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And, if one varied accent prove thy falsehood,

Or but one moment's pause betray confusion, The sultan comes, still gloomy, still enraged.

Those trembling limbs-Speak out, thou shiv'ring


The queen requested

MAHOMET.' Where's this fair traitress? Where's this smiling

Who? the dead Irene? mischief?

Was she then guiltless! has my thougbtless Whom neither vows could fix, nor favours bind ?

rage Destroy'd the fairest workmanship of Heav'n!

Doom'd her to death unpity'il and unheard, Thine orders, mighty sultan! are perform’d,

Amidst her kind solicitudes for me! And all Irene now is breathless clay.

Ye slaves of cruelty, ye tools of rage,

[To Has. and Car. Ye blind officious ministers of fully, [der?

Could not her charms repress your zeal for murYour hasty zeal defrauds the claim of justice,

Could not hier pray’rs, her innocence, her tears, And disappointed vengeance burns in vain. I came to heighten tortures by reproach,

Suspend the dreadful sentence for an hour?

One hour had freed me from the fatal errour! And add new terrours to the face of death. Was this the majd whose love I bought with em

One hour had sar'd me from despair and mad. pire ? True, she was fair; the smile of innocence Play'd on her cheek-So shone the first apos- | Your fierce impatience forc'd us from your preIrene's chamber! Did not roaring Cali, [tate

sence, Just as the rack forc'd out his struggling soul,

Urg'd us to speed, and bade us banish pity, Name for the scene of death Irene's chamber ?

Nor trust our passions with her fatal charms. MUSTAPHA. His breath prolong'd but to detect her treason,

What hadst thou lost by slighting those comThen in short sighs forsook bis broken frame,

Thy life perhaps-Were but Irene spar'd,

Well if a thousand lives like thine had perish'd; Decreed to perish in Irene's chamber !

Such beauty, sweetness, love, were cheaply There had she lull'd me with endearing false

bought hoods,

With half the grov'ling slaves that load the globe. Clasp'd in her arms, or slumb'ring on her breast, And bar'd my bosom to the ruffian's dagger.

Great is thy woe! But think, illustrious sultan, SCENE XII.

Such ills are sent for souls like thine to conquer.

Shake off this weight of unavailing grief, HASAN, CARAZA, MAHOMET, MUSTAPHA, MURZA,

Rush to the war, display thy dreadful banners,

and lead thy troops victorious round the world. MURZA, Forgive, great sultan! that, by fate prevented,

Rubb'd of the maid with whom I wish'd to triI bring a tardy message, from Irene.

umph, MAHOMET.

No more I burn for fame, or for dominion; Some artful wile of counterfeited love!

Success and conquest now are empty sounds,

Remorse and anguish seize on all my breast; Some soft decoy to lure me to destruction ! And thou, the curs'd accomplice of her treason

Those groves, whose shades embower'd the dear

Irene, Declare thy message, and expect thy doom.

(ties, Heard her last cries, and fann'd her dying beani.

Shall hide me from the tasteless world for ever. The

(Mahomet goes back and returns. queen requested that a chosen troop

Yet, ere I quit the sceptre of dominion, Might intercept the traitor Greek, Demetrius,

Let one just act conclude the bateful day. Then ling'ring with his captive mistress here.

Hew down, ye guards, those vassals of distraction,

[Painting to Hasan and Caraza.

Those hounds of blood, that catch the hint to
The Greek Demetrius! whom th' expiring bassa
Declar'd the chief associate of bis guilt!

Bear off with eager haste th' unfinish'd sentence,
And speed the stroke, lest mercy should o'ertake

A chosen troop—to intercept—Demetrius,
queen requested—Wretch, repeat the mes-
sage ;

Then hear, great Mahomet, the voice of truth















EPILOGUE. Hear, shall I hear thee! didst thou hear Irene ?


MARNY a Turk! a baughty tyrant king!
Hear but a moment.

Who thinks us women born to dress and sing
To please his fancy! see no other man !

