That recompence from each, which shame
Forbids a bashful Mufe to name.

Yet, more this fentence to difcover,
'Twas what Bet ** grants her lover,
When he, to make the ftrumpet willing,
Has spent his fortune-to a fhilling.
Each ftood a while, as 'twere fufpended,
And loth to do, what-each intended.
At length, with soft pathetic fighs,.
The matron, bent with age, replies
'Tis vain to ftrive-juftice, I know,
And our ill stars, will have it fo-
But let my tears your wrath affuage,
And fhew fome deference for age!
I from a distant village came,

Am old, God knows, and fomething lame;
And if we yield, as yield we must,
Dispatch my crazy body first.

Our fhepherd, like the Phrygian fwain,
When circled round on Ida's plain,
With goddeffes he ftood fufpended;
And Pallas's grave speech was ended,
Own'd what she ask'd might be his duty;
But paid the compliment to beauty.

O DE

ODE to be performed by Dr. BRETTLE, and a Chorus of HALES-OWEN CITIZENS.

The Inftrumental Part, a Viol d' Amour.

A

AIR by the DOCTOR.

WAKE! I fay, awake good people!

And be for once alive and gay;

Come let's be merry; ftir the tipple;

How can you fleep,

Whilst I do play? how can you sleep, &c.

CHORUS of CITIZENS.

Pardon, O! pardon, great musician!
On drowsy fouls fome pity take!
For wondrous hard is our condition,
To drink thy beer,

Thy ftrains to hear;

To drink,

To hear,

And keep awake!

SOLO by the DOCTOR.

Hear but this ftrain-'twas made by Handel,
A wight of skill, and judgment deep!
Zoonters they're gone-Sal, bring a candle-
No, here is one, and he 's asleep.

DUETTE.

Dr. How could they go

Whilft I do play?

Sal. How could they go!

How should they stay?

Soft mufic.

warlike mufic.

CUPID AND

PLUTUS.

WHEN Celia, Love's eternal foe,

To rich old Gomez firft was marry'd;

And angry Cupid came to know,

His fhafts had err'd, his bow miscarry'd; He figh'd, he wept, he hung his head,

On the cold ground, full sad, he laid him; When Plutus, there by fortune led,

In this defponding plight furvey'd him. And fure, he cry'd, you 'll own at last Your boafted power by mine exceeded:

Say, wretched boy, now all is past,

How little fhe your efforts heeded.

If with fuccefs you would affail,

Gild, Youngfter, doubly gild your arrows: Little the feather'd fhafts avail,

Though wing'd from Mamma's doves and spar

rows.

What though each reed, each arrow grew, Where Venus bath'd herfelf; depend on 't, "Twere more for ufe, for beauty too,

A diamond fparkled at the end on 't. Peace, Plutus, peace!-the boy reply'd; Were not my arts by your's infested,

I could each other power deride,

And rule this circle, unmolefted.

See

See yonder pair! no worldly views

In Chloe's generous breast refided:
Love bade her the fpruce valet chufe,

And the by potent love was guided. For this fhe quits her golden dreams, In her gilt coach no more she ranges : And her rich crimson, bright with gems, For cheeks impearl'd with tears, fhe changes. Though fordid Celia own'd your power, Think not fo monftrous my difgrace is: You gain'd this nymph-that very hour I gain'd a fcore in different places.

EPILOGUE to the Tragedy of CLEONE:

WELL, ladies-fo much for the tragic stile

And now the custom is to make you fmile.

To make us fmile !-methinks I hear

you fayWhy, who can help it, at so strange a play? The Captain gone three years !-and then to blame The faultlefs conduct of his virtuous dame! My ftars!-what gentle belle would think it treafon, When thus provok'd, to give the brute fome reason ? Out of my houfe!-this night, forfooth depart! A modern wife had faid-" With all my heartBut think not, haughty Sir, I'll go alone! Order your coach-conduct me safe to townGive me my jewels, wardrobe, and my maid— And pray take care my pin-money be paid."

Such is the language of each modish fair; Yet memoirs, not of modern growth, declare The time has been when modesty and truth Were deem'd additions to the charms of youth : When women hid their necks, and veil'd their faces, Nor romp'd, nor rak'd, nor ftar'd at public places, Nor took the airs of Amazons for graces : Then plain domestic virtues were the mode, And wives ne'er dreamt of happiness abroad; They lov'd their children, learnt no flaunting airs, But with the joys of wedlock mixt the cares. Thofe times are past-yet fure they merit praise, For marriage triumph'd in thofe golden days : By chafte decorum they affection gain'd;

By faith and fondness what they won, maintain’d.

'Tis yours, ye fair, to bring those days again,
And form anew the hearts of thoughtless men;
Make beauty's luftre amiable as bright,
And give the foul, as well as fenfe, delight;
Reclaim from folly a fantastic age,

That fcorns the prefs, the pulpit, and the stage.
Let truth and tenderness your breafts adorn,
The marriage chain with transport shall be worn;
Each blooming virgin rais'd into a bride
Shall double all their joys, their cares divide
Alleviate grief, compofe the jars of ftrife,
And pour the balm that fweetens human life.

MORAL