Hie

away to the house on the brow,
Gaffer Gray;

And knock at the jolly priest's door.
"The priest often preaches
Against worldly riches;

But ne'er gives a mite to the poor,
Well-a-day!"

The lawyer lives under the hill,
Gaffer Gray;

Warmly fenc'd both in back and in front.
"He will fasten his locks,

And will threaten the stocks,

Should he ever more find me in want,
Well-a-day!"

The 'squire has fat beeves and brown ale,
Gaffer Gray;

And the season will welcome you there.
"The fat beeves and the beer,

And his merry new year,

And all for the flush and the fair,
Well-a-day!"

My keg is but low, I confess,

Gaffer Gray;

What, then, while it lasts, man, we'll live.

The

poor man alone,

When he hears the poor moan,

Of his morsel a morsel will give,

Well-a-day!

IMPROMPTU.

IMPROMPTU.

N systems as much out of sense as of season

Tom Pain names this age as the true age of reason;
But if right I can judge, or if right I can see,

It is treason he means, and he's right to a T.

Upon the promotion of Mr. GIBBON to the Board of Trade, in 1779.
By C. J. Fox, esq.

KING George in a fright,

Lest Gibbon should write
The story of Britain's disgrace,
Thought no means more sure,
His pen to secure,

Than to give the historian a place.

But his caution is vain;

'Tis the curse of his reign

That his projects should never succeed,
Tho' he write not a line,

Yet a cause of Decline,

In the author's example we read.

His book well describes

How corruption and bribes

Overthrew the great Empire of Rome;

And his writings declare

A degen'racy there,

Which his conduct exhibits at home.

OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE, written by the right hon. major-general Fitzpatrick, and spoken by Mr. Kemble, on opening of the Theatre-Royal, Drury-lane, with Shakespeare's Macbeth, Monday, April 21, 1794.

Aston shelter of a tranquil vale,
S tender plants, which dread the boist'rous gale,

Beneath fair Freedom's all-protecting wing
The liberal arts, secure from danger, spring;
Thro' ravag'd Europe now while discord reigns,
And War's dire conflicts desolate her plain,
O, lest they perish in this boasted age,
Once more the victims of barbarian rage,
Her shield to guard them let Britannia rear,
And fix, in safety, their asylum here!

Here

Here, where mild reason holds her temp'rate sway,
Where willing subjects equal laws obey,

Firm to that well-pois'd system, which unites
With Order's blessings Freedom's sacred rights.
'Mid wrecks of empires, England, be it thine,
A bright example to the world to shine,
Where Law on Liberty's just basis rear'd,
Of all the safeguard, is by all rever'd,

And stems alike, when clouds of discord low'r,
The storms of faction, and the strides of pow'r.
Hence have the muses on the lists of Fame,
With pride, recorded many a British name;
And on their votaries, in this lov'd abode,
Bright wreaths of never-fading bays bestow'd;
True to the cause of ev'ry English bard,
"Tis yours the just inheritance to guard.
What, though his vaulting Pegasus disdain
The servile check of too severe a rein,
Like untaught coursers of the Arab race,
He moves with freedom, energy, and grace;
With caution, then, the generous ardour tame,
Lest, while you chasten, you repress the flame;
Some licence temper'd judgement will permit
To Congreve's, Wycherly's, or Vanburgh's wit;
Nor, for an ill-tim'd ribald jest, refuse

A tear to Otway's, or a Southern's, muse;
But chief, with reverence watch his hallow'd bays,
To whom this night a monument we raise;
Beyond what sculptur'd marble can bestow-
The silent tribute of surviving woe-
Beyond the pow'rs of undecaying brass,
Or the proud pyramid's unmeaning mass;

A shrine more worthy of his fame we give,

Where, unimpair'd, his genius still may live;

Where, though his fire, the critic's rule transgress,
The glowing boson shall his cause confess;

Where Britain's sons, through each succeeding age,
Shall hail the founder of our English stage,

And, from the cavils of pedantic spleen,

Defend the glories of their Shakespeare's scene,

EPILOGUE, written on the same occasion, by George Colman, jun. esq. and spoken by Miss Farren.

WHAT part can speak-O, tell me, while I greet you

What character express my joy to meet you!

But

But feeling says, no character assume;
Let impulse dictate, and the soul have room.
Tame glides the smoothest poem ever sung,
To the heart's language, gushing o'er the tongue:
Cold the address the ablest scholar drew,

To the warm glow of crying-welcome you!
Welcome! thrice welcome to our new rear'd stage!
To this new æra of our drama's age!

Genius of Shakespeare, as in air you roam,
Spread your broad wings exulting o'er our dome!
Shade of our Roscius, view us with delight,
And hover smiling round your favourite site!
But to my purpose here--for I am sent
On deeds of import, and of deep intent;
Passion has had its scope, the burst is past,
And I may sink to character at last.

When some rich noble, vain of his virtù,
Permits the curious crowd his house to view;
When pictures, busts, and bronzes to display,
He treats the public with a public day,

That all the world may in their minds retain them,
He bids his dawdling housekeeper explain them;
Herself, when each original's expected,

The greatest that his lordship has collected.
A house now opens, which, we trust, insures
The approbation of the amateurs ;

Each part, each quality,-'tis fit you

know it

And I'm the housekeeper employ'd to show it.
Our pile is rock, more durable than brass;
Our decorations, gossamer, and gas.

Weighty, yet airy in effect, our plan,

Solid, though light,-like a thin alderman,

"Blow wind, come wreck," in ages yet unborn,

"Our castle's strength shall laugh a siege to scorn."

The very ravages of fire we scolit,

For we have wherewithal to put it out.

In ample reservoirs our firm reliance,

Whose streams set conflagration at defiance.

Panic alone avoid-let none begin it

Should the flame spread, sit still, there's nothing in it;
We'll undertake to drown you all in half a minute!
Behold, obedient to the prompter's bell,

Our tide shall flow, and real waters swell.
No river of meandering pasteboard made,

No gentle tinkling of a tin cascade,

No brook of broad-cloth shall be set in motion,
No ships be wreck'd upon a wooden ocean,
E e

VOL. XXXVI.

But the pure element its course shall hold,
Rush on the scene, and o'er our stage he roll'd. *
How like you our aquatics?-Need we fear
Some critic with a hydrophobia here,

Whose timid caution Caution's self migh tire,
And doubts, if water can extinguish fire?
If such there be, still let him rest secure;
For we have made " assurance double sure."
Consume the scenes, your safety yet is certain,
Presto! for proof, let down the iron curtain. †
Ah ye who live in this our brazen age,
Think on the comforts ot an iron stage;
Fenc'd by that mass, no perils do environ
The man who calmly sits before cold iron-
For those who in the Green-room sit behind it,
They e'en must quench the danger as they find it;
A little fire would do us harm, we know it,
To modern actor, nor to modern poet.

[But beaux, and ye plum'd belles, all perch'd in front,
You're safe at all events, depend upon't:

So never rise like flutter'd birds together,

The hottest fire sha'n't singe a single feather;
No, I assure our generous benefactors,

"Twould only burn the scenery and the actors !]

Here ends, as housekeeper, my explanation,
And may the house receive your approbation!
For you, in air, the vaulted roof we raise-
Tho' firm its base-its best support, your praise.
Stamp then your mighty seal upon our cause !
Give us, ye Gods, a thunder of applause!

The high decree is past-may future age,
When pondering o'er the annals of our stage,
Rest on this time, when labour rear'd the pile,
In tribute to the genius of our isle;

This school of art, with British sanction grac'd,
And worthy of a manly nation's taste!
And now the image of our Shakespeare view,
And give the drama's god the honour due.

Here the scene rises, and discovers the water, &c. &c.

Here the iron curtain is let down.

Here the iron curtain is taken up, and discovers the statue of Shakespeare under

erry tree, &c. &c.

These six lines in crotchets were given by a friend.

Poetical