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WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE
A ROMAN KNIGHT, WHOM CÆSAR FORCED UPON
Preserved by Macrobius.*
What! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage,
* This translation was first printed in one of our Author's earliest works, "The Present State of Learning in Europe,' 12mo. 1759.
For Ah! too partial to my life's decline,
EPITAPH ON PURDON.*
Here lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed,
* This gentleman was educated at Trinity College, Dublin; but, having wasted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot-soldier. Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his discharge, and became a seribbler in the newspapers.
He translated Voltaire's Henriade
THE COMEDY OF THE SISTERS.
WHAT! five long acts—and all to make us
wiser ! Our authoress sure has wanted an adviser. Had she consulted me, she should have made Her moral play a speaking masquerade ; Warm'd up each bustling scene, and in her rage Have emptied all the green-room on the stage. My life on't this had kept her play from sink
ing ; Have pleas'd our eyes, and sav'd the pain of
thinking. Well, since she thus has shown her want of skill, What if I give a masquerade ?-I will. But how? aye, there's the rub! (pausing)
I've got my cue : The world's a masquerade ; the masquers, you, you, you. [To Boxps, Pit, and Gallery. Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses, False wit, false wives, false virgins, and false
spouses ! Statesmen with bridles on; and close beside'em, Patriots in party-colour'd suits that ride 'em. There Hebes, turn'd of fifty, try once more To raise a flame in Cupids of threescore. These in their turn, with appetites as keen, Deserting fifty, fasten on fifteen. Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon, Flings down her sampler, and takes up the wo
man; The little urchin smiles, and spreads her lure, And tries to kill, ere she's got power to cure, Thus 'tis with all their chief and constant
care Is, to seem every thing but what they are. Yon broad, bold, angry spark, I fix my eye on, Who seems t' have robb'd his vizor from the
Who frowns, and talks and swears, with round
parade, Looking, as who should say, Dam'me who's afraid ?
[Mimicking. Strip but this vizor off, and sure I am You'll find his lionship a very lamb. Yon politician famous in debate, Perhaps, to vulgar eyes, bestrides the state; Yet, when he deigns his real shape t' assume, He turns old woman, and bestrides a broom.
Yon patriot too, who presses on your sight,
WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight; Mira, too sincere for feigning,
Fears th' approaching bridal night. Yet why impair thy bright perfection,
Or dim thy beauty with a tear ? Had Mira follow'd my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear.