Glad Tritons at his prefence founding!
Notes from Albion's rocks rebounding!
His awful trident shakes the ground!
What folemn filence reigns around!
Nor furges lafh the trembling fhore,
Nor dare the winds tumultuous roar;
But flowly flide the conscious billows-
Softly wave the listening willows!
Whilst Neptune with majeftic fmile
Accofts the goddess of our ifle!

"To crown this chofen, happy day,
My offspring fhall my will obey;
The daughter of the genial main,
The queen of youth and rofy fmiles!
(Queen of dimple-dwelling wiles)"

Come, with all her Paphian train!
She comes! the confcious fea fubfides!
Neptune curbs his hundred tides!
Smooth the filken furface lies,
Where Venus' flow'ry chariot flies!
Paphian maids around her move,
Keen-ey'd hope, and joy, and love!

Close by her fide, her darling fon fhe brings,
With quiver full! he clafps his wanton wings!
He takes his aim! behold each pointed dart
With pleafing anguish pierce the deftin'd heart!
Love and mufic fprung from heaven!
Sov'reigns of the human foul!
And by nature wifely given

Ruder paffions to controul.

Beauty's empire far extends,

O'er the ocean's wide domain !
From the world's extremeft ends,
To Britannia's happy plain.
Behold! in every youthful breast
(Thames' banks have nurft the fame)

Venus, ever-welcome guest,

Courts the generous fons of fame!

(Full Chorus.)

Happy ifland! happy king!

Where the free-born fubjects live!

Where the circling feafons bring

All that love and glory give.

BALLAD

BALLAD Jung at the fame Time and Place, and on the fame Occafion, with the preceding Ode.

E lords and ye ladies who form this gay throng,

Be filent a moment, attend to our fong!

And while you fufpend your fantastical round,

Come bless your sweet stars, that you're none of you drown'd.

Derry down.

As you've long been detain'd with daughters and spouses,
From your parks and your lawns, and your fine country-houfes,
Ere for fummer's dull feason you bid us adieu,

We present you a feast, and a novelty too.

-Enough of feftinos, champêtres enough,
Bal-parés, and frescos, and fuch worn-out Auff;
But how to amufe ye ?-Aye, there was the question,
A Regatta was thought of-Oh lucky fuggeftion!

From the lagunes of Venice we've stolen the hint,
And hope you'll acknowledge there's fome merit in't;
Nay, we truft you'll pronounce it cool, ufeful, and hearty,
As old father Thames is made one of the party.

For fay, fhould Britannia ungratefully treat
The friend of her commerce, the nurfe of her fleet?
Shall he who with toil wafts your treasure to shore,
In her hours of amufement he thought of no more ?

Array'd in his beft, in his holiday clothes,
To-night the gay Thames his affiftance beftows,
And as ufual, to render the fhew more complete,
We've ranfack'd the wardrobe of Tavistock-street.

We've friends in the court, and we've friends in the city,
No doubt then our plan is both useful and pretty,
Since the fix clubs have join'd to defray all the charges,
And the Lord-Mayor and Aldermen lent us their barges.
Did you mind how each candidate tugg'd at the oar,
How the managers form'd, how the conftables fwore ?
Shall ye ever forget how the mob was delighted,
When the boats all ran foul, and the ladies were frighted?

But the races are o'er, the proceffion is clos'd,
The landing effected, the clamour compos'd, ;
The fare that's before ye, we hope you'll agree,
Is better than coffee, rolls, butter, and tea.

But

But ere ye return, and your faces vermillion,
With twisting all'mande, and with frisking cotillion,
Thus with crotchet and ballad we greet ev'ry guest,
And welcome ye all to our otter-like feast.

We've ftrove to amufe you by water and land;
Once Torre to please ye had fire at command:
To charm ye fhould be the four elements' care,
So the next time we'll fix on a plan in the air.

EPILOGUE to the Tragedy of the INFLEXIBLE CAPTIVE, written by Mifs HANNAH MOORE; as it was acted at the TheatreRoyal at Bath. By DAVID GARRICK, Efq.

HAT fon of phyfic but his art extends,

WHA

As well as hands, when call'd on by his friends?
What landlord is fo weak to make you faft,
When guests like you befpeak a good repast?
But weaker ftill were he whom fate has plac'd
To foothe your cares, and gratify your tafte,
Should he neglect to bring before your eyes
Thofe dainty dramas which from genius rife ;
Whether your luxury be to fmile or weep,
His and your profits juft proportion keep.
To-night he brought, nor fears a due reward,
A Roman Patriot by a Female Bard.

Britons, who feel his flame, his worth will rate,
No common fpirit his, no common fate,
INFLEXIBLE and CAPTIVE must be great.

