Alas! with swift and silent pace,

In nature's aid let art suppls Impatient time roils on the year;

With light and heat my little sphere ; The seasons change, and Nature's face

Rouse, rouse the fire, and pile it bigb, Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe.

Light up a constellation here. 'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay, Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow;

Let music sound the voice of joy, 1

Or mirth repeat the jocund tale; The flowers of Spring are swept away,

Let Love his wanton wiles employ, And Summer-fruits desert the bough.

And o'er the season wine prevail. The verdant leaves that play'd on high,

Yet time life's dreary winter brings, And wanton'd on the western breeze,

When mirth's gay tale shall please no more ; Now trod in dust neglected lie,

No music charm-thongh Stella sings; As Boreas strips the bending trees.

Nor love, nor wine, the spring restore. The fields that way'd with golden grain,

Catch, then, Oh! catch the transient bour, As russet heaths, are wild and bare ;

Improve each mooient as it flies; Not moist with dew, but drench'd with rain, Life's a short summer-man a flower: Nor Realth, nor pleasure, wanders there.

He dies-alas ! how soon he dies ! No more while through the midnight shade,

Beneath the Moon's pale orb I stray, Soft pleasing woes my heart invade,

THE WINTER'S WALK. As Progne pours the melting lay. From this capricious clime she soars,

Behold, my fair, where'er we rove, Oh! would some god but wings supply! What dreary prospects round us rise; To where each morn the Spring restores,

The naked hill, the leafless grove, Companion of her flight I'd fly.

The hoary ground, the frowning skies! Vain wish! me fate compels to bear

Nor only through the wasted plain, The downward season's iron reign,

Stern Winter! is thy force confess'd; Compels to breathe polluted air,

Still wider spreads thy horrid reign, And shiver on a blasted plain.

I feel thy power usurp my breast. What bliss to life can Autumn yield,

Enlivesing hope, and fond desire, If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail;

Resign the heart to spleen and care ; Aud Ceres flies the naked field,

Scarce frighted love maintains her fire, And flowers, and fruits, and Phæbus fail ? And rapture saddens to despair.


a groundless hope, and causeless fear,

Unhappy man! behold thy doom; till changing with the changeful year,

The slave of sunshine and of gloom. ir'd with vain joys, and false alarms,

With mental and corporeal strife, natch me, my Stella, to thy arms,

And screen me from the ills of life.

How passion's well-accorded strife
Gives all the harmony of life ;
Thy pictures shall thy conduct frame,
Consistent still, though not the same;
Thy music teach the nobler art,
To tune the regulated heart.


TO MISS *****




NET-WORK PURSE OF HER OWN WEAVING'. Evening now from purple wings THOUGH gold and silk their charms unite Sheds the grateful gifts she brings; To make thy curious web delight,

Brilliant drops bedeck the mead, In vain the varied work would shine ;

Cooling breezes shake the reed; If wrought by any hand but thine;

Shake the reed, and curl the stream Thy hand, that knows the subtle art

Silver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam; To weave those nets that catch the heart.

Near the chequerd, lonely grore, Spread out by me, the roving coin

Hears, and keeps thy secrets, Love. Thy nets may catch, but not confine ;

Stella, thither let us stray, Nor can I hope thy silken chain

Lightly o'er the dewy way. The glittring vagrants shall restrain.

Phæbus drives his burning car, Why, Stella, was it then decreed

Hence, my lovely, Stella, far; The heart once caught should ne'er be freed? In his stead, the queen of night

Round us pours a lambent light:

Light that seems but just to show
TO MISS *****

Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow.

Let us now, in whisper'd joy, ON HER PLAYING UPON THE HARPSICHORD IN A

Evening's silent hours employ,

Silence best, and conscious shades

Please the hearts that love invades, When Stella strikes the tuneful string

Other pleasures give them pain,
In scenes of imitated spring,

Lovers all but love disdain.
Where beauty lavishes her powers
On beds of never-fading flowers,
And pleasure propagates around
Each charm of modulated sound;

Ah ! think not, in the dangerous hour,

Whether Stella's eyes are found
The nymph fictitious as the flower;
But shun, rash youth, the gay alcove,

Fix'd on earth, or glancing round,

If her face with pleasure glow,
Nor tempt the snares of wily love.
When charms thus press on ev'ry sense,

If she sigh at other's woe,

If ber easy air express
What thought of light, or of defence ?
Deceitful hope, and vain desire,

Conscious worth, or soft distress,
For ever flutter o'er her lyre,

Stella's eyes, and air, and facc,

Charm with undiminish'd grace.
Delighting as the youth draws nigh,

If on her we see display'd
To point the glances of her eye,
And forming with unerring art

Pendant gems, and rich brocade,

If her chintz with less expen se
New chains to hold the captive heart.
But on those regions of delight

Flows in easy negligence;

Still she lights the conscious flame, Might truth intrude with daring flight, Could Stella, sprightly, fair, and young,

Still her charms appear the same;

If she strikes the vocal strings, One moment hear the moral song,

If she's silent, speaks, or sings, Instruction with her flowers might spring,

If she sit, or if she move, And wisdom warble from her string.

Still we love and still approve. Mark, when from thousand mingled dyes

Vain the casual, transient glance, Thou seest one pleasing form arise,

Which alone can please by chance, How active light, and thoughtful shade,

Beauty, which depends on art, In greater scenes each other aid ;

Changing with the changing heart, Mark, when the different notes agree

Which demands the toilet's aid, In friendly contrariety,

Pendent gems and rich brocade.

I those charms alone can prize 1 Printed among Mrs. Williams's Miscella- Which from constant nature rise, nies,

Which nur circumstance, nor dress, 2 Printed among Mrs. Williams's Miscella- E'er can make, or more, or less. nies,

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