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How often have I led thy sportive choir,
With tuneless pipe beside the murmuring Loire!
Where shading elms along the margin grew,
And freshen'd from the wave the zephyr flew;
And haply, though my harsh touch faltering still,
But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's
skill,

Yet would the village praise my wondrous power,
And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour.
Alike all ages: dames of ancient days

And the Twelve Rules the royal martyr drew; The Seasons, framed with listing, found a place, And brave Prince William show'd his lamp-black

face.

The morn was cold; he views with keen desire
The rusty grate unconscious of a fire:
With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scored,
And five cracked tea-cups dress'd the chimney-
board;

A night-cap deck'd his brows instead of bay,

Have led their children through the mirthful A cap by night—a stocking all the day!

maze;

And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore.

So blest a life these thoughtless realms display,
Thus idly busy rolls their world away,
Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear,
For honour forms the social temper here.
Honour, that praise which real merit gains,
Or e'en imaginary worth obtains,

Here passes current; paid from hand to hand,
It shifts, in splendid traffic, round the land.
From courts to camps, to cottages it strays,
And all are taught an avarice of praise;
They please, are pleased; they give to get esteem,
Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem.

But while this softer art their bliss supplies, It gives their follies, also, room to rise; For praise too dearly loved, or warmly sought, Enfeebles all internal strength of thought; And the weak soul, within itself unblest, Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. Hence ostentation here, with tawdry heart, Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart; Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace; Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, To boast one splendid banquet once a year: The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause.

DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BED-CHAMBER.

Where the Red Lion, staring o'er the way,
Invites each passing stranger that can pay;
Where Calvert's butt, and Parsons' black cham-

pagne,

Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury Lane; There in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug,

HOPE.

The wretch condemned with life to part, Still! still! on hope relies;

And every pang, that rends the heart, Bids expectation rise.

Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,
Adorns, and cheers the way:

And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.

THE BUDDING ROSE.

Have you e'er seen, bathed in the morning dew, The budding rose its infant bloom display? When first its virgin tints unfold to view,

It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day.

So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came,

Youth's damask glow just dawning on her cheek; I gazed, I sighed, I caught the tender flame, Felt the fond pang, and drooped with passion weak.

EXTRACTS FROM "THE GOOD-NATURED MAN."

An Apartment in Young Honeywood's house. Enter SIR WILLIAM HONEYWOOD and JARVIS.

Sir W. Good Jarvis, make no apologies for this honest bluntness. Fidelity like yours is the best excuse for every freedom.

Jar. I can't help being blunt, and being very angry too, when I hear you talk of disinherit

The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug. ing so good, so worthy a young gentleman, as

A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, That dimly show'd the state in which he lay; The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread; The humid wall with paltry pictures spread; The royal Game of Goose was there in view,

your nephew, my master. All the world loves him.

Sir W. Say, rather, that he loves all the world; that is his fault.

Jar. I am sure there is no part of it more

dear to him than you are, though he has not tunity of being about him, without being seen you since he was a child.

known. What a pity it is, Jarvis, that any man's good-will to others should produce so much neglect of himself as to require correction; yet there are some faults so nearly allied to excellence, that we can scarce weed out the

Sir W. What signifies his affection to me, or how can I be proud of a place in a heart where every sharper and coxcomb find an easy entrance? Jar. I grant you that he's rather too good-vice without eradicating the virtue. natured; that he's too much every man's man; that he laughs this minute with one, and cries the next with another; but whose instructions may he thank for all this?

Sir W. Not mine, sure! My letters to him, during my employment in Italy, taught him only that philosophy which might prevent, not defend, his errors.

Jar. Faith! begging your honour's pardon, this same philosophy is a good horse in the stable, but an errant jade on a journey. Whenever I hear him mention the name on't, I am always sure he is going to play the fool. Sir W. Don't let us ascribe his faults to his philosophy, I entreat you. No, Jarvis; his good-nature arises rather from his fears of offending the importunate than his desire of making the deserving happy.

Jar. What it rises from I don't know; but, to be sure, everybody has it that asks it.

Sir W. Ay, or that does not ask it. I have been now for some time a concealed spectator of his follies, and find them as boundless as his dissipation.

Jar. And yet, faith, he has some tine name or other for them all. He calls his extravagance generosity, and his trusting everybody universal benevolence. It was but last week he went security for a fellow whose face he scarce knew, and that he called an act of exalted mu-mu-munificence;-ay, that was the name he gave it.

