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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;
That I found humour in a piebald 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 ins and outs no ray of sense discloses,
Whose only plot it is to break our noses;
Whilst from below the tap-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:
Shakspeare 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's 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:

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'The deuce confound,' he cries, these drumstick

shanks,

They never have my gratitude nor thanks;
They're perfectly disgraceful! trike 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 huntsme
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 SIGNIOR 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' edition of the English Poets, from a copy given by Goldsmith to his friend, Joseph Cradock, Esq., author of the tragedy of Zobeide.

CHORUS.

When truth and virtue, &c.

MAN SPEAKER.

The praise attending pomp and
The incense given to kings,

power,

Are but the trappings of an hour,

Mere transitory things.

The base bestow them; but the good agree
To spurn the venal gifts as flattery.

But when to pomp and power are join'd

An equal dignity of the mind;

When titles are the smallest claim;

When wealth, and rank, and noble blood,

But aid the power of doing good:

Then all their trophies last-and flattery turns to fame.

Blest spirit thou, whose fame, just born to bloom,
Shall spread and flourish from the tomb,

How hast thou left mankind for Heaven!
Even now reproach and faction mourn,
And, wondering how their rage was born,
Request to be forgiven!

Alas! they never had thy hate;

Unmoved, in conscious rectitude,
Thy towering mind self-centred stood,
Nor wanted man's opinion to be great.
In vain, to charm the ravish'd sight,
A thousand gifts would fortune send;

In vain, to drive, thee from the right,
A thousand sorrows urged thy end:

Like some well-fashion'd arch thy patience stood, And purchased strength from its increasing load. Pain met thee like a friend to set thee free, Affliction still is virtue's opportunity!

Virtue, on herself relying,

Every passion hush'd to rest,

Loses every pain of dying

In the hopes of being blest.

Every added pang she suffers
Some increasing good bestows,
And every shock that malice offers
Only rocks her to repose.

SONG. BY A MAN-AFFETUOSO.

Virtue, on herself relying, &c.

to

Only rocks her to repose.

WOMAN SPEAKER.

Yet ah! what terrors frown'd upon her fate,
Death, with its formidable band,
Fever, and pain, and pale consumptive care,
Determined took their stand.

Nor did the cruel ravagers design

To finish all their efforts at a blow:
But, mischievously slow,

They robb'd the relic and defaced the shrine.
With unavailing grief,

Despairing of relief,

Her weeping children round

Beheld each hour

Death's growing pow'r,

And trembled as he frown'd.

As helpless friends who view from shore

The labouring ship, and hear the tempest roar,
While winds and waves their wishes cross,-
They stood, while hope and comfort fail,
Not to assist, but to bewail

The inevitable loss.

Relentless tyrant, at thy call

How do the good, the virtuous fall!

Truth, beauty, worth, and all that most engage, But wake thy vengeance and provoke thy rage.

SONG. BY A MAN-BASSO, STOCCATO, SPIRITUOSO.

When vice my dart and scythe supply,
How great a King of Terrors I!
If folly, fraud, your hearts engage,
Tremble, ye mortals, at my rage!

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