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Traines, devices, traps.

In bitter shower : and taunting scorn still rends, Transmew, changed, transformed.

And wakes thee trembling from thy golden dream : Treachor, traitor, deceiver,

In vetchy bed, or loathly dungeon ends Troublous, troublesome.

Thy idled life -What fitter may beseem !

Who poisons thus the fount, should drink the poi. Vild, vile.

son'd stream.

Uncath, not easy, difficult.

“ And is it thus," the heart-stung minstrel cry'd,

While indignation shook his silver'd head; Wareless, unsuspecting.

“ And is it thus, the groos-fed lordling's pride, Wassal, festive.

And hind's base tongue the gentle bard upbraid? Ween, weend, or wend, think, deemed.

And must the holy song be thus repaid Wend, move, go.

By sun-bask'd ignorance, and churlish scorn? Weet, much the same as ween.

While listless drooping in the languid shade Weetless, thoughtless.

Of cold neglect, the sacred bard must mourn, Whilom, formerly hwilum. Sax.

Though in his hallow'd breast Heaven's purest ara Whitt, a jot, any thing, a hwit. Sax. aliquid.

dours burn. Whyleare, erewhile, huilen. Sax. Wight, person, wiht. Sax.

Yet how sublime, O bard, the dread behest, Wilding, the crab-tree.

The awful trust to thee by Heaven assign'd! Wonne, to dwell.

'T is thine to humanize the savage breast, Wreal-full, revengeful.

And form in virtue's mould the youthful mind;

Where lurks the latent spark of generous kind, Yblends, mixes.

'T is thine to bid the dormant ember blaze: Yblent, blinded.

Heroic rage with gentlest worth combin'd Ybrent, burnt.

Wide through the land thy forming power displays: Yclept, called, named.

So spread the olive boughs beneath Dan Phoebus' Yfere, together.

rays. Ygoe, formerly. Yode, went

When Heaven decreed to soothe the feuds that tore Youthhede, quasi youthhood.

The wolf-ey'd barons, whose unletter'd rage Youthly, lively, youthful.

Spurn'd the fare Muse; Heaven bade on Avon's shore Ypight, placed, fixed.

A Shakspeare rise, and soothe the barbarous age : Ywis, truly, verily.

A Shakspeare rose; the barbarous heats asswage-
At distance dew how many bards attend !

Enlarg'd and liberal from the narrow cage The letter y in all the old English poets is fre- of blinded zeal new manners wide extend, quently prefixed to verbs and verbal adjectives, but And o'er the generous breast the dews of Heaven without any particular signification. The use of it

descend. is purely Saxon, though after the conquest the ge gave place to the Norman y. It is always to be And fits it you, ye sons of hallow'd power, pronounced as the pronoun ye.

To hear, unmov'd, the tongue of scorn upbraid Spenser has also frequently followed the Saxon The Muse neglected in her wintery bower; formation, in adding the letter n to his verbs, as Wbile proudly flourishing in princely shade tellen, worken, &c. When affixed to a substantive, Her younger sisters lift the laureld headit forms the plural number, as eyen, eyes, &c. And shall the pencil's boldest mimic rage,

Or softest charms, fore-doom'd in time to fade,
Shall these be vaunted o'er th' immortal page,
Where passion's living fires burn unimpair'd by age ?

And shall the warbled strain or sweetest lyre,
THE NEGLECT OF POETRY.

Thrilling the palace roof at night's deep hour;
And shall the nightingales in woodland choir
The voice of Heaven in sweeter raptures pour?

Ah, no! their song is transient as the flower
Hence, vagrant Minstrel, from my thriving farm; Of April morn: in vain the shepherd boy
Far hence, nor ween to shed thy poison here: Sits listening in the silent autumn bower;
My hinds despise thy lyre's ignoble charm; The year no more restores the short-liv'd joy ;
Seek in the sluggards bower thy ill-earn'd cheer: And never more his harp shall Orpheus' hands em-
There while thy idle chanting soothes their ear,

ploy. The noxious thistle choaks their sickly corn; Their apple boughs, ungraff’d, sour wildlings bear, Eternal silence in her cold deaf ear And o'er the ill-fenced dales with fleeces torn Has clos'd his strain; and deep eternal night Unguarded from the fox, their lambkins stray for- Has o'er Appelles' tints, so bright while-ere, lorn.

