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SOLO by the Doctor.
Hear but this strain—'twas made by Handel,
A wight of skill, and judgment deep ! Zoonters they're gone—Sal, bring a candle
No, here is one, and he's asleep.
Dr. -How cou'd they go,
EPILOGUE to the Tragedy of Cleone.
ELL, ladies--so much for the tragic stile
smile. To make us smile !-methinks I hear you say“ Why, who can help it, at so strange a play? The captain gone three years!and then to blame The faultless conduct of his virtuous dame! My stars !--what gentle belle would think it treason, When thus provok'd, to give the brute some reason? Out of my house !—this night, forsooth depart ! A modern wife had faid—“ With all my heartBut think not, haughty Sir, I'll go
alone! Order your coach-conduct me safe to town
Give me my jewels, wardrobe, and my maid-
Such is the language of each modifh fair !
'Tis yours, ye fair, to bring those days agen,
Τ Η Ε
JUDGMENT of HERCULES.
WHile blooming spring descends from genial skies,
By whose mild influence instant wonders rise ; From whose soft breath Elysian beauties flow; The sweets of Hagley, or the pride of STOWE; Will Lyttelton the rural landskip range, Leave noisy fame, and not regret the change Pleas'd will he tread the garden's early scenes, And learn a moral from the rising greens ? There, warm'd alike by Sol's enliv’ning pow'r, The weed, aspiring, emulates the flow'r : The drooping fow'r, its fairer charms display'd, Invites, from grateful hands, their gen'rous aid : R 2