Come, gentle Eve, the friend of care,
Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night!
Refresh me with a cooling breeze,

And cheer me with a lambent light.

Lay me, where o'er the verdant ground
Her living carpet Nature spreads;
Where the green bower, with roses crown'd,
In fhowers its fragrant foliage fheds.
Improve the peaceful hour with wine,
Let mufick die along the grove;
Around the bowl let myrtles twine,
And every ftrain be tun'd to love.
Come, Stella, queen of all my heart!
Come, born to fill its vaft defires!
Thy looks perpetual joys impart,
Thy voice perpetual love infpires.
Whilft all my wifh and thine complete,
By turns we languish and we burn,
Let fighing gales our fighs repeat,
Our murmurs—murmuring brooks return.

Let me when nature calls to rest,

And blushing skies the morn foretell,

Sink on the down of Stella's breast,

And bid the waking world farewell.

A

AUTUMN,

AN OD E.

LAS! with fwift and filent pace, Impatient time rolls on the year; The feasons change, and nature's face Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe.

'Twas

SCENE XIII.

HASAN, CARAZA, MUSTAPHA, MURZA.

MUSTAPHA TO MURZA.

What plagues, what tortures, are in ftore for thee,
Thou fluggish idler, dilatory flave!

Behold the model of confummate beauty,
Torn from the mourning earth by thy neglect !

MURZA.

Such was the will of Heav'n-A band of Greeks That mark'd my courfe, fufpicious of my purpose, Rush'd out and seiz'd me, thoughtless and unarm'd, Breathlefs, amaz'd, and on the guarded beach Detain'd me tili Demetrius fet me free.

MUSTAPHA.

So fure the fall of greatnefs rais'd on crimes!
So fix'd the juftice of all-confcious Heav'n!
When haughty guilt exults with impious joy,
Miftake shall blaft, or accident destroy;
Weak man with erring rage may throw the dart,
But Heav'n fhall guide it to the guilty heart.

M

EPILOGUE.

ARRY a Turk! a haughty, tyrant king!
Who thinks us women born to dress and fing

To please his fancy !-fee no other man!-
Let him perfuade me to it-if he can :
Befides, he has fifty wives; and who can bear
To have the fiftieth part her paltry share?

'Tis true, the fellow 's handsome, ftrait, and tall;
But how the devil should he please us all!
My fwain is little-true-but, be it known,
My pride's to have that little all my own.
Men will be ever to their errors blind,
Where woman 's not allow'd to speak her mind.
I swear this Eaftern pageantry is nonfenfe,

And for one man-one wife 's enough of confcience.

In vain proud man ufurps what's woman's due; For us alone, they honour's paths pursue: Infpir'd by us, they glory's heights afcend; Woman the fource, the object, and the end. Tho' wealth, and pow'r, and glory, they receive, These all are trifles to what we can give.

For us the statesman labours, hero fights,

Bears toilfome days, and wakes long tedious nights; And, when bleft peace has filenc'd war's alarins, Receives his full reward in beauty's arms.

PROLOGUE,

SPOKEN by Mr. GARRICK, APRIL 5, 1750,

Before the MASQUE of COMUS.

Acted at DRURY-LANE THEATRE, for the Benefit of MILTON'S Grand-Daughter *.

E patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame,

Whofe gen'rous zeal, unbought by flatt'ring rhymes,
Shames the mean penfions of Augustan times,
Immortal patrons of fucceeding days,
Attend this prelude of perpetual praise;
Let wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage
With close malevolence, or publick rage,
Let study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore,
Behold this theatre, and grieve no more.
This night, diftinguish'd by your finiles, fhall tell
That never Britain can in vain excel;
The flighted arts futurity fhall truft,
And rifing ages haften to be juft.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays
Fill the loud voice of univerfal praise ;
And baffled spite, with hopeless anguish dumb,
Yields to renown the centuries to come;
With ardent hafte each candidate of fame,
Ambitious, catches at his tow'ring name;
He fees, and pitying fees, vain wealth bestow
Those pageant honours which he fcorn'd below,
While crowds aloft the laureat buft behold,

Or trace his form on circulating gold.