Upon thy friendly arm-Yet, O retire!
That guilty arm-Say, did it ne'er rebel
Against my peace?-But let me not revolve
Those sorrows now.-Were Heav'n again to raise
That once-lov'd head that lies, alas! so low!
And from the verge of death my life recall,
What joy could visit my forlorn estate,
Self-doom'd to hopeless woe!

DUNBAR.

Must I then wander, A pensive shade, along the dreary vale, And groan for ever under thy reproach!

ELEONORA.

Ah no, thou faithful youth! shall I repay
Thy love and virtue with ungrateful hate?
These wounds that waste so lavishly thy life,
Were they not all receiv'd in my defence?
May no repose embrace me in the tomb,
If my soul mourns not thy untimely fall
With sister-woe!-thy passion has not reap'd
The sweet returns its purity deserv'd.

DUNBAR.

A while forbear, pale minister of Fate,
Forbear a while; and on my ravish'd ear
Let the last music of this dying swan
Steal in soft blanishment, divinely sweet!
Then strike th' unerring blow.-

ELEONORA.

That thus our hopes, Which blossom'd num'rous as the flow'ry spring, Are nipp'd untimely, ere the sun of joy Matured them into fruit, repine not, youth.Life hath its various seasons, as the year; And after clust'ring autumn-but I faintSupport me nearer-in rich harvest's rear Bleak winter must have lagg'd.-Oh! now I feel The leaden hand of Death lie heavy on me.Thine image swims before my straining eye.. -And now it disappears.-Speak-bid adieu To the lost Eleonora.-Not a word! -Not one farewel!-Alas! that dismal groan Is eloquent distress! Celestial powers, Protect my father, show'r upou his

DUNBAR.

Oh!

[Dies.

There fled the purest soul that ever dwelt
In mortal clay!-I come, my love! I come
Where now the rosy tincture of these lips!
The smile that grace ineffable diffus'd!
The glance that smote the soul with silent wonder!
The voice that sooth'd the anguish of disease,
And held attention captive!-Let me kiss
This pale deserted temple of my joy!
This, Chastity, this, thy unspotted shade
Will not refuse.-I feel the grisly king-

Thro' all my veins he shivers like the north-
O Eleonora! as my flowing blood

Is mix'd with thine-so may our mingling souls
To bliss supernal wing our happy--Oh!

SCENE the last.

[Dies.

SPOKEN BY MR. HAVARD.

AN ancient sage, when Death approach'd his bed,
Consign'd to Pluto his devoted head;
And, that no fiend might hiss, or prove uncivil,
With vows and pray'rs, he fairly brib'd the devil:
Yet neither vows nor pray'rs, nor rich oblation,
Cou'd always save the sinner-from damnation.

Thus authors, tottering on the brink of fate,
The critic's rage with prologues deprecate;
Yet oft the trembling bard implores in vain,
The wit profess'd turns out a dunce in grain:
No plea can then avert the dreadful sentence,
He must be damn'd-in spite of all repentance.
Here Justice seems from her straight line to vary,
No guilt attends a fact involuntary;
This maxim the whole cruel charge destroys,
No poet sure was ever dull-by choice.

So pleads our culprit in his own defence,
You cannot prove his dullness is-prepense.
He means to please he owns no other view;
And now presents you with a sea ragout.
A dish-howe'er you relish his endeavours,
Replete with a variety of flavours.

A stout Hibernian, and ferocious Scot,
Together boil in our enchanted pot;
To taint these viands with the true fumet,
He shreds a musty, vain, French-martinet.
This stale ingredient might our porridge mar
Without some acid juice of English tar.
To rouse the appetite the drum shall rattle,
And the dessert shall be a bloodless battle.

What heart will fail to glow, what eye to brighten,
When Britain's wrath arous'd begins to lighten!
Her thunders roll-her fearless sons advance,
And her red ensigns wave o'er the pale flow'rs of
France.

Such game our fathers play'd in days of yore, When Edward's banners fann'd the Gallic shore; When Howard's arm Eliza's vengeance hurl'd, And Drake diffus'd her fame around the world: Still shall that god-like flame your bosoms fire, The gen'rous son shall emulate the sire; Her ancient splendour England shall maintain, O'er distant realms extend her genial reign, And rise-th' unrival'd empress of the main,

And found it wide open;

I'd lose my commission,

And be hang'd with disgrace for deserting my post

SONG FROM THE SAME.

FROM the man whom I love, tho' my heart I dis
I will freely describe the wretch I despise, [guise,
And if he has sense but to balance a straw,
He will sure take the hint from the picture I draw.

A wit without sense, without fancy a beau,
Like a parrot he chatters, and struts like a crow;
A peacock in pride, in grimace a baboon,
In courage a hind, in conceit a gascoon.