Let him persiade me to it-if he can :
Hadst thou heard a moment,

Besides, he has fifty wives, and who can bear Thou might'st have liv’d, for thou had'st spar'd Tolare the fiftieth part her paltry share? Irene.

'Tis true the fellow's handsome, straight, and

tall, I heard her, pitied her, and wish'd to save her,

But how the devil should he please us all!
My swain is little-true but, be it known,

My pride's to have that little all my own.
And wish'd—be still thy fate to wish in vain. Men will be ever to their errours blind,

Where woman's not allow'd to speak her mind.

I swear this eastern pageantry is nonsense, I heard, and soften'd, till Abdalla brought And for une man-one wife's enough of conHer fival doom, and hurried her destruction,

science. In vain proud man usurps what's woman's due,

For us alone, they honour's paths pursue : Abdalla brought her doom! Abdala brought it, Inspir'd by us, they glory's heights ascend; The wretch, whose guilt, declar'd by tortur'd woman the source, the object, and the end. Cali,

(brance: Though wealth, and pow'r, and glory, they reMy rage and grief had hid from my remem

ceive, Abdalla brought her doom !

These are all triftes to what we can give.

For us the statesman labours, hero fights,

Bears toilsome days, and wakes long tedious
Abdalla brought it,

nights; While yet she begg'd to plead her cause before And, when blest peace has silenc'd war's alarms, thee.

Receives his full reward in beauty's arms.





O seize me, madness-Did she call on me!
I feel, I see the ruffian's barb'rous rage.

He seiz'd her melting in the fond appeal,
And stopp'd the heav'nly voice that call'd on me.

PROLOGUE My spirits fail, awhile support me, vengeance- SPOKEN BY MR. CARRICK, APRIL 5, 1750, Be just, ye slaves; and, to be just, be cruel ;

BEFORE THE NASQUE OF COMUS Contrive new racks, imbitter ev'ry pang,

ACTED AT DRURY-LANE THEATRE, FOR THS Inflict whatever treason can deserve,

NEFIT OF MILTON'S GRAND-DAUGHTER. Which murder'd innocence that call’d on me. [Exit Mahomet; Abdalla is dragged off. Ye patriot crowds, who burn for England's SCENE XIII.



Ye nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's HASAN, CARAZA, MUSTAPHA, MURZA.

Whose geu'rous zeal, unbought by Aattring MUSTAPHA tO MURZA.


Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times, What plagues, what tortures are in store for thee: Thou sluggish idler, dilatory slave!

Immortal patrons of succeeding days, Behold the model of cunsummate beauty,

Attend this prelude of perpetual praise;

Let wit, condemo'd the feeble war to wage Torn from the mourning Earth by thy neglect.

With close malevolence, or public rage,
Let study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore,

Behold this theatre, and grieve no more.
Such was the will of Heav'n--A band of Greeks

(tell That mark'd my course, suspicious of my pur That never Britain can in vain excel;

This night, distinguish'd by your smiles, shall pose,

[arm’d, Rush'd out and seiz'd me, thoughtless and un

The slighted arts fulurity shall trust,

And rising ages hasten to be just.
Breathless, amaz'd, and on the guarded beach
Detain'd me, till Demetrius set me free.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays
Fill the loud voice of universal praise;

And bamed spite, with hopeless anguish dumb, So sure the fall of greatness, rais'd on crimes !

Yields to renown the centuries to come; So fix'd the justice of all-conscious Heav'n!

With ardent haste each candidate of fame, When haughty guilt exults with impious joy,

Ambitious, catches at his tow'ring name; Mistake shall blast, or accident destroy;

He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth bestor, Weak man with erring rage may throw the Those pageant honours which he scorn'd belov, dart,

While crowds alott the laureat bust bebold, But Heav'n shall guide it to the guilty beart.

