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 honors of my head;
That I found humor 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 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:

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 Æsop'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 that 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 day 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.

* 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.

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS.

OVERTURE-A SOLEMN DIRGE.

AIR-TRIO.

ARISE, ye sons of worth, arise,
And waken every note of woe!

When truth and virtue reach the skies
'Tis ours to weep the want below.

CHORUS.

When truth and virtue, etc.

MAN SPEAKER.

The praise attending pomp and power,

The incense given to kings,

Are but the trappings of an hour,

Mere transitory things.

The base bestow them; but the good agree

Το 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

fame.

and flattery turns to

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 increased load.
Pain met thee like a friend to set thee free,
Affliction still is virtue's opportunity!
Virtue, on herself relying,

Every passion hushed 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, etc.

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,