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How fair her flowery vales extend !
How bold her swelling hills ascend !
Dear native soil ! do I again
Thy kindly breeze inhale ?
No air of any foreign plain Yes, mother, yes; with thee,
Could thus my sense regale.
Fair is thy land, O mother! wondrous fair! Companion'd with thee, as we journey along, My bosom from the view strange transport seems No time can be tedious, no road can be wrong!
By wedlock, Ruth, ally'd to thee,
New scenes, and new prospects, my spirit employ,
And with hopes of new happiness cheer me; My heart all enliven'd indulges its joy,
And some sudden blessing seems near me,
Yon portion fair of Moab's earth,
To Israel's Chosen Plant gives birth! Behold, my lovely child, behold,
Hence the mighty tree shall spring, Mow Bethlehem's streets at our approach pour The glory of the grove, of every tree the king!
forth their young and old !
CHORUS OF PRIESTS.
NAOMI, RUTH, BOAZ, ISRAELITES.
Naomi?-lost and found again,
Raise all your voices, brethren, raise,
To the centre, shall reach the vast depth of his root!
shall extend !
Hail, parent of the promis'd race!
The lame, with a bound,
Lightly leap from the ground;
And the dead rise triumphant around!
Say, brethren, who is he that leads the throng,
'Tis Boaz, Bethlehem's prince, your near alliedYour first of kindred by your husband's side !
AIR, DU LT.-ISRAELITE.
PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES.
TO GUSTAVUS VASA.
Hail, mother of thy people!- this embrace
In this our present happy lot,
Strives in vain to obscure her from sight;
A beauty for vision too bright!
Britons! this night presents a state distress'd:
Then, greatly rising in his country's right,
Such, such, of old, the first-born natives were,
Our bard, exalted in a freeborn flame,
Thrice bave the visions of the night
my tent with light!
RECITATIVE. HIGH PRIEST. Hear, men of Bethlehem, and rejoice! The Lord informs his servant's voice
To cast him up again-to bid him live,
And to the scene his form and pressure give.
Thus once-fam'd Essex at her voice appears, TO THE EARL OF ESSEX,
Emerging from the sacred dust of years.
Nor deem it much, that we retrace to night
A tale to which you have listen'd with delight. This night, to your free censure, are expos'd How oft of yore, to learned Athens' eyes, Scenes, now almost two hundred winters clos’d:
Did new Electras and new Phædras rise ? Scenes, yet, that ought to be for ever near,
In France, how many Theban monarchs groan To freedom sacred, and to virtue dear!
For Laius' blood, and incest not their own? Deep is the spring, whose stream this night we
When there new Iphigenias heave the sigh, draw ;
Presh drops of pity gush from ev'ry eye: Its source is truth'tis liberty made law:
On the same theme though rival wits appear, A draught divine to ev'ry generous breast; The heart still finds the syinpathetic tear. The cordial of the wretched of the bless'd !
If there soft pity pours her plenteous store, The juice, by which the strength of souls is fed ; For fa jied kings and empires now no more; Without whose aliment, who lives—is dead.
Much more should you—from freedom's glorious If aught is honest, noble, kind, or great,
plan, Which yet may give some British hearts to beat;
Who still inherit all the rights of manIf aught has been by mighty fathers won,
Much more should you with kindred sorrows glow Which yet descends to animate a son;
For your own chiefs, your own domestic woe; However weak the warmth, or dim the beam,
Much more a British story should impart
The warmest feelings to each British heart.
TO THE EARL OF WESTMORLAND,
CHARM'd to this spot, concurring to this night,
Realms change their place, and time returns-for Reform'd, connected, and affirm'd the whole; The merchant, vent'rous in his search of gain, And sent the blessings down, through ev'ry reign, Who ploughs the winter of the boist'rous main, For you to clasp, to cherish, and retain !
From various climes collects a various store, Like Cynthia, peerless queen, supremely crown'd, And lands the treasure on his native shore. Her guardian constellations blaz'd around
Our merchant yet imports no golden prize, Selected chiefs, for council, as for fight;
What wretches covet, and what you despise ! Her men of wisdom, and her men of might; A differeut store his richer freight impartsWhose acts, illustrating our annals, stand | The gem of virtue, and the gold of hearts; The grace, the good, the glory of the land !
