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RECITATIVE.

Oh, how my passion's rising, But this is triling with the hot disease,

And thumping in my breast; Nor wine, nor brandy now can give ine ease.

'Tis something most surprising, I shall be doubly blest.

AIR.

RECITATIVE.

He's here-Now prosper, Love, my undertaking. I ll steal aside I'm in a piteous quaking.

SCENE III.

JUNO, BACCHUS.

BACCHUS.

When a jolly toper ails,

And his nectar bottle fails,
He's in a most heavenly condition:

Unless he can drink,

To the grave he must sink,
And death be his only physician.

RECITATIVE.
Zounds, can't I guess the cause-hum-could I

say a Short prayer or two, with pretty mistress Maia. Ab! there it is! why I was woundy stupid ! Faith, this is all the handy work of Cupid. Since I'm in love then, over ears and head in, 'Tis time to look about for bed and bedding: But first uncovering, in this magic helmet, I'll show the god that love and wine are well met.

AIR.

Fill the bowl, and fill it high,
Vast as the extended sky,
Since the dire disease is found,
Wine's a balm to cure the wound:
O the rapturous delights!
When with women wine unites.

RECITATIVE.
Now, pretty mistress Maia, I'm your humble
But faith, I'd better look before I tumble;
For should the little gipsey make resistance,
And call in witnesses to her assistance;
Then, Bacchus, should your friendsor sister fail ye,
You'll look confounded queer at the Old Bailey

AIR.
The man that has no friend at court,
Must make the laws confine his sport;
But he that has, by dint of flaws,
May make his sport confine the laws.

RECITATIVE.
Zounds! I've a project, and a fine one too;
What will not passion and invention do?
I'll imitate the voice and sound of Jove,
The girl's ambition wont withstand his love:
But should she squall, and cry a rape,

and scream on't,

[on't Presto, I'm gone, and Jove will bear the blame The farce begins, the prologue's wond'rous teasing, Pray Cupid, the catastrophe be pleasing.

RECITATIVE.

O here, my satyrs, fill the mighty cup, Haste, fly, begone, I'm dying for a sup.

AIR,

AIR.

I'll fly to her arms,

And rifle her charms, la kisses and compliments lavish;

When heated by wine,

If she should not incline, I'll try all my courage, and rarisb.

SCENE II.

A dark room.

JUNO.

Oh! where is my Maia? O say
What shadow conceals the fair maid;
Bring hither the lantern of day,
And show me where Maia is laid,
Envious vapours, fly away;
Coine ye streaming lights, discover,
To an ardent, ng lover,
Maia and the charms of day.

JUNO.
RECITATIVE.

inside, I have you fast by all my wrongs I 'll fit ye, Wise as you are, perhaps I may outwit ye.

RECITATIVE.

, master Jupiter, l'll catch you nappingGad, you 'll be finely hamper'd your own trap in. Would ev'ry husband follow your example, And take upon himself his own adorning, No more would wives upon their trammels trample; No more would stand the ancient trade of horning.

AIR.

[blocks in formation]

But say,

It seems some assignation was intended,

Rise, ye glories of the day,
I'd pump it—but least said is soonest mended. Rise at once with strengthen'd ray.

[udden light, all astonished. AIR.

BACCHUS.
Happy, happy, happy hour!
Cupid now exalts his power;

Zounds, what can this mean!
In my breast the passion raging,

JUNO, All my trembling frame engaging,

I am all confusion!
Sets my every sense on fire:
Let us, Maia, now retire,

JUPITER.
JUNO.

Your pardon, Juno, for this rude intrusion.

Insatiate monster! I may now be jealous; RECITATIVE.

If I've my mistresses, you have your fellows : should I resign my virgin charms,

I'm now a very husband without doubt, Would you be ever constant to my arms? I feel the honours of my forehead sprout. Would not your Juno rob me of your kindness?

AIR.
Must you not truckle to her royal highness?

Was it for this, from morning to night
BACCHUS.

Tempests and hurricanes dwelt on your tongue; No! by the dirty waves of Styx I swear it,

Ever complaining of coldness and slight,
My love is your's, my wife shall never share it.

And the same peal was eternally rung?
JUNO.

[aside. Was it for this I was stinted of joy,

Pleasure and happiness banish'd my breast, 'Tis a sad compliment, but I must bear it.

Poison'd with fondness which ever must cloy, BACCHUS.

Pinn'd to your sleeve, and deny'd to be blest?
AIR.

RECITATIVE.
Then let's away,

I swear by Styx, and that's an horrid oath,
And never delay,

I'll have revenge, and that upon you both. 'Tis folly to stay

JUNO.
From rapture and love;
I sicken, I die;

Nay, hear me, Jove, by all that's serious too,
O come let us fly,

I swear I took the drunken dog for you.
From the blue vaulted sky

BACCHUS.
To the Paphian Grove.

