Thou paints auld Nature to the nines,
In thy sweet Caledonian lines;
Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines,
Where Philomel,
While nightly breezes sweep the vines,
Her griefs will tell!
In gowany glens thy burnie strays,
Where bonie lasses bleach their claes;
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes,
Wi' hawthorns gray,
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays
At close o' day.
Thy rural loves are nature's sel;
Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell;
Nae suap conceits, but that sweet spell
O' witchin love,
That charm that can the strongest quell,
The sternest move.
SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, ELLISLAND, ON NEW
No song nor dance I bring from yon great city
That queens it o'er our taste-the more's the pity:
Tho', by the by, abroad why will you roam?
Good sense and taste are natives here at home:
But not for panegyric I appear,
I come to wish you all a good new-year!
Old Father Time deputes me here before ye,
Not for to preach, but tell his simple story:
The sage, grave Ancient cough'd, and bade me say
"You're one year older this important day,"
If wiser too-he hinted some suggestion,
But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question;
And with a would-be roguish leer and mink,
He bade me on you press this one word "think!"
Ye sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and spirit,
Who think to storm the world by dint of merit,
To you the Dotard has a deal to say,
In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way!
He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle,
That the first blow is ever half the battle:
That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him ;
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him:
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing,
You may do miracles by perservering.
Lest tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair,
Angelic forms, high Heav'ns peculiar care!
To you ald Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow,
And humbly begs you'll mind the important-now!
To crown your happiness he asks your leave,
And offers, bliss to give and to receive.
For our sincere, tho' hap'ly weak endeavors, With grateful pride we own your many favors: And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it.
BY MR. WOODS, ON HIS BENEFIT-NIGHT
Monday 16th April, 1787.
WHEN by a generous public's kind acclaim,
That dearest meed is granted-honest fame;
When here your favor is the actor's lot,
Nor even the man in private life forgot;
What breast so dead to heav'nly Virtue's glow,
But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe?
Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng,
It needs no Siddons' powers in Southern's song;
But here an ancient nation, fam'd afar
For genius, learning high, as great in war-
Hail Caledonia! name for ever dear!
Before whose sons I'm honor'd to appear!
Where every science-every nobler art-
That can inform the mind, or mend the heart,
Is known; as graieful nations oft have found,
Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound.
Philosophy, no idle pedant dream,
Here holds her search by heaven-taught Reason's beam;
Here History paints with elegance and force,
The tide of Empire's fluctuating coarse;
Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into plan,
And Harley" rouses all the god in man.
The Man of Feeling, written by Mr. M'Kenzie,
When well-form'd taste, and sparkling wit unite,
With manly lore, or female beauty bright,
(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace,
Can only charm us in the second place,)
Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear,
As on this night, I've met these Judges here!
But still the hope Experience taught to live,
Equal to judge you're candid to forgive.
No hundred-headed Riot here we meet,
With decency and law beneath his feet;
Nor Insolence assumes fair freedom's name;
Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame.
O Thou! dread Power! whose empire-giving hand
Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honor'd land!
Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire;
May every son be worthy of his sire;
Firm may she rise with generous disdain
At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain;
Still self-dependent in her native shore
Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar,
Till fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more.
AN OCCASIONAL ADDRESS SPOKEN BY MISS FON-
TENELLE ON HER BENEFIT NIGHT.
WHILE Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things,
The fate of empires and the fall of kings;
While quacks of state must each produce his plan.
And even children lisp the Rights of Man;
Amid this mighty fuss, just let me mention,
The Rights of Woman merit some attention.
First in the sexes' intermix'd connexion,
One sacred right of Womar is protection.
The tender flower that lifts its head, elate,
Helpless, must fall before the blast of fate,
Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form,
Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm,
Our second Right-but needless here is caution, To keep that right inviolate's the fashion. Each man of sense has it so full before bim, He'd die before he'd wrong it-'tis decorum.There was indeed, in far less polish'd days, A time when rough, rude man had naughty ways; Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet
Now, thank our stars! these Gothic times are fled:
Now, well-bred men-and you are all well bred-
Most justly think (and we are much the gainers)
Such conduct neither spirit, wit nor manners.
For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest,
That right to fluttering female hearts the nearest,
Which even the Rights of Kings in low prostration
Most humbly own-'tis dear, dear admiration!
In that blest sphere alone we live and move;
There taste that life of life-immortal love.
Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs,
'Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares-
When awful Beauty joins with all her charms
Who is go rash as rise in rebel arms?
But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions. bloody armaments and revolutions;
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