But feeling fays, no character affume;
Let impulfe dictate, and the foul have room.
Tame glides the fmootheft poem ever fung,

To the heart's language, gufhing o'er the tongue :
Cold the addrefs the ableft scholar drew,

To the warm glow of crying-welcome; you!
Welcome! thrice welcome! to our new rear'd stage!
To this new æra of our drama's age!

Genius of Shakespeare, as in air you roam,
Spread your

broad wings exulting o'er our dome!
Shade of our Rofcius, view us with delight,
And hover fmiling round your favourite fite!
But to my purpofe here-for I am fent
On deeds of import, and of deep intent ;
Paffion has had its feope, the burst is past,
And I may fink to character at laft.

When fome rich noble, vain of his virtù,
Permits the curious crowd his houfe to view;
When pictures, bufts, and bronzes, to difplay,
He treats the public with a public day,

That all the world may in their minds retain them,
He bids his dawdling housekeeper explain them;
Herfelf, when each original's infpected,

The greateft that his lordfhip has collected,
A houfe now opens, which, we truft, insures
The approbation of the amateurs;

Each part, each quality,-'tis fit you know it-
And I'm the houfekeeper employ'd to thew it.
Our pile is rock, more durable than brafs,
Our decorations, goflamer, and gas.

Weighty, yet airy in effect, our plan,

Solid, though light,-like a thin alderman,

"Blow wind, come wreck," in ages yet unborn,

“Our caftle's ftrength shall laugh a fiege to scorn."

The very ravages of fire we fcout,

For we have wherewithal to put it out.

In ample refervoirs our firm reliance,

Whole fireams fet conflagration at defiance.

Panic alone avoid-let none begin it

Should the flame fpread, fit ftill, there's nothing in it;
We'll undertake to drown you all in half a minute!

Behold, obedient to the prompter's bell,

Our tide shall flow, and real waters (well.
No river of meandering pafteboard made,
No gentle tinkling of a tin cascade,

No brook of broad-cloth thall be fet in motion,
No fhips be wreck'd upon a wooden ocean,
Ee

VOL. XXXVI.

But

But the pure element its courfe fhall hold,
Rufh on the fcene, and o'er our stage he roll'd.*
How like you our aquatics Need we fear
Some critic, with a hydrophobia here,
Whole timid caution Caution's felf might tire,
And doubts, if water can extinguish fire?
If fuch there be, ftill let him reft fecure;
For we have made "affurance double fure."
Confume the fcenes, your fafety yet is certain,
Prefio! for proof, let down the iron curtain. †
Ah ye, who live in this our brazen age,
Think on the comforts of an iron stage;
Fenc'd by that mafs, no perils do environ
The man who calmly fits before cold iron-
For those who in the Green-room fit behind it,
They e'en muft quench the danger as they find it;
A little fire would do no harm, we know it,
To modern actor, nor to modern poet.

[But beaux, and ye plum'd belles, all perch'd in front,
You're fafe at all events, depend upon't:

So never rife like flutter'd birds together,
The hotteft fire fha'n't finge a fingle feather;
No, I affure our generous benefactors,
'Twould only burn the scenery and the actors !]

For

Here ends, as housekeeper, my explanation,
And may the house receive your approbation!
you, in air, the vaulted roof we raise-
Tho' firm its bafe-its beft fupport, your praise.
Stamp then your mighty feal upon our caufe!
Give us, ye Gods, a thunder of applause !

The high decree is paft-may future age,
When pondering o'er the annals of our ftage,
Reft on this time, wher labour rear'd the pile,
In tribute to the genius of our ifle;

This fchool of art, with British fanction grac'd,
And worthy of a manly nation's tafte!
And now the image of our Shakspeare view,
And give the drama's god the honour due.

*Here the scene rifes, and difcovers the water, &c. &c.

+ Here the iron curtain is let down.

Here the iron curtain is taken up, and discovers the statue of Shakespeare under a mulberry-tree, &c. &c.

Thefe fix lines in crotches were given by a friend.

Poetical

Poetical remonftrance to a young heir, just coming of age, by Dr. Johnson ; from Mrs. Piozzi's British Synonomy.

On reading Mr. Howard's account of Lazarettos, from Poems by the Rev. W. L. Bowles, A. M.

E the fad fcene difclofed ;-fearlefs unfold

BE

The grating door-the inmoft cell behold!

