SUNDAY. A FRAGMENT. HERVENIS, harping on the hackney'd text, Yet when the goddess Reason guides the strain, The easy shape, the panting semi-globes, The frankness which each latent charm disrobes; The tap'ring waste, the silver-mantled arms, Say, who but sages stretch'd beyond their span, Can see elysium spread upon their brow, If (but 'tis seldom) no fair female face In fun'ral pile eternal marble burns, And a good christian seems to sleep in urns. THE REVENGE,* A BURLETTA; Acted at Marylebone Gardens, 1770, with additional Songs. I SWEAR by Styx, this usage is past bearing; Among the MSS. of Chatterton in the British Museum, there is the first outline of this Burletta under the title of Amphitryon,' the dramatis persona of which are as follows:- Celestials, Jupiter, Mercury, Juno, Nox.- Mortals, Amphitryon, Sosia, Phocyon, Dorus, Alcmena, Phrygia. It differs in many instances from the printer's text. Chatterton is said to have received five guineas for The Revenge' from the Proprietor of Marylebone Gardens, when it was performed in July, 1770, nearly a year after his death. In Southey's Edition of his poems, the MS. is said to have been lost at the printing-office, but the present Editor has a distinct recollection of having observed a notice of its sale some six or seven years since, for the sum of ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY POUNDS. Poor Chatterton! Air. Tho' the loud thunder rumbles, Tho' storms rend the sky; Her jealousy teazing, To wenches more fair; Cold sighs and despair. Recitative. And oh ye tedious minutes, steal away; Air. Sighing, Dying, Lying, Frying, In the furnace of desire; Creeping, Sleeping, Oh! how slow the hours retire! When the busy heart is beating, Oh! how slow the hours retire ! Recitative. But see my Fury comes; by Styx I tremble : I'll creep aside-'tis folly to dissemble. Scene II. JUNO, JUPITER. JUNO. Recitative. See, see, my good man steals aside! I make him knock under, And own the superior right of a bride. How happy the life Of a governing wife, Air. How charming, how easy, the swift minutes pass; Let her do what she will, The husband is still, And but for his horns you would think him an ass. How happy the spouse In his dignified brows; How worthy with heroes and monarchs to class: Both above and below, Experience will shew, But take off the horns, and each hushand's an ass. |