And with as safe a conscience, I can say, as
JUNO.

I now stand here, I thought the chamber Maja's.
Then away,

JUPITER.
I obey

It cannot be-
Love and nature;

AIR,
BACCHUS.
Since 'tis so,

l'll not be cheated,

Nor be treated
Dearest creature!

Like the plaything of your will.“

JUNO.
SCENE IV.

I'll not be slighted,
JUNO, BACCHUS, JUPITER.

I 'll be righted,
JUPITER.

And I'll keep my spirits still.
RECITATIVE.

JUPITER.

[To Bacchura I heard a voice within, or else I'm tipsey

You pitiful cullyMaia, where are you? Come, you little gipsey.

JUNO and BACCHUS. [To Jupiter BACCHUS.

You rakebelly bully, Maia's with me, sir; who the devil are ye?

Your blustering,
Sirrah, be gone; I'll trim you if you tarry.

Clattering,
JUPITER.

Flustering,

Spattering, Fine lingo this to Jupiter!-Why truly

Thundering,
I'm Jove the thund'rer

Blundering,
JUNO.

I defy.
Out, you rascal, you lie-

JUPITER.
BACCHUS.

Go mind your toping, 'Tis I am Jupiter, I wield the thunder!

Never come groping Zounds, I'll sneak off before they find the blunder.

Into my quarters, I desire, pir: [aside.

Here you come homing,

And adorning-
JUPITER.
Breaking from above, below

JUNO,
Flow, ye gleams of morning, flow:

You are a liar, sir,

Let us go,

CUPID.

PACCHUS,

JUNO.
You lie, sir, you lie.

Then contented I resign

My prerogative of scolding;
SCENE V.

Quiet when thy lore is mine,

When my arms with thine are folding.
JUNO, BACCHUS, JUPITER, CUPID.

CUPID

Then, jolly Bacchus, why should we stand out, RECITATIVE.

If we have quarrelled, zounds we'll drink about. Here are the lovers all at clapper-clawing;

AIR.
A very pretty scene for Collett's drawing.
Oho, immortals, why this catterwauling?

Love and wine uniting,

Rule without controul,
Through all Olympus I have heard your bawling.

Are to the sense delighting,
JUNO.

And captivate the soul.
Ah! Cupid, your fine plotting, with a pox,

Love and wine uniting, Has set all in the wrong box.

Are every where ador’d; Unravel quickly, for the thund'rer swears

Their pleasures are inviting,
To pull creation down about our ears.

All Heav'n they can afford.
CUPID.

BACCHUS.
AIR.

Zounds, I agree, 'tis folly to oppose it:
Attend! Attend! Attend !

Let's pay our duty here, and then we'll close it.
God, demi-god, and fiend,

AIR,

[To the audience. Mortals and immortais see,

To you, ye brave, ye fair, ye gay,
Hither turn your wond'ring eyes,

Permit me from myself to say;
See the rulers of the skies

The juicy grape

for
you

shall rise,
Conquer'd all, and slaves to me.

In all the colours of the skies;
JUPITER.

For you the vine's delicious fruit

Shall on the lofty mountains shoot;
RECITATIVE.

And ev'ry wine to Bacchus dear
Pox o'your brawling ! haste, unriddle quickly, Shall sparkle in perfection here.
Or by the thunder of my power l'll tickle ye.

CUPID.
CUPID.

For you, ye fair, whose heavenly charms
You, Jove, as punctual to your assignation, Make all my arrows useless arms;
Came here with Maia to be very happy;

For you shall Handel's lofty Alight
But Juno, out of a fond inclination,

Clash on the list'ning ear of night, Stept in her room, of all your love to trap ye.

And the soft melting sinking lay Struck by my power, which the slave dar'd despise, In gentle accents die away: Bacchus was wounded too by Maia's eyes,

And not a whisper shall appear, And hither stealing to appease his love,

Which modesty would blush to hear. Thought Juno Maia; she thought Bacchus Jove.

JUNO. Here rests the matter:-are you all contented?

Ye brave, the pillars of the state,

In valour and in conduct great, No! No! not I

For you the rushing clang of arms,

The yell of battle and alarms,
BACCHUS.

Shall from the martial trumpets fly,
I'm glad I was prevented. And echo through the mantling sky.

JUPITER
JUPITER.

[ Aside. A lucky disappointment, on my life,

From you, ye glories of mankind, All love is thrown away upon a wife:

We hope a firm support to find; How sad! my interruption could not please her.

All that our humble powers can do She moves my pity

Shall be displayed to pleasure you;

On you we build a wish'd success,
CUPID.

