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CHLOE resolved.


By the Same.

Set to Mufic by Dr. GREEN. 1743.


S Chloe on flowers reclin'd o'er the stream,

She sigh’d to the breeze, and made Colin her theme ; Tho' pleasant the stream, and tho' cooling the breeze, And the flowers tho' fragrant, she panted for ease.

The stream it was fickle, and hasted away,
It kiss’d the sweet banks, but no longer cou'd stay ;
Tho' beauteous inconftant, and faithless tho' fair,
Ah! Colin, look in, and behold thyself there.

The breeze that so sweet on its bosom did play,
Now rose to a tempest, and darken'd the day.
As sweet as the breeze, and as loud as the wind,
Such Colin when angry, and Colin when kind.

The flowers when gather'd, so beauteous and sweet,
Now fade on her bosom, and die at her feet ;
So fair in their bloom, and so foul in decay,
Such Colin when present, and Colin away.

In rage and despair from the ground she arose,
And from her the flowers fo faded she throws;
She weeps in the stream, and she fighs to the wind,
And resolves to drive Colin quite out of her mind.

But what her resolves when her Colin appear'd?
The stream it stood ftill, and no tempest was hear'd;
The flowers recover'd their beautiful hue :
She found he was kind, and believ'd he was true.

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of King Henry IV.

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Young GENTLEMEN at Mr. Newcome's School

at HACKNEY,' 1748; Spoken by Mr. J. Y. in the Character of FALSTAFF,

Push'd in upon the Stage by Prince Henry,

By the Same.

Plague upon all cowards ftill I say

A old Jack muft bear the heat of all the day,


And be the master-fool beyond the play-
Amidst hot-blooded Hotspur's rebel strife,
By miracle of wit I fav’d my life,
And now stand foolishly expos’d again
To th' hifiing bullets of the critic's brain.

Go to, old lad, 'tis time that thou wert wiser.
Thou art not fram'd for an epiloguizer,


There's Hal now, or his nimble shadow Poins,
Strait in the back, and liffome in the loins,
Who wears his boot smooth as his mistress' skin,
And shining as the glass she dresses in;
Can bow and cringe, fawn, flatter, cog and lye-
Which honest Jack cou'd never do-not I.
Hal's heir-apparent face might stand it buff,
And make (ha! ha! ha!) a faucy epilogue enough;
But I am old, and stiff-nay, bashful grown,
For Shakespear's humour is not now my own.
I feel myself a counterfeiting ass;
And if for fterling wit I give you brass,
It is his royal image makes it pass.
Fancy now works; and here I stand and stew
In mine own greasy fears, which set to view
Eleven buckram critics in each man of you.
Wights, who with no out-faceings will be shamm’d,
Nor into rifibility be bamm'd;
Will, tho' she shake their fides, think nature treason,
And see one damn’d, ere - laugh without a reason.

Then how shall one not of the virtuous speed,
Who merely has a wicked wit to plead-
Wit without measure, humour without rule,
Unfetter'd laugh, and lawless ridicule ?
'Faith! try him by his peers, a jury chosen
* The kingdom will, I think, scarce raise the dozen.
So-be but kind, and countenance the cheat,
I'll in, and swear to Hal-I've done the feat.


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PROLOGUE to COMUS, Perform'd for the Benefit of the General Hospital at

BATH, 1756.

By the Same.

Spoken by Miss MORRISON, in the Character of a Lady

of Fashion.

She enters with a Number of Tickets in her Hand.

ELL, I've been beating up for volunteers, ,

But find that charity has got no ears.
I first attack'd a colonel of the guards
Sir, charity consider its rewards.
With healing hand the saddest fores it skins,
And covers-oh! a multitude of fins.
He swore, the world was welcome to his thoughts:
'Twas damn'd hypocrisy to hide one's faults ;
And with that fin his conscience ne'er was twitted
The only one he never had committed.

Next, to my knight I plead. He-shook his head;
Complain'd the stocks were low and trade was dead.
In these Bath-charities a tax he'd found
More heavy than--four shillings in the pound.


wise ;

What with the play-house, hospital, and abbey,
A man was strip'dunless he'd look quite shabby.
Then such a train, and such expence to fit!
My lady, all the brats, and cousin Kit
He'd steal, himself-perhaps-into the pit.

Old lady Slipflop, at her morning cards,
Vows that all works of genus she regards ;
Raffles for Chinese Gods, card-houses, shells,
Nor grudges to the music, or the bells,
But has a strange antiquity to nafty ofpitels.

I hope your lordship--- then my lord replies
No doubt, the governors are very
But, for the play, he -wonder'd at their choice.
In Milton's days such ftuff might be the taste,
But faith ! he thought it was damn'd dull and chafte.
Then swears, he to the charity is hearty,
But can't, in honour, break his evening party.

When to the gouty alderman I sued,
The nafty fellow, ('gad !) was downright rude.
Is begging grown the fashion, with a pox!
The mayor should fet fuch housewives in the stocks.
Give you a guinea! z--ds! replied the beast,
"Twou'd buy a ticket for a turtle-feaft.
Think what a guinea-a-head might set before ye-
Sir-mullet-turbot-and a grand John Dorey.
* I'll never give a groat, as I'm a finner,
Unless they gather 't in a dish, at dinner.


I trust,

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