Or trace his forin on circulating gold




Unknown, unheeded, long his offspring lay, From zeal or malice, now no more we dread,
And want hung threat'ning o'er her slow decay. For English vengeance wars not with the dead.
What though she shine with no Miltonian fire, A generous foe regards with pitying eye
No fav'ring Muse her morning dreams inspire ; The man whom fate has laid where all must lie.
Yet softer claims the melting heart engage, To wit reviving from its author's dust
Her youth laborious, and her blameless age; Be kind, ye judges, or at least be just.
Hers the mild merits of domestic life,

For 110 renew'd hostilities invade
The patient sufferer, and the faithful wife. Th' oblivious grave's inviolable shade.
Thus, grac'd with humble virtue's vative charms, Let one great payment every claim appease,
Her grandsire leaves ber in Britannia's arms; And him, who cannot hurt, allow to please ;
Secure with peace, with competence, to dwell, To please by scenes unconscious of offence,
While tutelary nations guard her cell.

By harmless merriment, or useful sense. Yours is the charge, ye fair, ye wise, ye brave! Where aught of bright or fair the piece displays, 'Tis yours to crown desert--beyond the grave. Approve it only_tis too late to praise.

If want of skill or want of care appear,

Forbear to hiss—the poet cannot hear.

By all like him must praise and blame be found,

At best a fleeting gleam, or empty sound. TO THE COMETY OF THE GOOD-NATURED MAN,

Yet then shall calm reflection bless the night, 1769.

When liberal pity dignify'd delight; Prest by the load of life, the weary mind

When pleasure fir'd her torch at virtue's fame, Surveys the gen’ral toil of human kind,

And mirth was bounly with an humbler name.
With cool submission joins the lab'ring train,
And social sorrow loses half its pain:
Our anxious bard without complaint may share

This bustling season's epidemic care;
Like Cæsar's pilot dignified by fate,

STERN Winter www by Spring repress'd,
Tost in one common storm with all the great ;

Forbears the long-continued strife;
Distrest alike the statesman and the wit,

And Nature on her naked breast
Wben one a borough courts, and one the pit.
The busy candidates for power and fame

Delights to catch the gales of life.

Now o'er the rural kingrom roves
Have hopes, and fear, and wishes, just the same;
Disabled both to combat or to fly,

Soft pleasure with the laughing train,

Love warbles in the vocal groves,
Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply.
Uncheck'd on both loud rabbles vent their rage,

And vegetation plants the plain,
As mongrels bay the lion in a cage.

Unhappy! whom to beds of pain, Th' offended burgess hoards his angry tale,

Arthr.tic tyranny consigus; For that blest year when all that vote may rail;

Whom smiling Nature courts in vain, Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss,

Though rapture sings and beauty shines. Till that glad night when all that hate may biss.

Yet though my limbs disease invades, " This day the powder'd curls and golden and bears me to the peaceful shades,

Her wings Imagination tries, coat,"

Where 's humble turrets rise. Says swelling Crispin, “ begg'd a cobbler's vote.' “This night our wit,” the pert apprentice cries, Here stop, my soul, thy rapid fight

Nor from the pleasing groves depart, Lies at my feet; I hiss him, and he dies." The great, 'tis true, can charm the electing Where first great Nature charm'd my sight,

Where Wisdom first inform'd my heart. tribe; The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe ;

Here let me through the vales pursue Yet, judg'd by those whose voices ne'er were sold,

A guide-a father and a friend, He feels no want of ill-persuading gold;

Once inore great Nature's works renew, But, confident of praise, if praise be due,

Once more on Wisdom's voice attend. Trusts without fear to merit and to you.

From false caresses, causeless strife,

Wild hope, vain fear, alike removed;

Here let me learn the use of life,

When best enjoy'd—when most improv'd.

Teach me, thou venerable bower, TO THE COMEDY OF A WORD 10 THE wise'. Cool meditation's quiet seat,

The gen'rous scorn of venal power,

The silent grandeur of retreat.
Tars night presents a play which public rage, When pride by guilt to greatness climbs,
Or right, or wrong, once booted from the stage, Or raging factions rush to war,

Here let me learn to shun the crimes 1 Performed at CoventGarden theatre in 1777, I can't prevent, and will not share. for the benefit of Mrs. Kelly, widow of Hugh But lest I fall by subtler foes, Kelly, esq. (the author of the play) and her Bright Wisdom, teach me Curio's art, children.

