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SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES, IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN, AT HIS BENEFIT.
HOLD! prompter, hold! a word before your
I'd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience.
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursu'd! Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses, Whose only plot it is to break our noses; Whilst from below the trap-door demons rise, And from above the dangling deities.
And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew?
Aye, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreating :
If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating. 'Twas thus that Æsop's stag, a creature blameless,
Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless,
Once on the margin of a fountain stood, And cavill'd at his image in the flood. "The deuse confound,' he cries, 'these drumstick shanks,
They neither have my gratitude nor thanks:
My horns! I'm told, horns are the fashion now.'
Whilst thus he spoke, astonish'd to his view, Near, and more near, the hounds and huntsman drew.
Hoicks! hark forward! came thundering from behind;
He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind:
FROM THE ORATORIO OF THE CAPTIVITY.
THE wretch condemn'd with life to part,
And every pang that rends the heart,
Hope, like the glimm'ring taper's light,
And still, as darker grows the night,
I SEND you a small production of the late Dr. Goldsmith, which has never been published, and which might perhaps have been totally lost, had I not secured it. He intended it as a song in the character of Miss Hardcastle, in his admirable comedy of 'She Stoops to Conquer,' but it was left out, as Mrs. Bulkley, who played the part, did not sing. He sung it himself, in private companies, very agreeably. The tune is a pretty Irish air, called 'The Humours of Balamagairy,' to which he told me he found it very difficult to adapt words: but he has succeeded very happily in these few lines. As I could sing the tune, and was fond of them, he was so good as to give me them, about a year ago, just as I was leaving London, and bidding him adieu for that season, little apprehending that it was a last farewell. I preserve this little relic, in his own hand-writing, with an affectionate care. I am, Sir,
Your humble servant,
INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF 'SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.'
Ан me! when shall I marry me?
But I will rally and combat the ruiner:
ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH
STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING.
(Imitated from the Spanish)
SURE 'twas by Providence design'd,