Sir W. And upon that I proceed, as my last effort, though with very little hopes to reclaim him. That very fellow has just absconded, and I have taken up the security. Now my intention is to involve him in fictitious distress, before he has plunged himself in real calamity; to arrest him for that very debt, to clap an officer upon him, and then let him see which of his friends will come to his relief.

Jar. Well, if I could but any way see him thoroughly vexed-yet, faith, I believe it is impossible. I have tried to fret him myself every morning these three years; but, instead of being angry, he sits as calmly to hear me scold, as he does to his hairdresser.

Sir W. We must try him once more, however; and I don't despair of succeeding; as, by your means, I can have frequent oppor

[Miss Richland, who is an heiress, and loves young Honeywood, has just been informed that he is in the custody of two bailiffs in his own house, and determines to see for herself. She sets out for his house attended by her maid Garnet.]

Scene-Young Honeywood's House.

Bailiff, Honeywood, Follower.

Bailiff. Look ye, sir, I have arrested as good men as you in my time; no disparagement of you neither. Men that would go forty guineas on a game of cribbage. I challenge the town to show a man in more genteeler practice than myself.

Honeyw. Without all question, Mr. forget your name, sir?

I

Bailiff. How can you forget what you never knew? he, he, he!

Honeyw. May I beg leave to ask your name?
Bailiff. Yes, you may.

Honeyw. Then, pray, sir, what is your name?

Bailiff. That I didn't promise to tell you; he, he, he! A joke breaks no bones, as we say among us that practise the law.

Honeyw. You may have reason for keeping it a secret, perhaps.

Bailiff. The law does nothing without reason. I'm ashamed to tell my name to no man, sir. If you can show cause, as why, upon a special capus, that I should prove my name -But, come, Timothy Twitch is my name. And, now you know my name, what have you to say to that?

Honeyw. Nothing in the world, good Mr. Twitch, but that I have a favour to ask, that's all.

Bailiff. Ay, favours are more easily asked than granted, as we say among us that practise the law. I have taken an oath against granting favours. Would you have me perjure myself?

Honeyw. But my request will come recommended in so strong a manner, as, I believe, you'll have no scruple. (Pulling out his purse.) The thing is only this: I believe I shall be able to discharge this trifle in two or three days at farthest; but as I would not have the

affair known for the world, I have thought of keeping you, and your good friend here, about me till the debt is discharged; for which I shall be properly grateful.

Bailiff. Oh! that's another maxum, and altogether within my oath. For certain, if an honest man is to get anything by a thing, there's no reason why all things should not be done in civility.

Honeyw. Doubtless, all trades must live, Mr. Twitch, and yours is a necessary one. (Gives him money.)

Bailiff. Oh! your honour; I hope your honour takes nothing amiss as I does, as I does nothing but my duty in so doing. I'm sure no man can say I ever give a gentleman, that was a gentleman, ill usage. If I saw that a gentleman was a gentleman, I have taken money not to see him for ten weeks together.

Honeyw. Tenderness is a virtue, Mr. Twitch. Bailiff. Ay, sir, it's a perfect treasure. I love to see a gentleman with a tender heart. I don't know, but I think I have a tender heart myself. If all that I have lost by my heart was put together, it would make a--but no matter for that.

Honeyw. Don't account it lost, Mr. Twitch. The ingratitude of the world can never deprive us of the conscious happiness of having acted with humanity ourselves.

Bailiff. Humanity, sir, is a jewel. It's better than gold. I love humanity. People may say that we in our way have no humanity; but I'll show you my humanity this moment. There's my follower here, little Flanigan, with a wife and four children, a guinea or two would be more to him than twice as much to another. Now, as I can't show him any humanity myself, I must beg you'll do it for me.

Honeyw. I assure you, Mr. Twitch, yours is a most powerful recommendation. (Giving money to the Follower.)

Bailiff. Sir, you're a gentleman. I see you know what to do with your money. But, to business: we are to be with you here as your friends, I suppose. But set in case company comes.-Little Flanigan here, to be sure, has a good face; a very good face: but then, he is a little seedy, as we say among us that practise the law. Not well in clothes. Smoke the pocket-holes.

ment. We must improve, my good friend, little Mr. Flanigan's appearance first. Here, let Mr. Flanigan have a suit of my clothesquick-the brown and silver-Do you hear? Servant. That your honour gave away to the begging gentleman that makes verses, because it was as good as new.

Honeyw. The white and gold then. Servant. That, your honour, I made bold to sell because it was good for nothing. Honeyw. Well, the first that comes to hand then. The blue and gold. I believe Mr. Flanigan will look best in blue.

