In difinal pomp, now, hovering on their way,
To a fick twilight, they reduce the day.
And hark! imprifon'd winds, broke loose, arife,
And roar their haughty triumph through the skies.
While the driven clouds, o'ercharg'd with floods of rain,
And mingled lightning, burft upon the plain.
Now fee fad earth-like thine, her alter'd state,
Like thee, the mourns her fad reverse of fate!
Her fmile, her wanton looks-where are they now?
Faded her face, and wrapt in clouds her brow!
No more, th' ungrateful verdure of the plain;
No more, the wealth-crown'd labours of the fwain;
These scenes of blifs, no more upbraid my fate,
Torture my pining thought, and rouze my hate.
The leaf-clad forest, and the tufted grove,
Erewhile the fafe retreats of happy love,
Stript of their honours, naked, now appear;
This is my foul! the winter of their year!
The little, noify fongfters of the wing,
All, fhivering on the bough, forget to fing.
Hail! reverend Silence! with thy awful brow!
Be Mufic's voice, for ever mute-as now :
Let no intrufive joy my dead repose
Disturb :-no pleasure disconcert my woes.
In this mofs-cover'd cavern, hopeless laid,
On the cold cliff, I'll lean my aching head;
And, pleas'd with Winter's wafte, unpitying, fee
All nature in an agony with me!
Rough, rugged rocks, wet marfhes, ruin'd towers,
Bare trees, brown brakes, bleak heaths, and rufhy moors,
Dead floods, huge cataracts, to my pleas'd eyes-
(Now I can fmile!)-in wild disorder rife:
And now, the various dreadfulness combin'd,
Black melancholy comes, to doze my mind.
See! Night's wish'd fhades rife, spreading through the air,
And the lone, hollow gloom, for me prepare!
Hail! folitary ruler of the grave!
Parent of terrors! from thy dreary cave!
Let thy dumb filence midnight all the ground,
And spread a welcome horror wide around.-
But hark!-a fudden howl invades my ear!
The phantoms of the dreadful hour are near.
Shadows, from each dark cavern, now combine,
And stalk around, and mix their yells with mine.
Stop, flying Time! repose thy restless wing;
Fix here-nor haften to restore the spring:
Fix'd my ill fate, fo fix'd let winter be➡
Let never wanton season laugh at me !
PROLOGUE
TO THE MASQUE OF BRITANNIA.
Spoken by Mr. GARRICK*, 1755,
in the character of a Sailor, fuddled ́
and talking to himself.
"How pleasant a failor's life paffes—'
WELL, if thou art, my boy, a little mellow!
A failor, half feas o'er-'s a pretty fellow ! What cheer ho? Do I carry too much fail? *to the pit.
No-tight and trim-I fcud before the gale
*be flaggers forward, then flops.
But foftly though-the veffel feems to heel:
Steddy! my boy-fhe must not fhew her keel.
And now, thus ballafted-what courfe to fteer?
Shall I again to fea-and bang Mounseer?
Or stay on shore, and toy with Sall and Sue-
Dost love 'em, boy?-By this right hand, I do!
A well-rigg'd girl is surely most inviting :
There's nothing better, faith-fave flip and fighting
For fhall we fons of beef and freedom stoop,
Or lower our flag to flavery and foop?
What! fhall these parly-vous make such a racket,
And we not lend a hand, to lace their jacket ?
Still fhall Old England be your Frenchman's butt?
Whene'er he fhuffles, we should always cut.
* Some of the lines too were written by him.
I'll to 'em, faith-Avaft-before I goHave I not promis'd Sall to see the show? * Pulls out a play-bill.
From this fame paper we shall understand
What work 's to-night-I read your printed hand!
But, first refresh a bit—for faith I need it—
I'll take one fugar-plumb *—and then I'll read it,
Takes fome tobacco.
He reads the play-bill of Zara,
which was acted that evening.
At the The-atre Royal-Drury Lane-
will be préfen-ta-ted a Tragedy called-
SARA H.
I'm glad 'tis Sarah-Then our Sall may fee
Her namefake's Tragedy and as for me,
I'll fleep as found, as if I were at sea.
To which will be added-a new Mafque. Zounds! why a Mafque? We failors hate grimaces : Above-board all, we fcorn to hide our faces.
But what is here, fo very large and plain ?
Bri-ta-nia-oh Britania!-good again—
Huzza, boys! by the Royal George I swear,
Tom Coxen, and the crew, fhall ftrait be there.
All free-born foul's must take Bri-ta-nia's part,
And give her three round cheers, with hand and heart! going off, he stops..
I wish you landmen, though, would leave your tricks,
Your factions, parties, and damn'd politics:
And, like us, honeft tars, drink, fight, and fing!
True to yourselves, your country, and your king!
INSCRIPTION FOR A PICTURE.
WITH no one talent that deferves applause;
With no one aukwardness that laughter draws;
Who thinks not, but juft echoes what we say;
A clock, at morn, wound up, to run a day:
His larum goes in one fmooth, fimple strain;
He ftops and then, we wind him up again.
Still hovering round the fair at fifty-four,
Unfit to love, unable to give o'er;
A flesh-fly, that just flutters on the wing,
Awake to buz, but not alive to fting;
Brifk where he cannot, backward where he can;
The teazing ghost of the departed man.
HERE Thames, along the daify'd meads,
His wave, in lucid mazes, leads,
Silent, flow, ferenely flowing,
Wealth on either fhore bestowing:
There, in a safe, though small retreat,
Content and Love have fix'd their feat:
Love, that counts his duty, pleasure ;
Content that knows, and hugs his treasure.
From art, from jealousy fecure;
As faith unblam'd, as friendship pure
Vain opinion nobly scorning,
Virtue aiding, life adorning.
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