The social sense, the feelings of mankind,
Appears conflicting with the pow'rs of fate,
And by the strife of warring passions torn
He claims your kindred tears for the distress'd,
But when the bright Rowena shall appear,
First of her sex-except her rivals here-
No more let man assert his lordly claim,
No more presume to step the first for fame;
But to the fair their native rights allow,
Look round, and with becoming homage bow!
TO THE EARL OF WESTMORLAND.
Ere our good sires of Britain-knew fine breeding; Nor thus content she opens death's cold womb, Ere honesty was elbow'd from the nation, And bursts the cearments of the awful tomb Or life's learn'd lie entitled “ Education."
Bold Nature then disdain'd the mask of art; Whate'er of worth informs the social breast, Man, on his open aspect, wore his heart.
Upon humanity by Heaven impress'd, Passion then knew nor cover, nor control;
The sympathy that proves great souls of kin, Each action spoke the dictate of the soul:
The touch that tries the hidden gold within : Worth claim'd its triumphs, guilt confess’d its Whate'er of generous, courteous, fond and kind, stings,
Strikes the lim'd unison of mind to mind : And truth was known at courts--and told to kings! Whate'er may teach a virtuous eye to flow,
Such were your sires, humanely, nobly rude; For griefs that pass'd nine hundred years ago : And such the good old times, for you renew'd ! All those we bring-Confess to moderu eyes,
From the still regions of enduring night, The deed of fam'd antiquity shall rise : Our author calls the dead to life and light. Friends, lovers, heroes, patriots, to this stage He bids your hearts to heave, your eyes to flow, Shall come, from every land, from every age: O'er griefs that pass'd nine hundred years ago :
Old Time shall render, to your eyes and ears, Bids truth in person tread Hibemia's stage, The truths and trophies of four thousand years: And action preach her sermon to the age;
Cato again shall abdicate his tomb, The sermon to which Nature sets her seal
And Brutus strike for liberty and Rome! For none can doubt the doctrine that they feel.
Sweet as a field that vernal breezes fan, Sweet are emotions in the heart of man; Sweet are the tears of worth, the ties of kin,
SPOKEN IN DUBLIN, BY MR. GARRICK.
My term expir'd with this concluding play.
L’ve cast the buskin and the sock away.
Nor in mock-majesty to awe the stage,
The hero shrinks into his native spanKnow it is man's to err—and let that move,
This little sketch and miniature of man. To pity frailties that you can't approve.
“Where's Garrick?” says the beau: and as I pass, But when you see Rowena greatly soar,
To mark the noted insect-takes his glass, A height that virtue never dar'd before;
Plac'd in yon box, to publish my disaster, A summit, to aspiring man unknown,
“Mamma,"cries miss, “who is that little master?" And, first and last, achiev'd by her alone;
“Zounds!" says the captain,“what! is that Othello! Then turn, and in her sex the saint revere
Ha, ha, ha!
Thus on defects I dare to build a name:
O, could iny stature with your bounty rise,
And swelling gratitude extend my size!
What ample measure would that change impart, FOR THE OPENING OF A THEATRE,
When every limb should answer to my heart.
Great are the favours which my soul a vows; When lazy moralists from cloisters taught
Great are the thanks with which your servant bows! The frosty precepts of unpractis'd thought, My faults are debtors to your generous senseHowe'er the judgment coldly was inform’d, Quick to observe, yet gracious to dispense ! No worth was kindled, for no heart was warm'd. And should I but presume that something, too, But when some good men to the public read Is to your judgment, to your justice due; The generous lecture of a life well led :
Blame not the vanity you kindly raise, When patriots stood for liberty and laws,
Sprung from your smiles, and heighten'd by your Or fell the victims of their country's cause :
(pole, Then hearts were taught to glow, and eyes to melt, Hail, generous isle! though neighbouring to the And hands to act the lesson that was felt.
Thy warmth is in the virtues of the soul ! In languid maxims, which we barely hear, Though clouds, above, may intercept the light: The voice of truth sounds distant to our ear; Below, thy sun of beauty cheers our sight! But action bids the substance to arise,
Where'er my distant fortunes may command, And gives the living beauty to your eyes.
sigh for thee as for my natal land. Hence was the stage, from earliest times, design's Or east, or west, howe'er the region lies, A vital school of virtue to mankind.
