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PRO L O G
TO THE MASQUE OF BRITANNIA. Spoken by Mr. GARRICK *, 1755, in the character of a Sailor, fuddled and talking to himself.
He enters, finging,
"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 course to steer? Shall I again to fea-and bang Mounfeer? Or stay on fhore, and toy with Sall and SueDoft love 'em, boy?-By this right hand, I do! A well-rigg'd girl is furely moft 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 shuffles, 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 fhall understand
What work 's to-night-I read your printed hand!
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 Lanewill be préfen-ta-ted a Tragedy calledSARA H.
I'm glad 'tis Sarah-Then our Sall
Her namefake's Tragedy: and as for me,
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 ?
I wish you landmen, though, would leave your tricks,
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, simple strain; He ftops and then, we wind him up again.
Still hovering round the fair at fifty-four,
A flesh-fly, that just flutters on the wing,
SONG. TO A SCOTCH TUNE..
WHERE Thames, along the daisy'd meads,
His wave, in lucid mazes, leads,
Silent, flow, ferenely flowing,
Wealth on either shore bestowing:
There, in a fafe, though small retreat,
Love, that counts his duty, pleasure;
From art, from jealousy secure;
As faith unblam'd, as friendship pure
Vain opinion nobly scorning,
Virtue aiding, life adorning.
Fair Thames, along thy flowery fide,
May those whom truth and reason guide,
Live like us, belov'd and loving!
TO MR. THOMSON, On his publishing the SECOND EDITION of his POE M, called WINTER.
Harm'd, and inftructed, by thy powerful fong,
For those, whofe aided will could lift thee high,
How could't thou think of fuch, and write fo well? Or hope reward, by daring to excell?'
Unfkilful of the age! untaught to gain
Those favours, which the fawning base obtain !
But hence that vileness-pleas'd to charm mankind, Caft each low thought of interest far behind: Neglected into noble scorn-away
From that worn path, where vulgar Poets ftray:
And by the pride defpis'd, they ftoop to praise!
What Heaven approves, and what the Muse has taught.
So fhall thy name, through ages, brightening fhine,