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CHLOE refolved. A BALLAD.

A$

By the Same,

Set to Mufic by Dr. GREEN. 1743.

I.

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

She figh'd to the breeze, and made Colin her theme; Tho' pleasant the ftream, and tho' cooling the breeze, And the flowers tho' fragrant, fhe panted for ease.

II.

The stream it was fickle, and hafted away,

It kifs'd the fweet banks, but no longer cou'd ftay;
Tho' beauteous inconftant, and faithlefs tho' fair,
Ah! Colin, look in, and behold thyself there.

III.

The breeze that fo fweet on its bofom did play,
Now rose to a tempeft, and darken'd the day.
As fweet as the breeze, and as loud as the wind,
Such Colin when angry, and Colin when kind.

IV.

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

V.

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

VI.

But what her refolves when her Colin appear'd?
The stream it stood ftill, and no tempeft was hear'd;
The flowers recover'd their beautiful hue:

She found he was kind, and believ'd he was true.

EPILOGUE to SHAKESPEAR'S firft Part of King HENRY IV.

ACTED BY

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.

A

By the Same.

Plague upon all cowards ftill I fay

Old Jack must bear the heat of all the day,
And be the mafter-fool beyond the play.
Amidst hot-blooded Hotfpur's rebel ftrife,
By miracle of wit I fav'd my life,
And now stand foolishly expos'd again
To th' hiffing bullets of the critic's brain.
Go to, old lad, 'tis time that thou wert wifer
Thou art not fram'd for an epiloguizer,

}

There's

There's Hal now, or his nimble shadow Poins,
Strait in the back, and lifsome in the loins,
Who wears his boot smooth as his mistress' skin,
And fhining as the glass she dresses in ;

Can bow and cringe, fawn, flatter, cog and lye
Which honeft 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 ftiff-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 pafs.

Fancy now works; and here I ftand and stew
In mine own greafy fears, which fet 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' fhe fhake their fides, think nature treason,
And fee 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 lawlefs ridicule ?
'Faith! try him by his peers, a jury chofen
The kingdom will, I think, scarce raise the dozen.
So-be but kind, and countenance the cheat,
I'll in, and fwear to Hal-I've done the feat.

PRO

X

**************

PROLOGUE to COMUS,

Perform'd for the Benefit of the General Hofpital at BATH, 1756.

By the Same.

Spoken by Mifs MORRISON, in the Character of a Lady of Fashion.

She enters with a Number of Tickets in her Hand.

WELL, 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 confider its rewards.

With healing hand the faddeft fores it skins,

And covers-oh!-a multitude of fins.

He fwore, the world was welcome to his thoughts: 'Twas damn'd hypocrify to hide one's faults;

And with that fin his confcieńce ne'er was twitted.

The only one he never had committed.

Next, to my knight I plead. He-fhook his head; Complain'd the stocks were low-and trade was dead. In thefe Bath-charities a tax he'd found

More heavy than-four fhillings in the pound.

What

What with the play-house, hofpital, and abbey,
A man was ftrip'd—unless he'd look quite shabby.
Then fuch a train, and fuch expence to fit!
My lady, all the brats, and coufin Kit
He'd steal, himfelf-perhaps-into the pit.
Old lady Slipflop, at her morning cards,
Vows that all works of genus fhe regards;
Raffles for Chinese Gods, card-houfes, fhells,
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 wife ;
But, for the play, he- -wonder'd at their choice.
In Milton's days fuch ftuff might be the taste,
But faith! he thought it was damn'd dull and chaste.
Then fwears, he to the charity is hearty,

But can't, in honour, break his evening party.
When to the gouty alderman I fued,

The nafty fellow, ('gad!) was downright rude.
Is begging grown the fashion, with a pox!
The mayor fhould fet fuch housewives in the ftocks.
Give you a guinea! z--ds! replied the beast,
'Twou'd buy a ticket for a turtle-feast.

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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