A country takes its name from social ties; In real life, if scant the good and fair,
The heart alone appoints its favourite place, If truth be foreign, and if worth be rare,
And I'm a native by your special grace. For these through ev'ry clime and age we steer; Then take the warmest wishes of my mindAnd thence unlade the precious purchase here! As your own favours, great and unconfin'd,
Though Time and Death have clos'd their ancient May peace and smiling pleasure, hand in hand, They bar their everlasting gates in vain- [reign, Walk the wide limits of your plenteous land ! The fatal valves shall to your eyes unfold,
May Gallia curse the day of William's' might, Recall the past and renovate the old :
And Chesterfield return to bless your sight!
William, duke of Cumberland.
He forms a model of a virtuous sort,
And gives you more of moral than of sport:
He rather aims to draw the melting sigh,
Or steal the pitying tear from beauty's eye:
To touch the strings that humanise our kind,
Man's sweetest strain, the music of the mind.
Ladies, he bids me tell you, that from you, "T is not a birth to titles, pomp, or state,
His first, his fav'rite character he drew : That forms the brave, or constitutes the great :
A young, a lovely, unexperienc'd maid,
In honest truth and innocence array'd;
Yet guarded still : and every suff'ring pass'd,
From such examples shall the sex be taught, Hail to the youth, whose actions mark this year, How virtue fixes whom their eyes have caught: And in whose honour you assemble here!
How honour beautifies the fairest face, 'T is not to grace his natal day we meet,
Improves the mien, and dignifies the grace. His birth of glory is the birth we greet.
And hence the libertine, who builds a name How quick does his progressive virtue run, On the base ruins of a woman's fame, How swift ascend to its meridian sun,
Shall own, the best of human blessings lie Before its beam the northern stórms retire, In the chaste honours of the nuptial tie: And Britons catch the animating fire.
There lives the home-felt sweet, the near delight, Yet rush not too precipitate, for know
There peace reposes, and there joys unite:
To charm, to polish, and to bless mankind.
PLAY OF WHAT WE MUST ALL COME TO.
Your dames are form'd upon a gentler planBy equal actions win the like applause,
To sooth and smooth the rough-hewn mass of man; Alike their name, their glory, and their cause. To bid the tumult of your souls to cease, May Heav'n's peculiar angel shield the youth !
And smile your warring passions into peace. Who draws the sword of liberty and truth,
Like Rome's fam'd matrous, scorning all excess By him Britannia's injuries redress,
In mask or mummery, in dance or dress, And crown his toil, his virtue, with success,
Your wives are busied in the nobler cares Make him the scourge of France, the dread of Rome, Of planting their own virtues in your heirs, The patriot's blessing, and the rebel's doom. And scarce depart their house-except to prayers!
Then seize, Hibernia, seize the present joy, They neither take nor give the world a handle This day is sacred to the martial boy!
For tittle-tattle, gossiping, or scandal; The morrow shall a different strain require, And, as for that strange vice of gaming-lard ! When, with thy Stanhope 3, all delights retire, I dare be sworn, they scarce can tell a card. And (a long polar night of grief begun)
In times of yore, indeed, when 't was the fashion, Thy soul shall sigh for its returning sun.
And drums, routs, rackets, cards, the favourite
With ev'ry husband, gambling was the flame, PROLOGUE
And even their precious spouses-play'd the game.
Plumb, in the reigning vice, your statesmen jump; TO THE FOUNDLING.
And factions in rotation turn'd up trump:
Honours, on all hands, they agree to wave; UNPRACTIS'd in the drama's artful page,
Some play'd the fool, who meant to play the koave. And new to all the dangers of the stage,
The vizier, vers'd in all the gambling trade, Where judgment sits to save or damn his play, The court against bis simpler country play'd; Our poet trembles for his first essay.
But, dubious of the pow'rs that might withstand, He, like all authors, a conforming race ! He wisely kept the impending king in handWrites to the taste and genius of the place : The people thought the advantage somewhat hard; Intent to fix, and emuloas to please
But deem'd their Magna Charta a sure card! The happy sense of these politer days,
Now beats and bets all terms of truce confound;
Craft, perjury, prostitution, wait around; · King William III.
While high o'er head Astrea's beam behold, ? Lord Chesterfield left Ireland about this time. Weighing light conscience against pond'rous gold.