As a vulture rapacious, in falsehood a fox,
Inconstant as waves, and unfeeling as rocks;
As a tiger ferocious, perverse as a hog,
In mischief an ape, and in fawning a dog.

In a word, to sum up all his talents together,
His heart is of lead, and his brain is of feather:
Yet, if he has sense but to balance a straw,
He will sure take the hint from the picture I draw

SONG FROM THE SAME.

LET the nymph still avoid, and be deaf to the swa Who in transports of passion affects to complain For his rage, not his love, in that frenzy is show And the blast that blows loudest is soon o'erblown

But the shepherd whom Cupid has pierc'd to th

heart

Will submissive adore, and rejoice in the smart; Or in plaintive soft murmurs, his bosom-felt woe Like the smooth gliding current of rivers will flow.

Tho' silent his tongue, he will plead with his eyes, And his heart own your sway in a tribute of sighs; But, when he accosts you in meadow or grove, His tale is all tenderness, rapture, and love.

SONG FROM THE SAME.

BEHOLD! my brave Britons, the fair springing Fill a bumper and toss off your glasses: [gale, Buss and part with your frolicksome lasses; Then aboard and unfurl the wide flowing sail,

CHORUS,

While British oak beneath us rolls, And English courage fires our souls; To crown our toils, the Fates decree The wealth and empire of the sea. Our canvas and cares to the winds we display, Life and fortune we cheerfully venture; And we laugh, and we quaff, and we banter; Nor think of to morrow while sure of to day. CHORUS.

While British oak, &c.

The streamers of France at a distance appear! We must mind other music than catches; Man our quarters, and handle our matches; Our cannon produce, and for battle prepare,

CHORUS.

While British oak, &c.

Engender'd in smoke and deliver'd in flame,
British vengeance rolls loud as the thunder!
Let the vault of the sky burst asunder,
So victory follows with riches and fame.

CHORUS.

While British oak beneath us rolls, And English courage fires our souls; To crown our toils, the Fates decree The wealth and empire of the sea.

Ye wits above, restrain your awful thunder: In his first cruise, 'twere pity he should founder, [To the gal.

Safe from your shot he fears no other foe,
Nor gulph, but that which horrid yawns below,
[To the pit.

The bravest chiefs, ev'n Hannibal and Cato,
Have here been tam'd with-pippin and potatoe.
Our bard embarks in a more Christian cause,
He craves not mercy; but he claims applause.
His pen against the hostile French is drawn,
Who damns him is no Antigallican.
Indulg'd with fav'ring gales and smiling skies,
Hereafter he may board a richer prize.
But if this welkin angry clouds deform,

[Looking round the house, And hollow groans portend the approaching storm: Should the descending show'rs of hail redouble,

[To the gal. And these rough billows hiss, and boil, and bubble, [To the pit.

He'll lanch no more on such fell seas of trouble.

EPILOGUE TO THE REPRISAL.

SPOKEN BY MISS MACKLIN.

AYE-now I can with pleasure look around,
Safe as I am, thank Heaven, on English ground
In a dark dungeon to be stow'd away,
Midst roaring, thund'ring, danger and dismay;
Expos'd to fire and water, sword and bullet-
Might damp the heart of any virgin pullet-
I dread to think what might have come to pass,
Had not the British lion quell'd the Gallic ass-
By Champignon a wretched victim led
To cloister'd cell, or more detested bed,
My days in pray'r and fasting I had spent:
As nun or wife, alike a penitent.

His gallantry, so confident and eager,
Had prov'd a mess of delicate soupe-maigre:
To bootless longings I had fallen a martyr:
But Heav'n be prais'd, the Frenchman caught a

tartar.

Yet soft-our author's fate you must decree: Shall he come safe to port or sink at sea? Your sentence, sweet or bitter, soft or sore, Floats his frail bark, or runs it bump ashore.◄◄

ADVICE: A SATIRE,

POET, FRIEND.

POET,

ENOUGH, enough; all this we knew before;
'Tis infamous, I grant it, to be poor:
And who so much to sense and glory lost,
Will bug the curse that not one joy can boast!
From the pale hag, O! could I once break loose;
Divorc'd, all Hell shall not re-tie the noose!
Not with more care shall Havoid his wife,
Not Cope fly swifter, lashing for his life;
Than I to leave the meagre fiend behind.

FRIEND.

Exert your talents; Nature, ever kind,
Enough for happiness, bestows on all;
'Tis sloth or pride that finds her gifts too small-→
Why sleeps the Muse? is there no room for praise,
When such bright names in constellation blaze?
When sage Newcastle 2, abstinently great,
Neglects his food to cater for the state;

A general famous for an expeditious retreat, though not quite so deliberate as that of the ten thousand Greeks from Persia; having unfortunately forgot to bring his army along with him.