"Tis yours, like deities to bless.
Soften, Jore, and ease her.

Your smiles will better every scene,

And clothe our barren waste in green.
JUPITER.

CHORUS.
Juno, thy hand, the girls no more I'll drive at,

So when along the eastern skies,
I will be ever thine-orwench more private. [Aside.

The glories of the morning rise,
AIR.

The humble flower wbich slept the night,
Smooth the furrows of thy brow,

Expands its beauties to the light,

Glows in its glossy new array,
Jove is all the lover now;

And shines amidst the shining day,
Others he'll no more pursuie,
But be ever fix'd to you.

End of the Revenge

JUNO.

SONGS,

Young Colin has a comely face,

And cudgels with an active grace,
A BACCHANALIAN.

In every thing complete;

But Hobbinol can dance divine,
SUNG BY MR. REINHOLD.

Gods! how his manly beauties shine,
Baccuus, ever smiling power,

When jigging with his feet.
Patron of the festive hour!

Roger is very stout and strong,
Here thy genuine nectar roll

And Thyrsis sings a heavenly song,
To the wide capacious bowl,

Soft Giles is brisk and small.
While gentility and glee

Who shall I choose who shall I shun?
Make these gardens worthy thee.

Why must I be confin'd to one?
Bacchus, ever mirth and joy,

Why can't I have them all?
Laughing, wanton, happy boy!
Here advance thy clustered crown,
Send thy purple blessings down;

THE HAPPY PAIR.
With the Nine to please conspire,

STREPHON.
Wreath the ivy round the lyre.

Lucy, since the knot was tyd,

Which confirm'd thee Strephon's bride, THE INVITATION.

All is pleasure, all is joy,

Married love can never cloy;
TO BE SUNG BY MRS. BARTHELEMON AND

Learn, ye rovers, learn from this,
MASTER CHENEY.

Marriage is the road to bliss.
Away to the woodlands, away!

LUCY. The shepherds are forming a ring

Whilst thy kindness ev'ry hour To dance to the honour of May,

Gathers pleasure with its power, And welcome the pleasures of Spring.

Love and tenderness in thee 'The shepherdess labours a grace,

Must be happiness to me. And shines in her Sunday's array,

Learn, ye rovers, learn from this, And bears in the bloom of her face

Marriage is substantial bliss.
The charms and the beauties of May.

BOTH,
Away to the woodlands, away!
The shepherds are forming a ring, &c.

Godlike Hymen, ever reign,

Ruler of the happy train, Away to the woodlands, away!

Lift thy flaming torch above, And join with the amorous train:

All the flights of wanton love, 'Tis treason to labour to day,

Peaceful, solid, blest, serene, Now Baccins and Cupid must reign.

Triumph in the married scene,
With garlands of primroses made,

STREPRON.
And crown'ol with the sweet blooming spray,
Thro' woodland, and meadow, and shade,

Blest with thee, the sultry day
We'll dance to the honour of May.

Flies on wings of down away,
Away to the, &c.

Lab'ring o'er the yellow plain,
Open to the sun and rain,

All my painful labours fly,
A BACCHANALIAN.

When I think my Lucy's nigh.

LUCY.
Wat is war and all its jors?
Useless mischief, empty noise.

O my Strephon, could my heart
What are arms and trophies won?

Happiness to thee impart, Spangles glittering in the sun.

Joy should sing away the hour, Rosy Bacchus, give me wine;

Love should ev'ry pleasure show'r, Happiness is only thine!

Search my faithful breast, and see,

I am blest in loving thee. What is love without the bowl?

BOTH. 'Tis a languor of the soul: Crown'd with ivy, Venus charms,

Godlike Hymen, ever reign, Ivy courts me to her arms.

Ruler of the happy train, Bacchus, give me love and wine;

Lift thy naming torch above
Happiness is only thine!

All the flights of wanton love,
Peaceful, solid, blest, serene,

Triumph in the married scene.
THE VIRGIN'S CHOICE.
Young Strephon
as fair a swain,

RESIGNATION.
As e'er a shepherd of the plain
In all the hundred round;

[Copied from a poem in Chatterton's hand-writing But Ralph has tempting shoulders, true,

in the British Museum.] And will as quickly buckle to

Hail Resignation, hail ambiguous dame, As any to be found.

Thou Parthian archer in the fight of fame!

When thou hast drawn the mystic veil between, Long had she known the date of Grafton's power, 'Tis the poor minister's concluding scene.

And in her tablet mark'd his flying hour, Sheltered beneath thy pinions he withdraws, Rumour reports, a message from her cell And tells us his integrity's the cause.

Arrived but just three hours before he feil.
Sneaking to solitude he rails at state,

Well knew the subtle minister of state
And rather would be virtuous than be great, Her knowledge in the mysterics of fate,
Laments the impotence of those who guide, And catching every pension he could find,
And wishes public clamours may subside.

