Recitative.

Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling,
Still thus address the fair with voice beguiling:

AIR.-Cotillon.

Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever
Strephon caught thy ravish'd eye,
Pity take on your swain so clever,
Who without your aid must die.

Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu!
Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho!
Da Capo.

Mrs B. Let all the old pay homage to your merit;
Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit.
Ye travell❜d tribe, ye macaroni train,

Of French friseurs and nosegays justly vain,
Who take a trip to Paris once a-year

To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here,—
Lend me your hands: O fatal news to tell,

Their hands are only lent to the Heinelle.

Miss C. Ay, take your travellers-travellers indeed Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the Tweed. Where are the chiels? Ah, ah! I well discern The smiling looks of each bewitching bairn.

AIR.

- A bonny young Lad is my Jockey.

I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day,
And be unco merry when you are but gay;
When you with your bagpipes are ready to play,
My voice shall be ready to carol away

With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey,

With Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey.

Mrs B. Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit, Make but of all your fortune one va toute:

Ye jockey tribe, whose stock of words are few, "I hold the odds.- Done, done, with you, with you!" Ye barristers, so fluent with grimace,

66

My Lord, your Lordship misconceives the case:' Doctors, who answer every misfortuner,

"I wish I'd been call'd in a little sooner

Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty,
Come, end the contest here, and aid my party.

AIR.- Ballinamony.

Miss C. Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack,
Assist me, I pray, in this woful attack;

For sure I don't wrong you-you seldom are slack,
When the ladies are calling, to blush and hang back.
For you are always polite and attentive,
Still to amuse us inventive,

And death is your only preventive:

Your hands and your voices for me.

Mrs B. Well, Madam, what if, after all this sparring, We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring ?

Miss C. And that our friendship may remain unbroken, What if we leave the Epilogue unspoken ?

Mrs B. Agreed.

Miss C. Agreed.

Mrs B. And now with late repentance,
Un-epilogued the Poet waits his sentence.
Condemn the stubborn fool who can't submit

To thrive by flattery, though he starves by wit.

AN EPILOGUE,

INTENDED FOR MRS BULKLEY.

THERE is a place-so Ariosto sings-
A treasury for lost and missing things;

[Exeunt.

Lost human wits have places there assign'd them,
And they who lose their senses, there may find them.
But where's this place, this storehouse of the age?
The Moon, says he; but I affirm, the Stage-
At least, in many things, I think I see
His lunar and our mimic world agree:
Both shine at night, for, but at Foote's alone,
We scarce exhibit till the sun goes down;
Both prone to change, no settled limits fix,
And sure the folks of both are lunatics.
But in this parallel my best pretence is,
That mortals visit both to find their senses:
To this strange spot, Rakes, Macaronies, Cits,
Come thronging to collect their scatter'd wits.

K

The gay coquette, who ogles all the day,
Comes here at night, and goes a prude away.
Hither the affected city dame advancing,
Who sighs for Operas, and doats on dancing,
Taught by our art, her ridicule to pause on,
Quits the Ballet, and calls for Nancy Dawson.
The Gamester, too, whose wit's all high or low,
Oft risks his fortune on one desperate throw,
Comes here to saunter, having made his bets,
Finds his lost senses out, and pays his debts.
The Mohawk, too, with angry phrases stored-
As," Damme, Sir !" and, "Sir, I wear a sword!”-
Here lesson'd for a while, and hence retreating,
Goes out, affronts his man, and takes a beating.
Here come the sons of scandal and of news,
But find no sense- for they had none to lose.
Of all the tribe here wanting an adviser,
Our Author's the least likely to grow wiser;
Has he not seen how you your favour place
On sentimental queens* and lords in lace?
Without a star, a coronet, or garter,

How can the piece expect or hope for quarter?
No high-life scenes, no sentiment: the creature
Still stoops among the low to copy Nature.
Yes, he's far gone and yet some pity fix,
The English laws forbid to punish lunatics. †

EPILOGUE,

SPOKEN BY MR LEE LEWES, IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN
AT HIS BENEFIT.

HOLD! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense:
I'd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience.
My pride forbids it ever should be said

My heels eclipsed the honours of my head;

* In this allusion to sentimental queens, it is probable that Goldsmith glanced in particular at Mr Murphy's tragedy of Zenobia, though his splenetic attack is directed generally against the comedy which was brought into fashion about this time by the great popularity of Kelly's False Delicacy, and effectually exploded some years after by Foote's clever satire of Piety in Pattens.-B.

This Epilogue was given in MS. by Dr Goldsmith to Dr Percy, (afterwards Bishop of Dromore ;) for what comedy it was intended is not remembered.

That I found humour in a pieball vest,

Or ever thought that jumping was a jest. [Takes off his mask
Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth?
Nature disowns, and reason scorns, thy mirth:
In thy black aspect every passion sleeps,
The joy that dimples, and the wo that weeps.
How hast thou fill'd the scene with all thy brood
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursued!
Whose inns and outs no ray of sense discloses,
Whose only plot it is to break our noses;
Whilst from below the trap-door demons rise,
And from above the dangling deities:
And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew?
May rosin'd lightning blast me if I do!
No-I will act-I'll vindicate the stage:
Shakespeare himself shall feel my tragic rage.
Off! off! vile trappings! a new passion reigns!
The madd'ning monarch revels in my veins.
Oh! for a Richard's voice to catch the theme,-
“Give me another horse! bind up my wounds!—soft—
'twas but a dream."

Ay, 'twas but a dream, for now there is no retreating,
If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating.

'Twas thus that Esop's stag, a creature blameless,
Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless,
Once on the margin of a fountain stood,

And cavill'd at his image in the flood:

"The deuce confound," he cries, "these drumstick shanks They never have my gratitude nor thanks;

They're perfectly disgraceful! strike me dead!

But for a head, yes, yes, I have a head:

How piercing is that eye! how sleek that brow!

My horns! I'm told horns are the fashion now."

Whilst thus he spoke, astonish'd, to his view,
Near, and more near, the hounds and huntsmen drew;
"Hoicks! hark forward!" came thund'ring from behind:
He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind;

He quits the woods, and tries the beaten ways;
He starts, he pants, he takes the circling maze :
At length, his silly head, so prized before,
Is taught his former folly to deplore;

Whilst his strong limbs conspire to set him free,
And at one bound he saves himself-like me.

[Taking a jump through the stage door

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS.*

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF HER LATE ROYAL HIGHNESS THE

PRINCESS DOWAGER OF WALES.

SPOKEN AND SUNG IN THE GREAT ROOM IN SOHO-SQUARE,

Thursday, the 20th of February, 1772.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The following may more properly be termed a compilation than a poem. It was prepared for the composer in little more than two days and may therefore rather be considered as an industrious effort of gratitude than of genius.

:

In justice to the composer, it may likewise be right to inform the public, that the music was adapted in a period of time equally short.

SPEAKERS-Mr Lee and Mrs Bellamy.

SINGERS-Mr Champnes, Mr Dine, and Miss Jameson.

THE MUSIC PREPARED AND ADAPTED BY SIGNOR VENTO.

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS.

OVERTURE-A SOLEMN DIRGE.

AIR TRIO.

ARISE, ye sons of worth, arise,

And waken every note of wo!

When truth and virtue reach the skies,

'Tis ours to weep the want below.

This poem was first printed in Chalmers's edition of the English Poets, from a copy given by Goldsmith to his friend, Joseph Cradock, Esq. author of Zobeide, a tragedy.-B.