[Exit FLANIGAN.

Bailiff. Rabbit me, but little Flanigan will look well in anything. Ah, if your honour knew that bit of flesh as well as I do, you'd be perfectly in love with him. There's not a prettier scout in the four counties after a shycock than he. Scents like a hound; sticks like a weasel. He was master of the ceremonies to the black queen of Morocco when I took him to follow me. [Re-enter FLANIGAN.] Heh, ecod, I think he looks so well, that I don't care if I have a suit from the same place for myself.

Honeyw. Well, well, I hear the lady coming. Dear Mr. Twitch, I beg you'll give your friend directions not to speak. As for yourself, I know you will say nothing without being directed.

Bailiff. Never you fear me, I'll show the lady that I have something to say for myself as well as another. One man has one way of talking, and another man has another, that's all the difference between them.

Enter MISS RICHLAND and her Maid.

Miss Rich. You'll be surprised, sir, with this visit. But you know I'm yet to thank you for choosing my little library.

Honeyw. Thanks, madam, are unnecessary, as it was I that was obliged by your commands. Chairs here. Two of my very good friends, Mr. Twitch and Mr. Flanigan. Pray, gentlemen, sit without ceremony.

Miss Rich. Who can these odd-looking men be? I fear it is as I was informed. It must be so. [Aside. Bailiff (after a pause). Pretty weather, Honeyw. Well, that shall be remedied with- very pretty weather, for the time of the year, out delay.

Enter Servant.

Servant. Sir, Miss Richland is below.

Honeyw. How unlucky! Detain her a mo

madam.

Follower. Very good circuit weather in the country.

Honeyw. You officers are generally favourites among the ladies. My friends, madam,

have been upon very disagreeable duty, I assure you. The fair should, in some measure, recompense the toils of the brave.

Miss Rich. Our officers do indeed deserve every favour. The gentlemen are in the marine service, I presume, sir?

Honeyw. Why, madam, they do-occasionally serve in the Fleet, madam. A dangerous service.

Miss Rich. I'm told so. And I own, it has often surprised me, that, while we have had so many instances of bravery there, we have had so few of wit at home to praise it.

Honeyw. I grant, madam, that our poets have not written as our soldiers have fought; but they have done all they could, and Hawke or Amherst could do no more.

Miss Rich. I'm quite displeased when I see a fine subject spoiled by a dull writer.

Honeyw. We should not be so severe against dull writers, madam. It is ten to one, but the dullest writer exceeds the most rigid French critic who presumes to despise him.

Bailiff. That's all my eye. The king only can pardon, as the law says; for set in case—— Honeyw. I'm quite of your opinion, sir. I see the whole drift of your argument. Yes, certainly our presuming to pardon any work, is arrogating a power that belongs to another. If all have power to condemn, what writer can be free?

Bailiff. By his habus corpus. His habus corpus can set him free at any time. For set in case

Honeyw. I'm obliged to you, sir, for the hint. If, madam, as my friend observes, our laws are so careful of a gentleman's person, sure we ought to be equally careful of his dearer part, his fame.

Follower. Ay, but if so be a man's nabbed, you know

Honeyw. Mr. Flanigan, if you spoke for ever you could not improve the last observation. For my own part I think it conclusive.

Bailiff. As for the matter of that, mayhap— Honeyw. Nay, sir, give me leave in this in

Follower. D the French, the parle vous, stance to be positive. For where is the necessity and all that belong to them!

Miss Rich. Sir!

Honeyw. Ha, ha, ha, honest Mr. Flanigan. A true English officer, madam; he's not contented with beating the French, but he will scold them too.

Miss Rich. Yet, Mr. Honeywood, this does not convince me but that severity in criticism is necessary. It was our first adopting the severity of French taste that has brought them in turn to taste us.

Bailiff. Taste us! By the Lord, madam, they devour us. Give Monseers but a taste, and they come in for a bellyful.

Miss Rich. Very extraordinary this. Follower. But very true. What makes the bread rising? the parle vous that devour us. What makes the mutton five pence a pound? the parle vous that eat it up. What makes the beer three-pence halfpenny a pot—

Honeyw. Ah! the vulgar rogues, all will be out. (Aside.) Right, gentlemen, very right, upon my word, and quite to the purpose. They draw a parallel, madam, between the mental taste and that of our senses. We are injured as much by French severity in the one, as by French rapacity in the other. That's their meaning.