Thought fhrinks from the dread fight; the paly lamp
Barns faint amid the infectious vapour's damp;

E e 2

Beneath

Beneath its light, full many a livid mien,

And haggard eye-ball through the dusk are fecu.
In thought I fee thee, at each hollow found,
With humid lids oft anxious gaze around.
But, oh! for him, who to yon vault confin'd,
Has bid a long farewel to human kind;

His wafted form, his cold and bloodless cheek,
A tale of fadder forrow feems to speak,

Of friends, perhaps, now mingled with the dead:
Of hope, that like a faithless flatterer, fled
In th' utmost hour of need; or of a fon
Caft to the bleak world's mercy; or of one
Whose heart was broken, when the ftern beheft
Tore him from pale Affection's bleeding breast.
Despairing, from his cold and flinty bed,
With fearful muttering he hath rais'd his head :
"What pitying fpirit, what unwonted gueft,

"

Strays to this last retreat, these shades unbleft?
"From life and light fhut out, beneath this cell
"Long have I bid Hope's cheerful fun farewel.
"I heard for ever clos'd the jealous door,
"I mark'd my bed on the forfaken floor;
"I had no hope on earth, no human friend,
"Let me unpitied to the duft descend!”
Cold is his frozen heart-his eye is rear'd
To Heaven no more-and on his fable beard
The tear has ceas'd to fall. Thou canst not bring
Back to his mournful heart the morn of spring.
Thou canst not bid the rose of health renew,
Upon his wafted cheek her crimson hue.
But at thy look (ere yet to hate refign'd,
He murmurs his laft curfes on mankind),
At thy kind look one tender thought fhall rife,
And his full foul fhall thank thee ere he dies.

Antony and Cleopatra, from Roman Portraits, a Poem in heroic verfe, by Robert Jephfon, efq.

B

QUT not content with half the world's domain,

Cæfar and Antony alone would reign;

The first, a steady fceptre born to wield,
O'er all his acts extends the public fhield;
The laft, abhorrent from the toils of state,
Rots on the Nile, a hoary profligate;
While fubtle Cæfar fapp'd his eaftern throne,
He clafp'd his world in Cleopatra's zone.

Net

Not the for whom Dardanian Troy was loft,
The pride of nature, and her country's boast;
Nor fhe, who bade the Macedonian's hand
Hurl at Perfepolis the blazing brand,
Nor Phædra, nor Adriadne, still more fair,
Cou'd with the Sorcerefs of Nile compare;
In her, not face and shape alone cou'd please,
(Though with unrival'd grace the charm'd by thefe),
But the whole ftore of Cytherea's wiles,

Sighs, gentleft blandifhments, and ambush'd smiles;
The ready tear, the bluth of well-feign'd truth,
And the ripe woman, fresh as new-fprung youth.
Beneath her rofeat palms the lute, comprefs'd,
Chas'd thought and trouble from the anxious breaft;
In dulcet bonds the imprifon'd foul she held,
While the fweet chords her warbling voice excell❜d.
A thousand forms the Syren could put on,
And feem as many miftreffes in one;
Serious or fportive, as the mood requir'd,
No whim grew irkfome, and no frolic tir'd;
Enough of coynefs to provoke defire,
Of warmth enough to fhare the amorous fire,
All, her delighted lovers could receive,
Seem'd but fond earnests she had more to give;
Nor with poffeffion was the promise o'er,
Love's fruit and flower at once her bofom bore;
No languid paufe of blifs near her was known,
But with new joys new hours came laughing on.
By arts like thefe was wifer Julius won,
And Antony, more fond, was more undone.
His foul, enamour'd, to the wanton clung,
Glow'd at her eyes, or melted from her tongue;
Lull'd in the dear Elyfium of her arms,

Nor intereft moves him, nor ambition warms:
Sometimes, with fhort remorfe, he look'd within,
But kept at once the confcience and the fin:
In vain he faw the yawning ruin nigh;
Content with her, he bade the world go by;
He fought no covert of the friendly fhade,
'Twas half the zeft to have his fhame difplay'd.
He deem'd it ftill his beft exchange through life,
A melting miftrefs for a railing wife,
Perpetual orgies unabath'd they keep,

Wine fires their veins, and revels banish sleep:
Timbrels and fongs, and feafts of deaf'ning joy,
By arts till then unknown, forbore to cloy.
See for one banquet a whole kingdom fink,
And gems diffolv'd, impearl her luscious drink.

Ee 3

Pleasure