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BUSH FIGHTER.

I

'N Rancour's dark, obfcene, fequefter'd Seat, Where Pride and Dulnefs, Spleen and Envy meet, Critic, thy Stink-pot Batteries prepare,

No Friend of Learning, Heir of Genius fpare.
But when thy mighty Conquests thou haft made,
What are the Gains of thy illicit Trade?
Hated by all, and hating all, to live,
Is a worse Punishment than Hell can give,

то

то

DOCTOR GOLDSMITH,

ON THE

SUCCESS OF HIS COMEDY,

CALLED THE

MISTAKES OF A NIGHT,

With Tales of Pity and chafte Scenes of Love; On Stilts fublime the laughing Muse they raise, For nothing low our Tafte refin'd can please. Nor Wit, nor Humour, fuch grave Preachers knew, The maudlin House resembles Whitfield's Crew. No Bursts of Laughter fhake the merry Pit. In folemn Silence all attentive fit;

Till fome fad Story, big with tragic Woe,

From the touch'd Boxes cause the Tear to flow.
So deep the Comedy, it makes you stare

To find no poifon'd Bowl or Dagger there.
Gay Mirth and honeft Joke are in Disgrace,
Melpomene ufurps her Sifter's Place.

Let Sentiment but ftiffen ev'ry Line,

The raptur'd Audience cries, That's fine! that's fine! Goldsmith at length, warm in Thalia's Caufe.

Broke the dull Charm, and refcu'd Nature's Laws.

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PROLOGUE

To the revived TRAGEDY of

TIMOLE O N.

SPOKEN

By Mr. REDDISH, at Drury-Lane Theatre, in 1771.

T

Written by Mr. CRADOCK.

OO long had Corinth wept her evil Hour,

Too long had Corinth felt a Tyrant's Power, Too long had groan'd in Chains-her Fate deplor'd, Ere fam'd Timoleon Liberty reftor'd.

He, like fome Rock the Billows lafh in vain,
Still tow'rs aloft, and overawes the Main :
In vain the Surges roar, the Clouds impend,
The Thunder rolls, the forked Fires defcend.
He like their fam'd Coloffus awful flood,
A fteady Patriot for the public Good.

A Grecian Daughter too demands Applaufe,
Who nobly combats in a Parent's Caufe.
O fpare-in Mercy fpare-fhe trembling pleads,
And Pity ftruggles tho' a Tyrant bleeds:
View well the Motives all their Actions move,
Timoleon Wonder claims, Eunefia Love.

Ye generous Bulwarks of the British State,
Who live again those Wonders we relate,
Who ftill the bright Career of Glory run,
Tranfmit the Laurels that yourfelves have won,

With unabating Zeal your Course pursue,
Ye keep not Corinth, but yourselves in View.
Nor think ye Fair, your Glories more confin'd,
Who footh the Heart, or humanize the Mind;
The generous Labour will at Length recoil,
The generous Labour well repays your
Toil:
Succeeding Annals trace Eunefia's Fame,
Succeeding Annals bless Timoleon's Reign.
The World perceives that Influence ye bring,
From great Examples future Heroes fpring;
Heroes with more than mortal Ardour fir'd,
When Beauty crowns that Virtue she inspir’d.

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PROLOGUE

то THE

PRVOKED HUSBAND,

Spoken laft CHRISTMAS, at

CASHIO BURY,

THE

SEAT of the EARL of ESSE X.

W

Written by the fame.

THATEVER Ills affect our wayward State, We juftly lay each deep Mistake to Fate, If poor Sir Francis loft his mighty Boon, He only liv'd fome twenty Years too soon. 'Twas long ago our Author drew, from Life, A fober Husband, and a fickle Wife. Oh! could he now the living Draught renew, He would be firft, ye Fair, and picture you; Allow more Scope, yet wifer Maxims trace, And give us fomething more than Lady Grace. The Knight's fair Lady too might hold her Sway, And teach her good Sir Francis to obey: Nor Manly four his deep-laid Schemes deplore, Thank Heaven the Race of Wrongheads are no more. Expell'd the House-He's in a bitter T'aking, Expulfion-now perhaps had been his Making: Tho' loft his Glories in St. James's Air, The lavish City would thofe Wrongs repair, Be-fur'd, be-chain'd-Heftruts the new Lord Mayor.

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