Drawn her blank curtains-never to the sight

More to be given-But cloth'd in Heaven's own light Such ruin withers the neglected soil

Homer's bold painting shall immortal shine; When to the song the ill-starr'd swain attends Wide o'er the world shall ever sound the might, And well thy meed repays thy worthless toil; The raptur'd music of each deathless line: (vine. Upon thy houseless head pale want descends For death nor tine may touch their living souls di

1

ON

AN IMITATION OF SPENSER.

TO MISS ABIGAIL

And what the strain, though Perez swell the note, Prom Bashan and the desert shore
High though its rapture, to the Muse of fire! To blooming fields, and cities fair,
Ah! what the transient sounds, devoid of thought, While sacred songsters march before,
To Shakspeare's flame of ever-burning ire,

And Jacob's princes faint no more,
Or Milton's flood of mind, till time expire

Shalt thou the way prepare.
Foredoom'd to flow; as Heaven's dread energy,
Unconscious of the bounds of place-

Lo! Egypt's kings and wisest men

Shall bend the duteous knee,
And Ethiopia, wide and great,

Through all her vast extended state,
PSALM LXVIII. PARAPHRASE.

Shall stretch her hands to thee,

But, awful sov'reign! who can stand
THE MAJESTY, THE POWER, THE JUSTICE, AND)

Before the terrours of thy hand,
THE MERCY OF GOD.

When thy right hand impends the blow
Arise, O God, assume thy might!

To strike a proud obdurate foe?

Yet to thy saints, O God of pray'r,
Shall proud oppressors still unaw'd devour,

How mild thy mercies shine !
Still trample on the poor man's right,
Aud lewdly scorn thy pow'r?

The tenderest father's ardent care

But ill resembles thine :

Thy mercies far, oh, far above
When roaring from the western deep
The black-wing'd tempests rush,

Thy other wonders shine,
When o'er the hills with headlong sweep

A mother's ever watchful love The inundations gush;

But ill resembles thine!
As then the whirling chaff is driven,

So swept away shall be
All who despise the laws of Heaven,

AN EPITHALAMIUM.
Nor honour pay to thee.

WRITTEN IN HEBREW BY ABRAM DEPAS, ON THE MARBut, О ye just, with rapture raise

RIAGE OF JACOB FRANCO, ESQ. Yo's cheerful voices in his praise ;

D'AGUILAR, DAUGHTER OF THE LATE BARON D'AGUILAR. With sacred awe and holy mirth Resound the God of Heaven and Earth;

The voice of joy this happy day demands; The God whose mercy knows no end,

Resound the song and in our God confide: The poor man's and the widow's friend,

Beneath his canopy the bridegroom stands, The helpless orphan's sire;

In all her beauty shines the lovely bride. Who round the meek afflicted just,

O may their joys still blossom, ever new,
Though crush'd and humbled in the dust, Fair as a garden to the ravish'd view!
Is still a wall of fire.

Rejoice, O youth, and if thy thoughts aspire When thou, O God, didst march before

To Heaven's pure bliss, the sacred law revere ; Thy people to the promis'd shore,

The stravger's wants, the needy soul's desire Then shook old Earth : the sky

Supply, and humbly with thy neighbour bear: Shot lightnings from on high;

So shall thy father's grateful heart rejoice, The rapid Jordan bar'd his bed,

And thy fair deeds inspire thy people's voice. The ocean saw his God and fled, The lofty cliffs of Sinai nod

Sing from your bowers, ye daughters of the song,

Behold the bride with star-like glory shine; And tremble at the presence of their thund'ring God.