How', cries a fucking fop, thus lounging ftraddling,
(Whose head fhews want of ballaft by its noddling)
A woman write? Learn, Madam, of your betters,
And read a noble Lord's POSTHUMOUS LETTERS.
There you will learn the fex may merit praise
By making puddings-not by making plays:
They can make tea and mifchief, dance and fing;
Their heads, tho' full of feathers, can't take wing,'
I thought they cou'd, Sir; now and then by chance,
Maids fly to Scotland, and fome Wives to France.
He ftill went noddling on- Do all she can,
⚫ Woman's a trifle-play-thing-like her fan.'
Right, Sir; and when a wife, the rattle of a man.
And shall fuch things as thefe become the test
Of female worth? The fairest and the best

Of all Heaven's creatures? For fo Milton fung us,
And with fuch champions, who shall dare to wrong us?
Come forth, proud man, in all your powers array'd;
Shine out in all your fplendor-Who's afraid?

}

}

Who

Who on French wit has made a glorious war,
Defended Shakespeare, and fubdu'd Voltaire ?
Woman:-Who, rich in knowledge, knows no pride,
Can boast ten tongues, and yet not fatisfy'd?
Woman +:-Who lately fung the sweetest lay?
A woman, woman, woman || ftill I fay.
Well then, who dares deny our power and might?
Will any married man difpute our right?
Speak boldly, Sirs, your wives are not in fight.
What, are you filent? Then you are content;
Silence, the proverb tells us, gives confent.
Critics, will you allow an honeft claim?
Are you dumb too? This night has fix'd our fame.

EPILOGUE to the RIVALS.

Spoken by Mrs. BULKLEY.

ADIES for you-I heard our poet fay He'd try to coax fome moral from his play: • One moral's plain, cry'd I, without more fufs: • Man's focial happiness all refts in us

Thro' all the drama-whether d-n'd or not• Love gilds the scene, and women guide the plot.' From ev'ry rank obedience is our due

D'ye doubt-The world's great flage will prove it true.
The cit-well skill'd to fhun domeftic ftrife-
Will fup abroad ;-but first-he'll ask his wife:
John Trot, his friend-for once will do the fame,
But then-he'll just fep home to tell my dame.-
The furly Squire-at noon refolves to rule,
And half the day-zounds! madam is a fool!
Convinc'd at night-the vanquish'd victor fays,
Ah Kate! you women have fuch coaxing ways !-
The jolly toper chides each tardy blade-
'Till reeling Bacchus calls on love for aid :
Then with each toast, he fees fair bumpers fwim,
And kiffes Chloe on the fparkling brim.

Nay, I have heard, that ftatefmen-great and wife-
Will fometimes counfel with a lady's eyes;
The fervile fuitors-watch her various face,

She fmiles preferment-or the frowns difgrace,
Curtfies a penfion here-there nods a place.

Mrs. Montagu, author of an Effay on the Writings of Shakespeare. + Mrs. Carter, weil known for fkill in antient and modern languages. Mifs Aikin, who lately published fome excellent poems,

}

}

Nor

Nor with lefs awe, in scenes of humbler life,
Is view'd the mistress, or is heard the wife.
The poorest peafant of the pooreft foil,
The child of poverty, and heir to toil-
Early from radiant love's impartial light,

Steals one fmall fpark, to chear his world of night:
Dear fpark-that oft thro' winter's chilling woes,
Is all the warmth his little cottage knows.

The wand'ring tar-who not for years has prefs'd
The widow'd partner of his day of rest—

On the cold deck-far from her arms remov’d—
Still hums the ditty which his Sufan lov'd:
And while around the cadence loud is blown,
The boatswain whiftles in a fofter tone.

The foldier, fairly proud of wounds and toil,
Pants for the triumph of his Nancy's fmile:
But ere the battle fhould he lift' her cries,
The lover trembles-and the hero dies!
That heart, by war and honour teel'd to fear,
Droops on a figh, and fickens at a tear.

But, ye more cautious, ye nice judging few
Who give to beauty only beauty's due,
Tho' friends to love-ye view with deep regret
Our conquests marr'd-our triumphs incomplete,
"Till polifh'd wit more lafting charms difclofe,
And judgment fix the darts which beauty throws.
In female breafts did fenfe and merit rule,
The lover's mind would ask no other school;
Sham'd into fenfe-the scholars of our eyes,
Our beaux from gallantry would foon be wife;
Would gladly light, their homage to improve,
The lamp of knowledge at the torch of love.

EPILOGUE to the new Comedy of The CHOLERICK MAN;

Written by Mr. GARRICK, and spoken by Mrs. ABINGTON.

S I'm an artift, can my skill do better

A Than pictures: For much

your

debtor :

I'll draw the out-lines-finish at my leifure-
A groupe like you wou'd be a charming treasure !
Here is my pencil, here my fketching-book,
Where for this work I memorandums took;
I will in full, three quarters, and profile,
Take your fweet faces, nay, your thoughts I'll fteal.
From my good friends above, their wives and doxies,
Down to Madame and Monfieur in the boxes:
P

VOL. XVIII. 1775.

Now