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TO THE MASQUE OF BRITANNIA. Spoken by Mr. GARRICK *, 1755a 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 steps. But foftly though-the veffel feems to heel: Steddy! my boy-she must not fhew her keel. And now, thus ballafted-what course to steer? Shall I again to fea-and bang Mounfeer? Or ftay on shore, and toy with Sall and SueDoft love 'em, boy?—By this right hand, I do! A well-rigg'd girl is furely 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 fuch 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 fee 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 prefen-ta-ted a Tragedy called-

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 fouls muft take Bri-ta-nia's part,

And give her three round cheers, with hand and heart!. going off, he flops.

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

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WITH no one talent that deferves applause ;

With no one aukwardness that laughter draws; Who thinks not, but juft echoes what we fay; 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 juft flutters on the wing,
Awake to buz, but not alive to sting;

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 beftowing:

There, in a fafe, 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 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,
All their tender hours improving,

Live like us, belov'd and loving!

TO MR. THOMSON, On his publishing the SECOND EDITION of his POEM, called WINTER. /


Harm'd, and instructed, by thy powerful fong,
I have, unjust, with-held my thanks too long:
This debt of gratitude, at length, receive,
Warmly fincere, 'tis all thy friend can give.

Thy worth new lights the Poet's darken'd name,
And fhews it, blazing, in the brightest fame.
Through all thy various Winter, full are found
Magnificence of thought, and pomp of found,
Clear depth of fenfe, expreffion's heightening grace,
And goodness, eminent in power, and place!
For this, the wife, the knowing few, commend
With zealous joy-for thou art Virtue's friend:
Ev'n age, and truth fevere, in reading thee,
That heaven infpires the Mufe, convinc'd, agree.
Thus I dare fing of merit, faintly known,
Friendless-fupported by its felf alone :

For those, whofe aided will could lift thee high,
In fortune, fee not with Difcernment's eye.
Nor place, nor power, bestows the fight refin'd;
And wealth enlarges not the narrow mind.


How could't thou think of fuch, and write fo well? Or hope reward, by daring to excell?

Unskilful of the age! untaught to gain

Those favours, which the fawning base obtain !
A thousand fhameful arts, to thee unknown,
Falfehood, and Flattery, must be first thy own.
If thy lov'd country lingers in thy breast,
Thou must drive out th' unprofitable guest:
Extinguish each bright aim, that kindles there,
And centre in thyfelf thy every care.

But hence that vileness-pleas'd to charm mankind, Caft each low thought of intereft far behind: Neglected into noble fcorn-away

From that worn path, where vulgar Poets stray:
Inglorious herd! profufe of venal lays !

And by the pride defpis'd, they ftoop to praise!
Thou, careless of the ftatefman's fmile or frown,
Tread that ftrait way, that leads to fair renown.
By Virtue guided, and by Glory fir'd,
And, by reluctant Envy, flow admir'd,
Dare to do well; and in thy boundless mind,
Embrace the general welfare of thy kind :
Enrich them with the treasures of thy thought,
What Heaven approves, and what the Muse has taught.
Where thy power fails, unable to go on,
Ambitious, greatly will the good undone.

So fhall thy name, through ages, brightening fhine,
And diftant praife, from worth unborn, be thine;
So fhalt thou, happy merit heaven's regard,
And find a glorious, though a late reward.


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