May each succeeding day still glide along The Lord Jehorah gave the word,

Fair as the first, begirt with grace divine: And loud the tribes resound,

Far from her tent may care and sorrow fly, And mighty kings and mighty hosts

While she o'erjoy'd beholds her numerous progeny. Lay scatter'd o'er the ground :

Ye happy parents, shout with cheerful voice, Dispers'd as snow in Salmon's plain

See, o'er your son the canopy unfold; So fell, so lay the mighty slain,

And thou, O hoary rev'rend sire, rejoice, And with their purple spoils are crown'd

May thy glad eyes thy grandson's son behold. The tender virgin train.

The song of joy, ye youthful kindred raise,

And let the people join, the living God to praise ! Thousands of angels at thy gate,

And great archangels stand,
And twenty thousand chariots wait,
Great Lord, thy dread command !

SONNET TO VASCO DE GAMA. Through all thy great, thy vast domains,

With godlike honours clad,
Captivity in captive chains

Vasco le cui felici, &c.
Triumphing thou hast led.
That thou might'st dwell with men below,

Vasco, whose bold and happy bowsprit bore
And be their God and King,

Against the rising morn; and homeward fraught, From Bashan and the land of woo

Whose sails came westward with the day, and Shalt thou thy people bring:

The wealth of India to thy native shore; (brought

FROM TASSO.

FROM PETRARCH.

Ne'er did the Greek such length of seas explore,

It is not long since that a friend of mine, having The Greek, who sorrow to the Cyclops wrought; an inclination to write a tragedy, applied himself And he, who, victor, with the Harpies fought, for some instruction to a gentleman who had often Never such pomp of naval honours wore.

composed for the theatre. “My dear sir,” says

the author, “you conceive not half the trouble and Great as thou art, and peerless in renown,

vexation you must undergo to bring your play upon Yet thou to Camoens ow'st thy noblest fame; the stage. Believe a man who has learned, by too Further than thou didst sail, his deathless song much experience, that Shall bear the dazzling splendour of thy name;

Between the acting of a tragedy And under many a sky thy actions crown,

And the first writing, all the interim is While Time and Fame together glide along.

Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream. “ You must cabal with the players, you must attend upon the manager, you must flatter bim,

and perhaps write verses upon him; you must SONNET.

suffer a hundred little indignities besides, and after all your play may be rejected. For you are mis

taken if you think that literary merit is a passport Ar! how, my friend, has foul gorg'd luxurie, to representation. The manager must serve himAnd bloated slumber on the slothful down,

self first, and he has always some pieces on his From the dull world all manly virtue thrown,

hands, seldom so few as half a dozen, which are bis And slared the age to custom's tyrannie.

own property. Besides, you are a stranger to the

management of the theatre: do you know what is The blessed lights so lost in darkness be,

the trim of the stage?”—“So far from it,” replied my Those lights by Heaven to guide our minds bestown, friend, “ that I do not remember to have heard the Mad were he deem'd who brought from Helicon

phrase before, nor am I able to comprehend what The hallow'd water, or the laurel tree.

it means."'--" The meaning,” says the old author,

“ contains nothing critical, has nothing to do with “ Philosophy, ah! thou art cold and poor,"

the unities; but however the scholar may affect to Exclaim the crowd, on sordid gain intent;

despise it, let me assure you, that unless you are Few will attend thee on thy lofty road ;

acquainted with the character and capacity of each Yet, I, my friend, would fire thy zeal the more: actor and actress in the house, and know something Ah, gentle spirit! labour on unspent,

too of the scenery and dresses, you can't write a Crown thy fair toils, and win the smile of God. play worth a farthing."

The unequalled abilities of Mr. Garrick, as an actor, fill us at once with pleasure and admiration ; which, improved by the feelings of the generous

mind, rise into a sort of general esteem and preposTHE SIEGE OF MARSEILLES. session in his favour. When I bear this testimony

to Mr. Garrick's excellence, I trust the public will not take offence, and that Mr. Garrick himself will forgive me, if I say that, as a manager, he has been

generally unhappy or ill-advised in his choice of THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

the dramas exhibited in Drury Lane.

