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MARRY a Turk! a haughty tyrant king!
'Tis true, the fellow's handsome, strait, and tall, But how the devil should he please us all ! My swain is little-true-but, be it known, My pride’s to have that little all my own. Men will be ever to their errors blind, Where woman's not allow'd to speak her mind. I swear this Eastern pageantry is nonsense, And for one mau--one wife's enough of conscience.
In vain proud man usurps what's woman's due; For us alone, they honour's paths pursue : Inspir'd by us, they glory's heights ascend ; Woman the source, the object, and the end. Though wealth, and pow'r, and glory, they receive, These are all trifles to what we can give. For us the statesman labours, hero fights, Bears toilsome days, and wakes long tedious nights; And, when blest peace has silenc'd war’s alarms, Receives his full reward in beauty's arms.
SPOKEN BY MR GARRICK APRIL 5, 1750,
BEFORE THE MASQUE OF COMUS.
Acted at DRURY-LANE THEATRE, for the Benefit of
Milion's Grand-daughter Y E patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame, Ye
nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's name, Whose gen'rous zeal, unbought by flatt'ring rhymes, Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times, Immortal patrons of succeeding days, Attend this prelude of perpetual praise ; Let wit, condemn’d the feeble war to wage With close malevolence, or publick rage; Let study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore, Behold this theatre, and grieve no more. This night, distinguish'd by your smiles, shall tell That never Britain can in vain excel; The slighted arts futurity shall trust, And rising ages hasten to be just.
At length our mighty bard's victorious lays Fill the loud voice of universal praise ; And based spite, with hopeless anguish dumb, Yields to renown the centuries to come ; With ardent haste each candidate of fame, Ambitious, catches at his tow'ring name; He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth bestow Those pageant honours which he scorn'd below, While crowds aloft the laureat bust behold, Or trace his form on circulating gold. VOL. I.
Unknown, unheeded, long his offspring lay,
brave ! 'Tis yours to crown desert—beyond the grave.
TO THE COMEDY OF
THE GOOD-NATUR'D MAN, 1769. PREST
by the load of life, the weary mind Surveys the gen’ral toil of human kind, With cool submission joins the lab'ring train, And social sorrow loses half its pain : Our anxious bard without complaint may share This bustling season's epidemick care ; Like Cæsar's pilot dignify'd by Fate, Tost in one common storm with all the great ; Distrest alike the satesman and the wit, When one a Borough courts, and one the Pit. The busy candidates for power and fame
Have hopes, and fears, and wishes, just the same;
“ This day the powder'd curls and golden coat," Says swelling Crispin, “ begg'd a cobler's vote.” “ This night our wit," the pert apprentice cries, “ Lies at my feet; I hiss him, and he dies." The great, 'tis true, can charm th' electing tribe; The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe. Yet, judg'd by those whose voices ne'er were sold, He feels no want of ill-persuading gold; But, confident of praise, if praise be due, Trusts without fear to merit and to you.
TO THE COMEDY OF
A WORD TO THE WISE *.
SPOKEN BY MR NULL.
THIS night presents a play with public rage,
To wit reviving from its author's dust,
* Performed at Covent-Garden theatre in 1777, for the benefit of Mrs Kelly, widow of Hugh Kelly, Esq. (the author of the play), and her children.
+ Upon the first representation of this play, 1770, a party assembled to damn it, and succeeded.