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Here lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed,
Who long was a bookseller's hack ;
I dont think he'll wish to come back.
WRITTEN AND SPOKEN
BY THE POET LABERIUS,
A Roman Knight,
WHOM CÆSAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE.
PRESERVED BY MACROBIUS.
What! no way left to shun the' inglorious stage,
For, ah! too partial to my life's decline,
For life is ended when our honour ends.
THE TRAGEDY OF ZOBEIDE
In these bold times, when learning's sons explore
And quit for Venus many a brighter here;
Lord! what a sultry climate am I under!
[Upper Gallery. There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen them
[Pit. Here trees of stately size—and billing turtles in them
[Balconies. Here ill-condition'd oranges abound- [Stage. And apples, bitter apples, strew the ground:
[Tasting them. The' inhabitants are cannibals I fear : I heard a hissing—there are serpents here! 0, there the people are—best keep my distance ! Our captain (gentle natives) craves assistance ; Our ship’s well stored-in yonder creek we've laid her, His honour is no mercenary trader. This is his first adventure; lend him aid, And we may chance to drive a thriving trade. His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far, Equally fit for gallantry and war. What, no reply to promises so ample? -I'd best step back-and order up a sample.