But I cannot speak of the pieces themselves. It He who offers his writings to the public, tacitly is cruel to insult the memory of the departed; it is confesses that he believes them to deserve its at ungenerous to attack the dead. These, alas ! have tention. Though to deny this were an affectation of no patron, no defender. Mr. Garrick, their friend, modesty which would obtain no credit, yet it will as long as he could keep them alive, even Garrick easily be allowed, that at a time when the stage is has deserted them. Let them rest in their obso indulgent to dramatic writers, no man would ven scurity; and let me assure their sometime proture to publish a rejected play without some better tector, that I have too much humanity to drag test of its value than his own judgment. The them thence, with any view of comparison or comauthor of The Siege of Marseilles may truly assert, petition. Not that I mean to impute to Mr. Garthat in this publication he is influenced and guided rick's want of taste, all the despised and forgotten by some who hold no ordinary rank in the republic plays which have appeared on his stage. Some of of letters. From their favourable opinion (a cir- them he was obliged to introduce throngh gratitude, cumstance not unknown to Mr. Garrick) he had through friendship, sometimes through generosity; once every reason to hope that his play would be and though he could not give them a lasting repuhononred with representation. He also flattered tation, the indulgence of the public usually favoured himself, that the novelty of a drama, no part the representation. But gratitude, friendship, and whereof was borrowed from a foreign stage, and a even generosity, however favourite virtues, cannot moral, designedly pointed against a vice, which at have been with Mr. Garrick his only principle of present may be said to characterise the age, might action. His judgment, unbiased by any interest, have proved circumstances in his favour. But he must frequently have directed his choice. Yet by now finds that an author, in writing a play, however some, not unaccountable, ill fortune, these select well he may execute it, has done very little: that pieces have generally shared the fate of the others; if he meant to write for the stage, his most necessary and at this day you may as well hope to trace them qualification was an acquaintance with the politics in the closets of the ingenious, as you may the and temporary arts of the green-room.

former in the memory of the playhouse critic.

A TRAGEDY.

TAE SCENE.

THE TIME.

In a letter to the author, professing his desire to i ject what he pleases; but as a servant of the pubserve him, Mr. Garrick gave his opinion, that lic, he must allow them to determine on the merits though his play contained * many, many beautiful of what he offers for their entertainment; and, if passages," it would be necessary to new model it, from him an author appeal to their tribunal, on the and for that purpose referred the author to the merit also of what he withholds. To this tribunal judg-ent of a gentleman well known in the literary The Siege of Marseilles is submitted, and should it world, and particularly for bis excellence in poetry be found superior in merit to many of those plays and criticisin. The author, after altering his play, which Mr. Garrick has exbibited in Drury Lane, in and receiving the approbation of this gentleman, that case, Mr. Garrick has neither dealt impartially sent it again to Mr. Garrick, and it was again re with the author, nor justly with the public. jected, as impossible to be adapted to the present taste, or the trim of the stage.

Let me not be thought too bold if I seem to censure the public upon this head. The managers of THE SIEGE OF MARSEILLES. the theatres themselves confess, and affect to lament, that they are frequently obliged to represent

THE CHARACTERS. plays which have no other merit than that of being Francis I. king of France. written in the reigning taste. or holiday 'prentices, the pnblic are only to be Raymond, count of Chateaubriant, governor of Mar. taken by glare and noise; by the eye, and not by Bramville, an old officer, his uncle. the heart. Yet in this opinion perhaps Mr. Garrick Ronsard, a young officer, his friend. is in an errour. If, in the tragedies which he presents to the public, a few poetical and passionate Guise, a nobleman of the court.

The Lord Admiral of France. lines shine through the dullness of five tedious acts, these few are immediately distinguished by the audience, and received with applause. A demon- Erminia, countess of Chateaubriant.

Eemoine, countess of Guise.
stration that their taste is not so degenerate as
some may pretend.