The swelling passions to compose, • Upon the first representation of this play, And quell the rebels of the heart. 1770, a party assembled to damn it, and succeeded.

1 The author being ill of the gout.





Oh! what remains, what lingers yet,

To cheer me in the darkening hour! The grape remains ! the friend of wit,

In love, and mirth, of mighty power. Haste-press the clusters, fill the bowl;

Apollo! shoot thy parting ray: This gives the sunshine of the soul,

This god of health, and verse, and day. Still still the jocund strain shall flow,

The pulse with vigorous rapture beat; My Stella with new charms shall glow,

And ev'ry bliss in wine shall meet.



O PH@BUS! down the western sky,

Far hence diffuse thy burning ray, Thy light to distant worlds supply,

And wake them to the cares of day, Come, gentle Eve, the friend of care,

Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night! Refresh me with a cooling air,

And cheer me with a larnbent light. Lay me, where o'er the verdant ground

Her living carpet Nature spreads; Where the green bower, with roses crown'd,

In showers its fragrant foliage sheds ; Improve the peaceful hour with wine,

Let music die along the grove ; Around the bowl let myrtles twine,

And ev'ry strain be tun'd to love. Come, Stella, queen of all my heart !

Come, born to fill its vast desires ! Thy looks perpetual joys impart,

Thy voice perpetual love inspires. Whilst all my wish and tbine complete,

By turns we languish and we burn, Let sigbing gales our sighs repeat,

Our murmurs-murmuring brooks return. Let me when Nature calls to rest,

And blushing skies the morn foretel, Sink on the down of Stella's breast,

And bid the waking world farewell,


No more the inorn, with tepid rys,

Unfolds the flower of various hue;
Noon spreads no more the genial blaze,

Nor gentle eve distils the dew.
The ling'ring hours prolongs the night,

Usurping darkness shares the day;
Her mists restrain the force of light,

And Phæbus holds a doubtful sway. By gloomy twilight half reveal'd,

With sighs we view the hoary hill, The leafless wood, the naked field,

The snow-topt cot, the frozen rill. No music warbles through the grove,

No vivid colours paint the plain; No more with devious steps I rove

Through verdant paths now sought in rain. Aloud the driving tempest roars,

Congeal’d, impetuous showers descend; Haste, close the window, bar the doors,

Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend. In nature's aid let art supply

With light and heat my little sphere; Rouse, rouse the fire, and pile it high,

Light up a constellation here. Let music sound the voice of joy,

Or mirth repeat the jocund tale; Let Love his wanton wiles employ,

And o'er the season wine prevail. Yet time life's dreary winter brings,

When mirth's gay tale shall please no more ; No music charm-though Stella sings;

Nor love, nor wine, the spring restore. Catch, then, Oh! catch the transient bour,

Improve each monient as it flies; Life's a short summer-man a flower:

He diesmalas ! how soon he dies !


Alas! with swift and silent pace,

Impatient time rolls on the year; The seasons change, and Nature's face

Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe. 'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay,

Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; The flowers of Spring are swept away,

And Summer-fruits desert the bough. The verdant leaves that play'd on high,

And wanton'd on the western breeze, Now trod in dust neglected lie,

As Boreas strips the bending trees. The fields that wav'd with golden grain,

As russet heaths, are wild and bare ; Not moist with dew, but drench'd with rain,

Nor Health, nor pleasure, wanders there. No more while through the midnight shade,

Beneath the Moun's pale oib I stray, Soft pleasing woes my heart invade,

As Progne pours the melting lay. From this capricious clime she soars,

Oh! would some god but wings supply ! To where each morn the Spring restores,

Companion of her flight I'd fly. Vain wish! me fate compels to bear

The downward season's iron reign, Compels to breathe polluted air,

And shiver on a blasted plain. What bliss to life can Autumn yield,

If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail; Aud Ceres flies the naked field,

And flowers, and fruits, and Phæbus fail?

