BRIT. Lead along their fmiling hours;
AUG. Long produce their smiling hours;
Вотн. Bleft by all aufpicious powers.
BRIT. Gently smooth thy flight, O Time!
AUG. Smoothly wing thy flight, O Time!
Bотн. And as thou flying groweft old,

Still this happy race behold
In Britannia's court fublime.

EPILOGUE,

SPOKEN BY MR. MILLS,

90

At the Queen's Theatre, on his Benefit-night, February 16, 1709; a little before the Duke of Marlborough's going for Holland.

WHETHER our ftage all others does excel

In ftrength of wit, we'll not prefume to tell : But this, with noble, confcious pride, we'll fay, No Theatre fuch glories can difplay; Such worth conspicuous, beauty so divine, As in one British audience mingled shine. Who can, without amazement, turn his fight, And mark the awful circle here to-night ? Warriors, with ever-living laurels, brought From empires fav'd, from battles bravely fought, Here fit; whofe matchless story shall adorn Scenes yet unwrit, and charm e'en ages yet unborn. Yet who would not expect fuch martial fire, That sees what eyes those gallant deeds inspire?

5

Valour and beauty ftill were Britain's claim,
Both are her great prerogatives of fame;

By both the Mufes live, from both they catch their flame.

Then as by you, in folid glory bright,

Our envy'd isle through Europe spreads her light,
And rifing honours every year sustain,

201

And mark the golden track of Anne's distinguish'd

reign;

So, by your prefence here, we'll ftrive to raise
To nobler heights our action and our plays;

And

poets from your favours fhall derive That immortality they boast to give.

25.

WRITTEN IN A WINDOW

A T

GREENHI THE.

GREAT prefident of light, and eye of day,
As through this glafs, you caft your visual ray,
And view with nuptial joys two brothers bleft,
And fee us celebrate the genial feaft,

Confefs that in your progress round the sphere,
You've found the happieft youths and brightest beauties

here.

M..

THE

THE

TOASTERS,

WHILE circling healths inspire your sprightly

wit,

And on each glafs fome beauty's praise is writ,
You afk, my friends, how can my filent Mufe
To Montague's soft name a verse refuse?
Bright though she be, of race victorious fprung, 5
By wits ador'd, and by court-poets fung;
Unmov'd I hear her perfon call'd divinė,
I fee her features uninfpiring fhine;

A fofter fair my foul to transport warms,
And, fhe once nam'd, no other nymph has charms. 10

TOFTS AND MARGARETTA.

MUSI

USIC has learn'd the discords of the state,
And concerts jar with whig and tory hate.

Here Somerset and Devonshire attend

The British Tofts, and every noté commend;
To native merit juft, and pleas'd to fée

We've Roman arts, from Roman bondage free:
There fam'd L'Epine does equal skill employ,
While liftening peers crowd to th' ecftatic joy:
Bedford, to hear her fong, his dice forfakes,
And Nottingham is raptur'd when the shakes:

2

5

10

Lull'd

Lull'd ftatesmen melt away their drowsy cares
Of England's fafety, in Italian airs.

Who would not fend each year blank passes o'er,
Rather than keep fuch strangers from our fhore?

THE

WANDERING

I.

BEAUTY.

THE Graces and the wandering Loves

Are fled to diftant plains,

To chase the fawns, or deep in groves

To wound admiring fwains.

With their bright mistress there they stray,
Who turns her careless eyes

From daily triumphs; yet, each day,
Beholds new triumphs in her way,
And conquers while she flies.

II.

But fee! implor'd by moving prayers,

To change the lover's pain,

Venus her harness'd doves prepares,
And brings the fair again.

Proud mortals, who this maid pursue,
Think you she'll e'er refign?

Ceafe, fools, your wishes to renew,

flesh and blood like you,

Or you, like her, divine!

M 2

DIALOGUE

DE

L'AMOUR ET DU POËT E

LI P. AMOUR, je ne veux plus aimer;

J'abjure à jamais ton empire:

Mon cœur, laffé de fon martire,
A réfolu de fe calmer.

L'AM. Contre moi, qui peut t'animer?
Iris dans fes bras te rapelle.

LE P. Non, Iris eft une infidelle;
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

L'AM. Pour toi, j'ai pris foin d'enflamer
Le cœur d'une beauté nouvelle ;

Daphné. Le P. Non, Daphné n'eft que belle;
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

L'AM. D'un foupir, tu peux défarmer
Dircé, jusqu'ici fi sauvage.

LE P. Elle n'eft plus dans le bel age;
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

10

15

L'AM.