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And wherefore of my works no notice take, Which some atonement for my folly make? My Prison Thoughts are lessons for mankind; There's food in my Reflections for the mind. These, my productions will be read, I wot, When your Vagaries will be all forgot; Why trouble ghosts by talking of their sins? Was this a subject worthy of Broad Grins? Why dwell upon the vices of us both? Forsooth because they're vices of the cloth. Remember, Sir, a Parson's but a man; The Royal Preacher into error ran; And every honest Minister must own, Like all mankind he is to error prone. Are dramatists from wickedness exempt? Have none of them been brought into contempt? Th' immortal bard, his biographers say,

Was brought before a Magistrate one day.

And B-ck--rst-ff was forc'd to flee with shame,
For only,
Sir, a crime without a name."

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Accept of this address, then, from the dead,
And let it be with due attention read;

Nor dare, when the Reviewers trouble thee,
To trouble us-----

Adieu

Remember me.

ADDRESS VIII.

Lord Th- -w to Miss B-lt-n.

I WOULD I'd the pen of Lord B—r—n,
To sing all the charms of my syren;

For then all her charms shou'd be caroll'd,
In metre as sweet as "Childe Harolde.-
But I am a poor kind of poet,
And this composition will show it;
For I have no patience for rhyme,
No genius to write the sublime;
Nor cou'd I my charmer forget you for
A simile or a fine metaphor;

But tho' its mere stuff I produce,

My being a Lord is excuse.

How gladly wou'd I undertake,
With thee, love, a couplet to make ;
And trust, the addresses I pay,
Will for a duett pave the way.
How often in fine and wet weather,
We'll both of us strike up together,

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And make a delightful grand chorus,
In strains very sweet and sonorous.
I have visited often Covent Garden,
In hopes there of begging your pardon;
For when I'd bolt on you, you'd cry
"Oh Lord!" and your Lord then was by—
And I the fond hope entertain,

Of making you cry out again.
As I am determined to wed ye,
The ring I have purchased already,
For fear in my hurry, dear soul,

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A Lady, my charmer, I'll make you,
And never-oh never forsake you— .
We'll haste to the country away,
And Love in a Village there play-
As harmony shall be our plan,
You'll sing to me, "Go naughty man ;"
And when that the tempest is over,
I'll be your fond complaisant lover.
Indeed, my dear girl, I deplore,

I cannot find rhyme to say more;
Then believe me most faithful and true-
Your servant at all times--adieu.

ADDRESS IX.

The Secret Committee to Mrs. S-dd-ns.

DEAR Madam, you see with what zeal we engage, In courting your speedy return to the stage.

For votes we are canvassing daily the town,

To whom, for your sake, all our names are unknown;

For were it suppos'd we were intimate friends, They'd say we were canvassing for private ends; So we, as a Secret Committee, came forth,

The friends of the drama, of genius and worth; Pretending while you were engag'd in your readings,

That you had no cognizance of our proceedings.
Great consequence too we thought fit to affect,
That nobody might our true motives suspect;
And when that you gave Covent Garden your aid,
And Lady Macbeth for a benefit play'd;
That night did we go for the sake of a rout,
And scattered profusely our hand bills about;

"Recal Mrs. S-dd-ns," we said in large letters, And made this demand as the Company's betters; Pretending our taste was superior to all,

We urg'd the necessity of your recall.
Declar'd that the drama a loss had sustained,
And of your retirement with sorrow complained.
This conduct was censur'd in some morning print,
The writer began a collusion to hint;
But we in advertisements gave him a lash,
Despising his silly, malevolent trash:
By still persevering, the world will think then,
The Secret Committee are very great men-
And as on your talents we'll lay a great stress,
You may by next winter accept our address;
And trust us, good Madam, 'twill not be surmised,
That ever between us th' address was devised.

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