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Ε Ρ Ι:
Τ Α Ρ Η
DR. P A R N E L.
HIS tomb inscribed to gentle Parnel's name, May speak our gratitude, but not his fame. What heart but feels his sweetly-moral lay, That leads to truth through pleasure's flowery way? Celestial themes confess'd his tuneful aid ; And heaven, that lent him genius, was repaid. Needless to him the tribute we bestow, The transitory breath of fame below: More lasting rapture from his works shall rise, While converts thank their poet in the skies.
Ε Ρ Ι Ι Ο G 0 E
TO THE COMEDY OF THE
S I S T E R S.
The world's a masquerade ! the masquers, you, you, · you.
[To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery. Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses ! False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses ! Statesmen with bridles on ; and, close beside 'em, Patriots in party-colcur’d suits that ride 'em.
There Hebes, turn'd of fifty, try once more
the woman :
[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, beitrides 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 fight, And seems to every gazer, all in white, If with a bribe his candour you attack, He bows, turns round, and whip--the man is black! Yon critic, too-but whither do I run ? If I proceed, our bard will be undone ! Well then a truce, since the requests it too:
you spare her, and I'll for once spare you.