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VIII.

A SONG.

HIGH state and honours to others impart,
But give me your heart:

That treasure, that treasure alone,
I beg for my own.

So gentle a love, so fervent a fire,
My soul does inspire;

That treasure, that treasure alone,

I beg for my own.

Your love let me crave;

Give me in possessing
So matchless a blessing;

That empire is all I would have.
Love's my petition,
All my ambition;
If e'er you discover
So faithful a lover,
So real a flame,
I'll die, I'll die.

So give up my game,

IX.

RONDELAY.

CHLOE found Amyntas lying,

All in tears upon the plain; Sighing to himself, and crying,

Wretched I, to love in vain!
Kiss me, dear, before my dying;
Kiss me once, and ease my pain!

Sighing to himself, and crying,
Wretched I, to love in vain!
Ever scorning and denying

To reward your faithful swain: Kiss me, dear, before my dying; Kiss me once, and ease my pain!

Ever scorning, and denying

To reward your faithful swain. Chloe, laughing at his crying,

Told him, that he lov'd in vain: Kiss me, dear, before my dying;

Kiss me once, and ease my pain!

Chloe, laughing at his crying,

Told him, that he lov'd in vain : But, repenting, and complying, When he kiss'd, she kiss'd again : Kiss'd him up before his dying;

Kiss'd him up, and eas'd his pain.

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A sigh or tear, perhaps, she'll give,

But love on pity cannot live.

Tell her that hearts for hearts were made,
And love with love is only paid.

Tell her my pains so fast increase,
That soon they will be past redress;
But ah! the wretch, that speechless lies,
Attends but death to close his eyes.

XI.

A SONG

TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY, GOING OUT OF THE TOWN IN

THE SPRING.

Ask not the cause, why sullen Spring
So long delays her flowers to bear;
Thy warbling birds forget to sing,

And winter storms invert the year:
Chloris is gone, and Fate provides
To make it Spring, where she resides.

Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;

She cast not back a pitying eye:
But left her lover in despair,

To sigh, to languish, and to die:
Ah, how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!

Great god of love, why hast thou made
A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invade,

And change the laws of every land? Where thou hadst plac'd such power before, Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.

When Chloris to the temple comes,

Adoring crowds before her fall; She can restore the dead from tombs, And every life but mine recal.

I only am by Love design'd

To be the victim for mankind.

XII. SONG,

FROM MARRIAGE A-LA-MODE'.

WHY should a foolish marriage vow,
Which long ago was made,
Oblige us to each other now,
When passion is decay'd?

We lov'd, and we lov'd, as long as we could,
Till our love was lov'd out of us both;

But our marriage is dead, when the pleasures are fled; 'Twas pleasure first made it an oath.

If I have pleasures for a friend,

And further love in store,

What wrong has he, whose joys did end,
And who could give no more?

There are several excellent songs in his King Arthur, which should have been copied, but that they are so interwoven with the story of the drama that it would be improper to separate them. There is also a song in Love in a Nunnery; and another in The Duke of Guise; but neither of them worth transcribing. N. Rr

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'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won

By Philip's warlike son:

Aloft in awful state

The godlike hero sate

On his imperial throne:

His valiant peers were plac'd around;

Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound: (So should desert in arms be crown'd)

The lovely Thais, by his side,

Sate, like a blooming eastern bride,
In flower of youth and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair!
None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair.

CHORUS.

Happy, happy, happy pair!
None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair.

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Revolving in his alter'd soul

The various turns of Chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole ; And tears began to flow.

CHORUS.

Revolving in his alter'd soul

The various turns of Chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole; And tears began to flow.

The mighty master smil'd, to see
That love was in the next degree:
'Twas but a kindred sound to move,
For pity melts the mind to love.

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures.
War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honour but an empty bubble;

Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying;

If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O think, it worth enjoying:
Lovely Thais sits beside thee,

Take the good the gods provide thee. The many rend the skies with loud applause; So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gaz'd on the fair

Who caus'd his care,

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again:

At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.

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Now strike the golden lyre again :

A louder yet, and yet a louder strain.

Break his bands of sleep asunder,

And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder.
Hark, hark, the horrid sound

Has rais'd up his head!

