I'll hold it valid beyond all denial;

For fome of us are brought to take our trial.

See there my fellow-culprits in their places:
Ah! how fufpenfe and terror mark their faces !
Bad symptoms these ! but fure, the breast of youth
No inmate knows, fave innocence and truth.
If put on their defence, they foon wou'd say,
That not their guilt, but you their fouls dismay,
That honeft fears, which this dread court imparts,
Blanch their young cheeks, and flutter at their hearts.
Hear them, however: for they'll come before ye,
Imploring mercy from their † judge and jury.

EPI

+ Bishop Porteus, who was prefent.

EPILOGUE,

SPOKEN BY A YOUNG GENTLEMAN, WHO

K

WAS GOING TO COLLEGE, 1787.

IND friends! I come to pay my last adieu :

For much I owe to ‡ you, and || you, and § you.

No more I fportive tread this well-worn floor,

Or con in order prim the learned lore;

Careful to prove, with anatomic art,

How grammar-concords fit each little part;
Or fcorning tenfe and cafe, embrace the quill,
And climb with measur'd feet Parnaffus' hill.

Hard task, I ween, to ftep with native ease
To the foft cadence of Ovidian lays,

And build, by Lily's rules, the founding line!

For how can Lily give the energy divine?

The audience. The mafter. § The boys.

Yet have the beauties of the claffic page

Oft charm'd the wand'rings of my thoughtless age,

Rapt me from Deva's banks to Mantuan plains, To hear in beechen fhades the loves of fwains;

Oft too, by Homer and by fancy led,

I join'd with heroes at the battle's head,

And grew a demi-hero as I read.

Sweet bards, I charge on you no irksome toil :

Your magic ftrains e'en fchool-boy-cares beguile :
And when in Cambria, or by Ifis' ftream
I rove, your praises be my conftant theme.
Yet, ere I hafte these hallow'd seats to leave,
Ye, gen'rous partners of my toil, receive,
What

my warm heart will ever aim to prove,
A brother's wishes, and a brother's love.
Go on in virtue's paths; dare to be wife,
So Horace fays, and well does he advise :

Mind not the Syren Ease; her promis'd joy
Is mis'ry; fhe invites, but to destroy.

No more with you I take my station here,
To play the youthful orator once a year;
No more, with ftraining lungs and beating heart,
To this fair groupe a labour'd speech impart.

mind

Dear youths, farewel! tho' hope may fire my
With gaudier views, regret will look behind,
Will leave one pray'r for all, that all may know
Each blifs, that heav'n and virtue can bestow.

In tatter'd plight the Mufes prompt my tongue,
While heart-wrung tears in doleful concert flow.

These still are true, nor fear a tyrant's frown,
Thefe ftill, unaw'd, my lonely steps attend;
Pride of my foul, when youth and fortune fhone!
In age and grief their foothing aid they lend.

For, urg'd by grief, I feel the blight of Age;

His tyrant-hand hath feiz'd his feeble prey, O'er my poor head he pours his hoary rage;

And my fhrunk frame now trembles with decay.

Welcome is Death, when life is pain and care, Who comes, invok'd, to ftop the wretch's cries:

But ah! too oft his ear rejects our pray❜r,

Nor deigns his hand to close our weeping eyes.

Faithlefs,