Officers, Attendants, Scc.
Supported by the-shining abilities of a Mrs.
Barry, and set off with a rich display of scenery, we

RAYMOND's castle, and adjoining woods, have known plays which no mau can read, which

near Marseilles. no man will suffer in his closet, well received on the theatre of Drury Lane. If, therefore, the excel

Less than twenty-four hours. lence of a Mrs. Barry can support those dull and insipid dramas, where the satisfaction of the audience arises chiefly from the merit of the actress, with how much greater eclat must those pieces ap- The historical period—When the duke of Bonrbon, pear, where the poet, by that most powerful spring having renounced his allegiance to Francis I. of of tragedy, the pathetic, opens a worthy scene for France, at the head of a Spanish army invaded the display of such admirable talents ? To suppose his native country, and laid siege to Marseilles. that such plays would fail for want of dramatic art, that is, for want of such nice circumstances as make our modern plays as regular as a lawyer's pleading, and almost as dull, is an injury to the

ACT I. abilities of good actors, and an insult on the com

SCENE I. Count RAYMOND's castle. After sunset. mon sense of the public.

Nor is this assertion unconfirmed by experience. Count RAYMOND and RONSARD advancing. The Douglas was by Mr. Garrick rejected; not from any prejudice, we ought to suppose, but be. Ray. Yes, Ronsard, ere to morrow noon my country cause it was not conformable to his ideas of drama- Shall triumph o'er her foes. But whence these tic art. The Douglas, however, has been, and

sounds continues to be acted with universal approbation; Of feast and joy, that echo from my towers? while many of Mr. Garrick's models of dramatic | Whence round my gate these soldiers fil'd in rank? art, under the leaden weight of their insipidity, Ron. The Admiral of France, my lord, commands have sunk into almost instant oblivion. The secret And, see, he beckons us.

[them, is, the Douglas is addressed to the heart: the Ray. Yes, I perceive him. Douglas therefore will please, so long as interesting Forgive my lord-th' unexpected blaze situation and tender passion have any influence on

[To the Adm. the human breast.

And voice of revelry has stunn'd my thoughts. We have lately seen a reformation in one walk

-Alas, my lord, of the drama attempted with success. Genuine Ill suits this sacred house with guardless riot! nature and Dr. Goldsmith's comedies have tri In times like these, beneath the open sky, umphed over prudery and emasculated sentiment. The night dew dropping from his dangling curls, May genuine nature and tender passion in tragedy The soldier should out-watch the peeping stars likewise triumph over those little adjustments and of chilly dawn. But here, O shame to manhood! scenical tricks which seem congenial, and only Perfum'd and shuddering at the drizzly shower, adapted to an art, at once unmeaning and unna Beneath the gilded roof, the silken warrior tural !

Of these degenerate days in wanton luxury After all, the manager, as his property is chiefly Unstrings his feeble sinews! Oh, my country! concerned, has an undoubted right to receive or re- Forgive my wandering passionshaste, my lord,

If, as my heart misgives me, if my sovereign When all the passion of that generous time
Here lost in revel wastes th' unvalu'd hours, Fires the affections, and each melting wish
Haste lead me to him; Bourbon's, my country's fate, But glows to please, she read my secret thought,
Hang on my lips.

And fondly promis'd never in my absence
Lord 6dm. Bourbon, my lord,

To give her presence to the passing guest. Is Aed, confus'd as from a total rout. [country Yet this dread night~-

Ray. Ha! Bourbon fled -Destruction to my Ron. To night, my lord, the king Follows that thin delusion-Where is my sovereign- Commands your castle.

Lord Adm. Mark me, my lord; this keen impa Ray. And I know him well. Your present danger.

[tience suits not I feel some leaden hand, invisible, [hovers, Ray. Danger to me peculiar!

Weigh down my freezing heartWhere the kite Yet say, where lies it.

The quarry lies in view Soon Bourbon's thunder Lord Adm. In the king's displeasure,

Shall sound another peal than that which now For this your disobedience, which your foes Kindles this lust inspiring revelry. May vaump in treason's garb.