As awak'd from the dead,

And amaz'd, he stares around.

Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,

See the Furies arise:

See the snakes that they rear,

How they hiss in their hair,

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes'

Behold a ghastly band,

Each a torch in his hand!

Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,

And unbury'd remain
Inglorious on the plain:

Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew.

Behold how they toss their torches on high,
How they point to the Persian abodes,
And glittering temples of their hostile gods.
The princes applaud, with a furious joy;

JANUS.

XIII.

THE SECULAR MASQUE.

Enter JANUS.

CHRONOS, Chronos, mend thy pace,
An hundred times the rolling Sun
Around the radiant belt has run

In his revolving race.

Behold, behold the goal in sight,

Spread thy fans, and wing thy flight.

Enter CHRONOS with a scythe in his hand, and a globe on his back; which he sets down at his entrance. CHRONOS. Weary, weary of my weight,

Let me, let me drop my freight,
And leave the world behind.

I could not bear,

Another year,

The load of human-kind.

Enter Momus laughing.

MOMUS. Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! well hast thou

done

To lay down thy pack,

And lighten thy back,

The world was a fool, e'er since it begun,

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With horns and with hounds, I waken the day;

And hie to the woodland-walks away;
I tuck up my robe, and am buskin'd soon,
And tie to my forehead a wexing Moon.
I course the fleet stag, unkennel the fox,
And chase the wild goats o'er the summits
of rocks,

With shouting and hooting we pierce through the sky,

And Echo turns hunter, and doubles the

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With all our cost and care; But neither side a winner, For things are as they were. Cho. of all. The fools are only, &c.

VENUS.

Enter VENUS.

Calms appear, when storms are past;
Love will have his hour at last:
Nature is my kindly care;

Mars destroys, and I repair:

Take me, take me, while you may,
Venus comes not every day.

Cho. of all. Take her, take her, &c.
CHRONOS. The world was then so light,

MOмUs. Pointing to Diana.

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I scarcely felt the weight;

Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.
But, since the queen of pleasure left the
I faint, I lag,
[ground,

And feebly drag
The pondrous orb around.
All, all of a piece throughout;

Thy chase had a beast in view;

[To Mars.]Thy wars brought nothing about;
To Ven.] Thy lovers were all untrue.
JANUS. 'Tis well an old age is out,
CHRONOS. And time to begin a new.
Cho. of all.

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All, all of a piece throughout;
Thy chase had a beast in view:

Thy wars brought nothing about;

Thy lovers were all untrue.

'Tis well an old age is out,

And time to begin a new.

[Dance of huntsmen, nymphs, warriors, and lovers.]

XV.

SONG OF A SCHOLAR AND HIS MISTRESS,

WHO BEING CROSSED BY THEIR FRIENDS, FELL MAD FOR ONE ANOTHER; AND NOW FIRST MEET IN BEDLAM. [Music within.]

The lovers enter at opposite doors, each held by a keeper.

PHYLLIS. LOOK, look, I see-I see my love appear! 'Tis he-'Tis he alone;

For, like him, there is none:

'Tis the dear, dear man, 'tis thee, dear.

AMYNTAS. Hark, the winds war;

The foamy waves roar;

I see a ship afar:

Tossing and tossing, and making to the

But what 's that I view,

So radiant of hue,

[sbore:

St. Hermo, St. Hermo, that sits upon the

Ah! No, no, no.

[sails?

St. Hermo, never, never shone so bright; 'Tis Phyllis, only Phyllis, can shoot so fair a light:

'Tis Phyllis, 'tis Phyllis, that saves the ship alone,

For all the winds are hush'd, and the storm

is overblown.

PHYLLIS. Let me go, let me run, let me fly to his AMYNTAS. If all the fates combine,

And all the furies join,

[arms.

I'll force my way to Phyllis, and break through the charm.

[Here they break from their keepers, run to each other, and embrace.]

PHYLLIS. Shall I marry the man I love?

And shall I conclude my pains?
Now bless'd be the powers above,
I feel the blood bound in my veins;
With a lively leap it began to move,

And the vapours leave my brains. AMYNTAS. Body join'd to body, and heart join'd to To make sure of the cure, [heart, Go call the man in black, to mumble o'er his part.