2 Alluding to the philosophical contempt which this great personage manifested for the sensual delights of the stomach.

And Grafton 3, tow'ring Atlas of the throne,
So well rewards a genius like his own:
Granville and Bath illustrious, need I name
For sober dignity and spotless fame;
O Pitt, th' unshaken Abdiel5, yet unsung:
Thy candour, Chomdly! and thy truth, O Younge!

POET.

Th' advice is good; the question only, whether
These names and virtues ever dwelt together?
But what of that? the more the bard shall claim,
Who can create as well as cherish fame.
But one thing more,-how loud must I repeat,
To rouse th' ingag'd attention of the great,
Amus'd, perhaps, with C's prolific bum 6,
Or rapt amidst the transports of a drum 7;
While the grim porter watches ev'ry door,
Stern foe to tradesmen, poets, and the poor.
Th' Hesperian dragon not more fierce and fell;
Nor the gaunt, growling janitor of Hell.
Ev'n Atticus (so wills the voice of fate)
Inshrines in clouded majesty, his state;
Nor to th' adoring crowd vouchsafes regard,
Tho' priests adore, and ev'ry priest a bard.
Shall I then follow with the venal tribe,
And on the threshold the base mongrel bribe?
Bribe him, to feast my mute-imploring eye,
With some proud lord, who smiles a gracious lie!
A lie to captivate my heedless youth,
Degrade my talents, and debauch my truth;
While fool'd with hope, revolves my joyless day,
And friends, and fame, and fortune fleet away;
'Till scandal, indigence, and scorn, my lot,
The dreary jail entombs me, where I rot!
Is there, ye varnish'd ruffians of the state!
Not one among the millions whom ye cheat,

3 This noble peer, remarkable for sublimity of parts, by virtue of his office, lord chamberlain, conferred the laureat on Colly Cibber, esq, a delectable bard, whose character has already employed, together with his own, the greatest pens

of the age.

4.Two noblemen famous in their day, for nothing more than their fortitude in bearing the scorn and

reproach of their country.

5 Abdiel, according to Milton, was the only scraph that preserved his integrity in the midst of corruption

Among the innumerable false, unmov'd,
Unshaken, unseduc'd, unterrify'd

6 This alludes to a phenomenon, not more strange than true. The person here meant, having actually laid upwards of forty eggs, as several physicians and fellows of the Royal Society can attest; one of whom, we hear, has undertaken the incubation, and will, no doubt, favour the world with an account of his success. Some virtuosi affirm, that such productions must be the effect of a certain intercourse of organs not fit to be named.

Who, while he totters on the brink of woe,
Dares, ere he fails, attempt th' avenging blow!
A steady blow! his languid soul to feast;
And rid his country of one curse at least!

What! turn assassin?

FRIEND.

POET.

Let th'assassin bleed:
My fearless verse shall justify the deed.
"Tis he, who lures th' unpractis'd mind astray,
Then leaves the wretch to misery a prey;
Perverts the race of virtue just begun,
And stabs the public in her ruin'd son.
FRIEND.

Heav'ns, how you rail! the man's consum'd by spite!
If Lockman's fate 8 attends you, when you write;
Let prudence more propitious arts inspire:
The lower still you crawl, you'll climb the higher.
Go then, with ev'ry supple virtue stor❜d,
And thrive, the favour'd valet of my lord.
Is that denied? a boon more humble crave;
And minister to him who serves a slave:
Be sure you fasten on promotion's scale;
Ev'n if you seize some footman by the tail:
Th' ascent is easy, and the prospect clear,
From the smirch'd scullion to th' embroider'd peer.
Th' ambitious drudge preferr'd, postillion rides,
Advanc'd again, the chair benighted guides;
Here doom'd, if nature strung his sinewy frame,
The slave, perhaps, of some insatiate dame;
But if exempted from th' Herculean toil,
A fairer field awaits him, rich with spoil;
There shall be shine, with mingling honours bright,
His master's pathic, pimp, and parasite;
Then strut a captain, if his wish be war,
And grasp, in hope, a truncheon and a star:
Or if the sweets of peace his soul allure,
Bask at his ease in some warm sinecure;
His fate in consul, clerk, or agent, vary,
Or cross the seas, an envoy's secretary:
Compos'd of falsehood, ignorance, and pride,
A prostrate sycophant shall rise a L-
And won from kennels to th' impure embrace,
Accomplish'd Warren triumph o'er disgrace,

POET.

-d9:

Eternal infamy his name surround,
Who planted first that vice on British ground!
A vice that 'spite of sense and nature reigns,
And poisons genial love, and manhood stains!
Pollio! the pride of science and its shame,
The Muse weeps o'er thee, while she brands thy
Abhorrent views that prostituted groom, [name!
Th' indecent grotto and polluted doom!
There only may the spurious passion glow,
Where not one laurel decks the caitiff's brow,
Obscene with crimes avow'd, of every dye,
Corruption, lust, oppression, perjury: