STANZAS ON THE NEW HIPPODROME IN COVENT GARDEN. Mutandus locus est, et deversoria nota Præteragendus Equus. HORACE, 15th Epist. B. I. WHO will say, that the laws are no longer in force, Since our Manager's raised to a Master of Horse, When beggar'd, they hit on this plan, we are told, Henceforth who will care for thy classic revivals? Rowe, Congreve, and Otway, may sleep on the shelf, Their brains are kick'd out by their quadruped rivals. Though Shakspeare may frown in your hall in disdain, You may laugh (if you can) without qualms or re morses; He swore all the world was a stage, and 'tis plain Away with the pit! turn it into a ring, While Kemble is cracking his whip and his jokes. In wisely attempting our stages to make Of riding, not morals, the properest schools, Mr. Merryman's part it is fit you should take, The last of our actors-the first of our fools. H. EPIGRAM, On hearing it observed that the Chancellor of the Exchequer had proved himself a bad Arithmetician. FOR addition, PITT's talents let all men revere, He can multiply taxes again and again; In division what mortal will say he wants nous ? Then ye patriots be still! to your murmurs a truce! abuse, For you all must agree that Will Pitt can reduce. AN ELEGY. WHY didst thou, Cynthio, tempt my wand'ring feet Why didst thou call me to thy calm retreat, With anxious haste I bade the town adieu! And fondly deem'd with conscious Peace to dwell! I found thee happiest of the village swains, Profuse of blessings, decks the varied scene; Ah! little thought I, while I heedless stray'd, And view'd without a pang each rising charm ; At length Lucinda caught my wond'ring eye; In her was center'd ev'ry power to please, To melt the heart, and prompt the tender sigh! At once the soft contagion caught my breast; For what can Love's almighty pow'r controul! The ruling passion ev'ry thought possest, And ev'ry fond idea fill'd my soul ! Fast by the stream that winds through Mivod's vale, There did I first my ardent vows impart; She deign'd to listen to the artless tale, The warm effusions of a faithful heart! "Tis true she listen'd to my tender woes, But yet she bade not gentle hope arise. The changeful seasons twice their course have run, Yet still unchang'd her conq'ring pow'r I feel; Her image rises with the rising sun, Nor can the shades of night her form conceal. Ah! why Lucinda, did my wayward fate, Whate'er my lot, on thee I still will tend, Thy smiles alone can fix my future weal. Full well, dear maid, thy wond'rous worth I know, The wealthiest swain might wish with thee to join; But I alas! have little to bestow, Save a fond, faithful heart! and that is thine. W. E. EPITAPH *, ON MRS. ELIZA SMITH. BY THE LATE JACOB BRYANT, ESQ. HERE flourish'd once, whilst Heaven did life impart, Such was her worth; whate'er was wanting here * In Egham church-yard. |