PHYLLIS. But suppose he should stay-
AMYNTAS. At worst if he delay,

"Tis a work must be done,
We'll borrow but a day,

And the better, the sooner begun.
Cho. of both. At worst if he delay, &c.
[They run out together hand in hand.]

PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES.

I.

PROLOGUE,

SPOKEN THE FIRST DAY OF THE KING'S HOUSE ACTING AFTER THE FIRE.

So shipwreck'd passengers escape to land,
So look they, when on the bare beach they stand
Dropping and cold, and their first fear scarce o'er,
Expecting famine on a desert shore.

From that hard climate we must wait for bread,
Whence ev'n the natives, forc'd by hunger, fled.
Our stage does human chance present to view,
But ne'er before was seen so sadly true:
You are chang'd too, and your pretence to see
Is but a nobler name for charity.
Your own provisions furnish out our feasts,
While you the founders make yourselves the guests.
Of all mankind beside, Fate had some care,
But for poor Wit no portion did prepare,
'Tis left a rent-charge to the brave and fair.
You cherish'd it, and now its fall you mourn,
Which blind unmanner'd zealots make their scorn,
Who think that fire a judgment on the stage,
Which spar'd not temples in its furious rage.
But as our new-built city rises higher,
So from old theatres may new aspire,
Since Fate contrives magnificence by fire.
Our great metropolis does far surpass
Whate'er is now, and equals all that was:
Our wit as far does foreign wit excel,
And, like a king, should in a palace dwell.
But we with golden hopes are vainly fed,
Talk high, and entertain you in a shed:
Your presence here, for which we humbly sue,
Will grace old theatres, and build up new.

II.

PROLOGUE

SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF THE NEW HOUSE,
MARCH 26, 1674.

A PLAIN-BUILT house, after so long a stay,
Will send you half unsatisfy'd away;
When, fall'n from your expected pomp, you find
A bare convenience only is design'd.
You, who each day can theatres behold,
Like Nero's palace, shining all with gold,
Our mean ungilded stage will scorn, we fear,
And, for the homely room, disdain the cheer.
Yet now cheap druggets to a mode are grown,
And a plain suit, since we can make but one,
Is better than to be by tarnish'd gawdry known.
They, who are by your favours wealthy made,
With mighty sums may carry on the trade:
We, broken bankers, half destroy'd by fire,
With our small stock to humble roofs retire;
Pity our loss, while you their pomp admire.
For fame and honour we no longer strive,
We yield in both, and only beg to live:
Unable to support their vast expense,
Who build and treat with such magnificence;
That, like th' ambitious monarchs of the age,
They give the law to our provincial stage.
Great neighbours enviously promote excess,
While they impose their splendour on the less.
But only fools, and they of vast estate,
Th' extremity of modes will imitate,
The dangling knee-fringe, and the bib-cravat.
Yet if some pride with want may be allow'd,
We in our plainness may be justly proud:
Our royal master will'd it should be so;
Whate'er he 's pleas'd to own, can need no show:
That sacred name gives ornament and grace,
And, like his stamp, makes basest metals pass.
'Twere folly now a stately pile to raise,
To build a playhouse while you throw down plays;
While scenes, machines, and empty operas reign,
And for the pencil you the pen disdain :
While troops of famish'd Frenchmen hither drive,
And laugh at those upon whose alms they live:
Old English authors vanish, and give place
To these new conquerors of the Norman race.
More tamely than your fathers you submit;
You 're now grown vassals to them in your wit.
Mark, when they play, how our fine fops advance,
The mighty merits of their men of France,
Keep time, cry Bon, and humour the cadence.
Well, please yourselves; but sure 'tis understood,
That French machines have ne'er done England good.
I would not prophesy our house's fate:
But while vain shows and scenes you overrate,
'Tis to be fear'd-

That as a fire the former house o'erthrew,
Machines and tempests will destroy the new.

III..

EPILOGUE

ON THE SAME OCCASION.

THOUGH What our prologue said was sadly true,
Yet, gentlemen, our homely house is new,
A charm that seldom fails with-wicked you.

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