Yet ere ) warn my sorereign of his danger, Ray. Be plain, my lord,

Ere for my country I can draw my sword, You speak a language to my heart unknown. My heart's sole treasure, my Ermiuia's safety, Lord Adm. And plain then be it:

Must to my heart be firm assur'd-Till then Here, my lord, your presence

The king I see not. In the bower that shades Is disobedience: your commanded duty

My chapel wall I wait, till you, good Ronsard, Calls you to other station.

Bring me my aged uncle, honour'd Bramville; Ray. Darker still

His words I 'll trust. Oh speed! my spouse, my Are these ambiguous words - a soldier's duty,

country, My king's command I never disobey'd.

Urge violent specd.

[Exit Ronsard. Lord Adm. The king, when Bourbon fled, sent

Base world, how dost thou teem his command

(walls, With foul events! Justice and every service That Raymond still should guard Marseilles' torn Are all mere cobweb films to bind the hands Lest Bourbon's flight be only stratagem,

Of lust and tyranny! Good Heaven, what dangers Till he himself to morrow noon reliev'd him. Frown dreadful on me! O Erininia, Such the command: and Raymond now stands here Wilt thou prove false? Away, the thought is treason. In act of daring disobedience.

Their witch like creeping arts affect not thee, Ray. Ah! now the dreary gleam,

Yet oft with pain and fear have I beheld
As of a funeral torch, breaks through the darkness | A little, wayward, giddy levity,
That veild your words. But Raymond were a Show its capricious features in the midst
traitor

Of thy endearments, while the languid sigh,
Were he not here, and earnest to demand (inond | And eye dissatisfy'd, would tell the wish
An audience of his sovereign; tell him count Ray. For courtly grandeur. Ah, my boding heart!
Has left Marseilles ; tell him his crown depends Away, these cruel and ungenerous thoughts-
On my immediate audience-No, myself Yet fear gnaws deep--the king; ay that admits
Shall bring conviction.

No hesitation
Lord Adm. That my lord were treason
In me, in these, not to prevent.

Scene II. A room in RAYMOND's castle. Ray. What madness this! what thriftless waste of time!

The King, the LORD ADMIRAL, and duke of GUISE. The sword has nobler work-And instantly King. And Raymond here in breach of our comI will have audience.

mand? Lord Adm. Yet, brave Raymond, hear.

My lords beware, the vengeance of a king First, let me tell him that important reasons Palls heavy on deceivers. You have told me Hlave brought you here: but as you love your Of Raymond's beauteous lady-All you told country,

Drew but a faded picture of her charms : First let me urge the reasons that persuade So lovely she outshines description. Myself, ere to your sovereign unprepar'd,

But you have added, that she might be won. Unthank'd I bring you.

You give me sweetest poison, and you promise Ray. Thankless it shall not be;

Its rapturous autidote. The poison kindles
And speed, Lord Admiral, as you would spurn A wild delirium; but the blissful cure
The name of traitor-

[Exit Lord Adm. Exceeds all art to compass. All she feels Ronsard, in your eye

[To Ronsard. Is passion for her husband. I have seen her, I read amazement-In myself I feel

And hopeless rage is mine. An unform'd horrour, and ill-boding darkness Guise. All tenderness, Oh, my Erminia -All gracious Heaven,

Melting with grief she seem'd, but the keen taste Where am I lost !

Of joy is sister to the soft enthusiasm Kun. My friend, my better father!

Of melting sorrow; open is ber temper; () good my lord, far from your generous heart Lively and delicate her fancy glows. Be these vile terrours.

Then doubt it not, but sprightly levity Ray. Ere the sacred altar

Pants in her breast. If I know aught of woman, Witness'd her plighted faith, my lov'd Erminia Such one is to be wrought on. Plighted her troth, and I esteem'd it sacred,

Ring. You have told me For by her love she vow'd nerer to grace

Raymond's proud heart might by a king be soften'd, The court of Valois. When the ecstasy

And high advancement next to sovereign rank Of love's completion was a new existence,

Shall bribe bis patience. If you here deceive me,

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