Obey'd the fatal summons and resign'd.
But while such rogues as North or Sandwich steer, Far in the north amidst whose dreary hills
Dur grievances will never disappear.

None hear the pleasant murin'ring sound of rills, Hail Resignation! 'tis from thee we trace Where no soft gale in dying raptures blows, The various villanies of power and place,

Or ought which bcars the look of verdure grows, When rascals, once but infamy and rags,

Save where the north wind cuts the solema yew Rich with a nation's ruin, swell their bags, And russet rushes drink the noxious dew, Purchase a title and a royal smile,

Dank exhalations drawn from stagnant moors, And pay to be distinguishably vile.

The morning dress of Caledonia's shores. When big with self importance' thus they shine, Upon a bleak and solitary plain Contented with their gleanings they resign. Expos'd to every storm of wind and rain, When ministers, unable to preside,

A humble cottage rear'd its lowly head, The tott'ring vehicle no longer guide,

Its roof with matted reeds and rushes spread, The powerful Thane prepares to kick his grace The walls were osiers daub'd with slimy clay, From all his glorious dignities of place,

One narrow entrance opend to the day; But still the honour of the action's thine,

Here liv'd a laird the ruler of his clan, And Grafton's tender conscience can resign. Whose fame thro' every northern mountaiu ran; Lament not Grafton that thy hasty fall

Great was his learning, for he long had been Turns out a public happiness to all,

A student at the town of Aberdeen, Still by your emptiness of look appear

Professor of all languages at once, The ruins of a inan who used to steer,

To him some reckoned Chappellow a dunce. Still wear that insignificance of face

With happy fluency he learn'd to speak Which dignifies you more than power or place. Syriac or Latin, Arabic or Greek.

Whilst now the constitution tottring stands Not any tongue in which Oxonians sing And needs the firm support of able hands, When they rejoice, or blubber with the king, Your grace stood foremost in the glorious cause To him appear’d unknown: with sapient look To shake the very basis of our laws,

He taught the Highland meaning of each crook. But thanks to Camden, and a noble few,

But often when to pastimes he inclin'd, They stemmd oppression's tide and conquer'd To give some relaxation to his mind, you.

He laid his books aside; forgot to read How can your prudence be completely prais'd To hunt wild goslings down the river Tweed, In flying from the storm yourself had rais'd, To chase a starving weezel from her bed, When the black clouds of discord veil'd the sky, And wear the spoil triumphant on his head. 'Twas more than prudence in your grace to fiy, 'Tis true his rent roll just maintain'd his state, For had the thunders burst upon your head But some in spite of poverty are great. Soon had you mingled with the headless dead. Tho' Famine sunk her impress on his face, Not Bute tho' here, the deputy of fate,

Still you might there his haughty temper trace, Could save so vile a minister of state.

Descended from a catalogue of kings Oft has the Carlton sybil prophesy'd

Whose warlike arts Mac Pherson sweetly sings; How long each minister of state should guide, He bore the majesty of monarchs past, And from the dark recesses of her cell,

Like a tall pine rent with the winter's blast, When Bute was absent, would to Stuart tell Whose spreading trunk and withered branches show The secret fates of senators and peers,

How glorious once the lordly tree night grow. What lord's exalted but to lose his ears,

Of all the warring passions in his breast What future plans the junto have design'd, Ambition still presided o'er the rest, What writers are with Rockingham combin'd, This is the spur which actuates us all, Who should accept a privy seal or rod,

The visionary height whence thousands fall, Who's lord lieutenant of the Land of Nod, The author's hobby-horse, the soldier's steed, What pension'd nobleman should hold his post, Which aids him in each military deed, What poor dependant scor'd without his host, The lady's dresser, looking glass and paint, What patriot big with popular applause

The warm devotion of the seeming saint. Should join the ministry and prop the cause, Sawney, the nobler ruler of the clan, With many secrets of a like import,

Had number'd o'er the riper years of mang, The daily tittle tattle of a court,

Graceful in stature, ravishing his mien, By common fame retail'd as office news

To make a conquest was but to be seen. In coffee-houses, taverns, cellars, stews.

Fir'd by ambition, he resolv'd to roam Oft from her secret casket would she draw

Far from the famine of his native home, A knotty plan to undermine the law,

To seek the warmer climate of the south, But tho' the council sat upon the scheme, And at one banquet feast his eyes and mouth. Time has discovered that 'tis all a dream.

In vain the am'rous Highland lass complain'd,

The son of monarchs would not be restrain'd, " A pen drawn through these words.

Clad in his native many-colour'd suit > Query, wretches?

Forth struts the walking majcsty of Bute.

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