CHLOE refolved. A BALLAD.
Set to Mufic by Dr. GREEN. 1743.
$ Chloe on flowers reclin'd o'er the ftream,
She figh'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 ftream it was fickle, and hafted away,
It kifs'd the fweet banks, but no longer cou'd ftay;
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 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.
The flowers when gather'd, fo beauteous and sweet,
Now fade on her bosom, and die at her feet;
So fair in their bloom, and fo foul in decay,
Such Colin when prefent, and Colin away.
In rage and defpair from the ground fhe arofe,
And from her the flowers fo faded fhe throws ;
She weeps in the stream, and she fighs to the wind,
And refolves to drive Colin quite out of her mind.
But what her refolves when her Colin appear'd?
The ftream it flood 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.
Young GENTLEMEN at Mr. NEWCOME'S School at HACKNEY, 1748;
Spoken by Mr. J. Y. in the Character of FALSTAFF,
Pufh'd in upon the Stage by Prince HENRY.
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.
Amidft hot-blooded Hotspur's rebel strife,
By miracle of wit I fav'd my life,
And now ftand foolishly expos'd again
To th' hifling bullets of the critic's brain.
Go to, old lad, 'tis time that thou wert wiserThou art not fram'd for an epiloguizer.
There's Hal now, or his nimble fhadow Poins,
Strait in the back, and liffome in the loins,
Who wears his boot smooth as his mistress' skin,
And fhining as the glass fhe dreffes 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, bafhful grown,
For Shakespear's humour is not now my own.
I feel myself a counterfeiting afs;
And if for fterling wit I give you brass,
It is his royal image makes it pass.
Fancy now works; and here I ftand and ftew
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' fhe fhake their fides, think nature treason,
And fee one damn'd, ere laugh without a reason.
Then how fhall 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 chosen
The kingdom will, I think, fcarce raise the dozen.
So-be but kind, and countenance the cheat,
I'll in, and fwear to Hal-I've done the feat.
PROLOGUE to COMUS,
Perform'd for the Benefit of the General Hofpital at BATH, 1756.
Spoken by Mifs MORRISON, in the Character of a Lady
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 confcience ne'er was twitted.
The only one he never had committed.
Next, to my knight I plead. He-shook his head; Complain'd the ftocks were low-and trade was dead. In thefe Bath-charities a tax he'd found
More heavy than-four fhillings in the pound..
What with the play-house, hospital, and abbey,
A man was ftrip'd-unless he'd look quite fhabby.
Then fuch a train, and fuch expence to fit!
My lady, all the brats, and coufin Kit
He'd steal, himself-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 e;
But, for the play, he -wonder'd at their choice..
In Milton's days such stuff 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 should set fuch housewives in the ftocks.
Give you a guinea! z--ds! replied the beaft,
'Twou'd buy a ticket for a turtle-feast.
Think what a guinea-a-head might fet 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.
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