THE WINTER'S WALK. Behold, my fair, where'er we rove,

What dreary prospects round us rise; The naked bill, the leafless grove,

The hoary ground, the frowning skies! Nor only through the wasted plain,

Stern Winter! is thy force confess'd; Still wider spreads thy horrid reign,

I feel thy power usurp my breast. Enliveoing hope, and fond desire,

Resign the heart to spleen and care ; Scarce frighted love maintains her fire,

And rapture saddens to despair.

in groundless hope, and causeless fear,

How passion's well-accordled strife Unhappy man! behold thy doom ;

Gives all the harmony of life ; Still changing with the changeful year,

Thy pictures shall thy conduct frame, The slave of sunshine and of gloom.

Consistent still, though not the same; Tird with vain joys, and false alarms,

Thy music teach the nobler art,
With mental and corporeal strife,

To tune the regulated heart.
Snatch me, my Stella, to thy arms,

And screen me from the ills of life.


TO MISS *****





TO STELLA. NET-WORK PURSE OF HER OWN Weaving'. Evening now from purple wings THOUGH gold ant silk their charms unite Sheds the grateful gifts she brings; To make thy curious web delight,

Brilliant drops bedeck the mead,
In vain the varied work would shine;

Cooling breezes shake the reed ;
If wrought by any hand but thine;

Shake the reed, and curl the stream Thy band, that knows the subtle art

Silver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam;
To weave those nets that catch the heart. Near the chequer'd, lonely grove,
Spread out by me, the roving coin

Hears, and keeps thy secrets, Love. Thy nets may catch, but not confine;

Stella, thither let us stray,
Nor can I hope thy silken chain

Lightly o'er the dewy way.
The glittring vagrants shall restrain.

Phæbus drives his burning car,
Why, Stella, was it then decreed

Hence, my lovely, Stella, far;
The heart once caught should ne'er be freed? Jo his stead, the queen of night

Round us pours a lambent light:

Light that seems but just to show
TO MISS *****

Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow.

Let us now, in whisperd joy,

Evening's silent hours employ,

Silence best, and conscious shades

Please the hearts that love invades,
When Stella strikes the tuneful string

Other pleasures give them pain,
In scenes of imitated spring,

Lovers all but luve disdain.
Where beauty lavishes her powers
On beds of never-fading flowers,
And pleasure propagates around
Each charm of modulated sound;

Ah ! think not, in the dangerous hour,

Whether Stella's eyes are found
The nymph fictitious as the flower;
But shun, rash youth, the gay alcove,

Fix'd on earth, or glancing round,

If her face with pleasure glow,
Nor tempt the snares of wily love.

If she sigh at other's woe,
When charms thus press on ev'ry sense,

If her easy air express
What thought of flight, or of defence?

Conscious worth, or soft distress,
Deceitful hope, and vain desire,
For ever flutter o'er her lyre,

Stella's eyes, and air, and face,

Charm with undiminish'd grace.
Delighting as the youth draws nigh,
To point the glances of her eye,

If on her we see display'd
And forming with unerring art

Pendant gems, and rich brocade,

If her chintz with less expen se
New chains to hold the captive heart.
But on those regions of delight

Flows in easy negligence;
Might truth intrude with daring flight,

Still she lights the conscious flame,
Could Stella, sprightly, fair, and young,

Still ber charms appear the same;
One moment hear the moral song,

If she strikes the vocal strings,
Instruction with her flowers might spring,

If she's silent, speaks, or sings,

If she sit, or if she move,
And wisdom warble from her string.

Still we love and still approve.
Mark, when from thousand mingled dyes
Thou seest one pleasing form arise,

Vain the casual, transient glance,
How active light, and thoughtful shade,

Which alone can please by chance,
In greater scenes each other aid ;

Beauty, which depends on art,
Mark, when the different notes agree

Changing with the changing heart,
In friendly contrariety,

Which demands the toilet's aid,
Pendent gems and rich brocade.

I those charms alone can prize
1 Printed among Mrs. Williams's Miscella- | Which from constant nature rise,
2 Printed among Mrs. Williams's Miscella- E'er can make, or more, or less.

Which nur circumstance, nor dress, nies,

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