English

'Tis said that once, ere manhood's prime began,
My Peter, journeying thro' some mountain pass,
'Gan meditate upon Life's mazy plan:
He had leisure for't, being mounted on an Ass.

'Twas summer sabbath-day, the Ass went slow:
Rose wondrous, silent hills, beneath blue sky;
From time to time in valley far below
The little Kirk, on verdant knoll, attracts his eye.

Dark lay the world in Peter's labouring breast:
Here was he (words of import strange); He here!
Mysterious Peter, on mysterious hest:

RHAPSODY

Numeris fertur lege solutis

Old Boece, in jail, did with a certain pathos
Write on Consolation ; the scribendi cacoethes
Serv'd his turn: so shall it mine this rainy day,
Be it neither man nor woman heed my lay.
Praise to Cadmus! that from those same old Phenicians
He brought alphabetic Letters fro his Theban Grecians;
And from Grecian to the Scottish! The most sovereign thing
For all Sciences, and sedentary men that preach or sing!

Oh! isle by genius lov'd, by science crown'd,
And through the world for freedom long renown'd,
Britain, I love thee; — Why should fiends like these,
On realms so rich with harpy talons seize?
O'er the dimm'd eyes their baleful influence throw,
And blight the buds of genius, ere they blow?
Are soils, that nature's love the most have shar'd,
Soonest for venom — breathing broods prepar'd?
Do bodies, that exhale the purest breath,
First catch disease, and drink disease and death?
Do waters, that in healthiest current flow,

Ye modest Matrons all, ye virtuous Wives,
Who lead with horrid Husbands, decent Lives;
You, who for all you are in such a taking,
To see your Spouses drinking, gaming, raking,
Yet make a Conscience still of Cuckold-making;
What can we say your Pardon to obtain?
This Matter here was prov'd against poor Jane:
She never once deny'd it, but in short,
Whimper'd — — and cry'd — sweet Sir, I'm sorry for't,
'Twas well he met a kind, good-natur'd Soul,
We are not all so easy to control:
I fancy one might find in this good Town

The STREET.

Enter B ELLMOUR , and D UMONT or S HORT

SHORE.

You saw her then?
BELLMOUR.

I met her as returning
In solemn Penance from the public Cross:
Before her, certain rascal Officers,
Slaves in Authority, the Knaves of Justice,
Proclaim'd the Tyrant Glo'ster 's cruel Orders.
On either side her march'd an ill look'd Priest,
Who with severe, with horrid haggard Eyes,
Did ever and anon by turns upbraid her,
And thunder in her trembling Ear Damnation.

SCENE continues .

Enter A LICIA , speaking to Jane S HORE as entries .

N O farther, gentle Friend; good Angels guard you
And spread their gracious Wings about you Slumbers.
The drowsy Night grows on the World, and now
The busy Craftsman and o'erlabor'd Hind,
Forget the Travel of the Day in Sleep:
Care only wakes, and moping Pensiveness;
With meagre discontented Looks they fit,
And watch the wasting of the midnight Taper.
Such Vigils must I keep, so wakes my Soul,

MEN. Mr. Cibber .

DUKE of Glo'ster , Mr. Booth .
Lord Hastings , Mr. Husbands .
Catesby , Mr. Bowman .
Sir Richard Ratcliffe , Mr. Mills .
Bellmour , Mr. Wilks .
Dumont , (or Shore )

WOMEN. Mrs. Porter .

Alicia , Mrs. Oldfield .
Jane Shore ,

Several Lords of the Council, Guards, and Attendants.

SCENE LONDON .

The Tower

Spoken by Mr. W ILKS .

T O -Night, if you have brought your good old Taste,
We'll treat you with a downright English Feast ,
A Tale, which told long since in homely wise,
Hath never fail'd of melting gentle Eyes.
Let no nice Sir despise our hapless Dame ,
Because recording Ballads chaunt her Name;
Those venerable ancient Song-Inditers
Soar'd many a Pitch above our modern Writers:
They caterwaul'd in no romantic Ditty,
Sighing for Phillis' s or Cloe' s Pity .

Sick ane mirthles music thes menstrallis did mak,
That cattell keist capriellis behind with thair heillis;
Bot littill tent to the toune to tune leit thame tak.
Bot rameist ran reid-wood and raveld the reill is .
Fra the cummeris thame knew they come with a crak,
To conjure the undoche, with clewis and creillis;
All the boundis thairabout grew bleknit and blak:
For the din of that daiblet raisit the devillis.
To coniure with a clap, fra caves they came far;
And for godbarne gift they gave,

With mudgeounes and murgeounis and moving the bane,
They leit it, they lift it, they loif it, they lak it,
They graip it, they grip it; it greitis, they grane:
They bind it, they baw it, they bed it, they brat it.
It skitterit, it squeillit; they skirlit ilk ane,
Whill the ky in the cuntrie startillit and chaisit,
Whilkis rairing ran rid wood, rowtand in a rane.
The wild deir in thair den the din hes displasit.
The cry wes [sa] uglie of aipis, elfis and owlis,
That geiss and geislingis cryis and craikis;