Miss Rich. Though I don't see the force of the parallel, yet, I'll own, that we should sometimes pardon books, as we do our friends that have now and then agreeable absurdities to recommend them.

of censuring works without genius, which must shortly sink of themselves: what is it, but aiming our unnecessary blow against a victim already under the hands of justice?

Bailiff. Justice! O, by the elevens, if you talk about justice, I think I am at home there; for, in a course of law—

Honeyw. My dear Mr. Twitch, I discern what you'd be at perfectly, and I believe the lady must be sensible of the art with which it is introduced. I suppose you perceive the meaning, madam, of his course of law?

Miss Rich. I protest, sir, I do not. I perceive only that you answer one gentleman before he has finished, and the other before he has well begun.

Bailiff Madam, you are a gentlewoman, and I will make the matter out. This here question is about severity and justice, and pardon, and the like of they. Now to explain the thing

Honeyw. O! curse your explanations.

[Aside.

Enter Servant. Servant. Mr. Leontine, sir, below, desires to speak with you upon earnest business.

Honeyw. That's lucky. (Aside.) Dearmadam, you'll excuse me and my good friends here for a few minutes. There are books, madam, to amuse you. Come, gentlemen, you know I make no ceremony with such friends. After you, sir. Excuse me. Well, if I must; but I know your natural politeness.

Bailiff. Before and behind, you know. Follower. Ay, ay; before and behind, before and behind.

[Exeunt Honeywood, Bailiff, and Follower. Miss Rich. What can all this mean, Garnet? Gar. Mean, madam? Why, what should it mean but what Mr. Lofty sent you here to see? These people he calls officers are officers sure enough-sheriff's officers.

Miss Rich. Ay, it is certainly so. Well, though his perplexities are far from giving me pleasure, yet I own there's something very ridiculous in them, and a just punishment for his dissimulation.

Gar. And so they are. But I wonder, madam, that the lawyer you just employed to pay his debts and set him free has not done it this time; he ought at least to have been here before now.

SIR WILLIAM HONEYWOOD alone.
Enter JARVIS.

Sir W. How now, Jarvis? Where's your master, my nephew?

Jar. At his wit's end, I believe. He is scarce gotten out of one scrape but he's running

his head into another.

Sir W. How so?

young

Jar. The house has but just been cleared of the bailiffs, and now he's again engaging, tooth and nail, in assisting old Croaker's son to patch up a clandestine match with the lady that passes in the house for his sister. Sir W. Ever busy to serve others. Jar. Ay, anybody but himself. The young couple, it seems, are just setting out for Scotland, and he supplies them with money for the journey.

Sir W. Money! How is he able to supply others, who has scarce any for himself?

Jar. Why, there it is; he has no money, that's true; but then, as he never said no to any request in his life, he has given them a bill drawn by a friend of his upon a merchant in the city, which I am to get changed; for you must know that I am to go with them to Scotland myself.

Sir W. How?

Jar. It seems the young gentleman is obliged to take a different road from his mistress, as he is to call upon an uncle of his that lives out of the way, in order to prepare a place for their reception when they return; so they have borrowed me from my master, as the properest person to attend the young lady down.

Sir W. To the land of matrimony? A pleasant journey, Jarvis!

Jar. Ay, but I'm only to have all the fatigues on't.

Sir W. Well, it may be shorter and less fatiguing than you imagine. I know but too much of the young lady's family and connections, whom I have seen abroad. I have also discovered that Miss Richland is not indifferent to my thoughtless nephew; and will endeavour, though I fear in vain, to establish that connection. But come, the letter I wait for must be almost finished; I'll let you further into my intentions in the next room.

[Exeunt.

[Sir William and Jarvis by a well-contrived plot manage to bring all parties together at an inn, where old Croaker's son and his intended wife, whom the nephew thought to assist, are forced to remain because of the bill being protested, and no money to be had. They reproach young Honeywood with trying to betray them. While he attempts to explain, his Uncle and Miss Richland appear. Sir William makes peace for the runaways with the father, old Croaker. Miss Richland and young Honeywood are to be married, and all ends with this advice from Sir William to his nephew.]

Sir W. Henceforth, nephew, learn to respect yourself. He who seeks only for applause from without has all the happiness in another's keeping.

Hon. Yes, sir; I now too plainly perceive my errors-my vanity, in attempting to please all, by fearing to offend any; my meanness in approving folly, lest fools should disapprove. Henceforth it shall be my study to reserve my pity for real distress; my friendship for true merit; and love for her who first taught me what it is to be happy.

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