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merchant: he was born in the parish of St. Stephen's, Walbrook, 1666. He received a very liberal education, and at the age of nineteen was sent by his father to France, where he continued several years. In 1703 he was appointed Clarencieux king of arms, and in 1706 was commissioned by Queen Anne to carry the habit and ensigns of the order of the garter to King George the First, then at Hanover. He was also made comptroller-general of the board of works, and surveyor of the gardens and waters. In 1714 he received the order of knighthood, and in 1719 married Henrietta Maria, daughter of Colonel Yarborough. Sir John died at his house in Scotlandyard, and is interred in the family vault under the church of St. Stephen, Walbrook. He left only one son, who fell at the battle of Fontenoy.

FABLE.

RELATED BY A BEAU TO ESOP.

A BAND, a Bob-wig, and a Feather,
Attack'd a lady's heart together.

the Rev. George Vanbrugh, rector of Aughton, in Lancashire, the only surviving descendant of the family, informs me that his ancestors were eminent merchants of Antwerp, and fled out of Flanders when the Duke of Alva tried to establish the inquisition in those provinces. They first took refuge in Holland, and from thence came over to England to enjoy the protestant protection of Queen Elizabeth.

The Band in a most learned plea,
Made up of deep philosophy,

Told her, if she would please to wed
A reverend beard, and take instead
Of vigorous youth,

Old solemn truth,

With books and morals, into bed,
How happy she would be.

The Bob, he talked of management,
What wond'rous blessings heaven sent
On care, and pains, and industry;
And truly he must be so free
To own he thought your airy beaux,
With powdered wigs, and dancing shoes,
Were good for nothing (mend his soul!)
But prate, and talk, and play the fool.

He said 'twas wealth gave joy and mirth,
And that to be the dearest wife

Of one, who labour'd all his life

To make a mine of gold his own,

And not spend sixpence when he'd done, Was heaven upon earth.

When these two blades had done, d'ye see,
The Feather (as it might be me),

Steps out, sir, from behind the skreen,
With such an air and such a mien-
Look you, old gentleman,-in short
He quickly spoil'd the statesman's sport.

It proved such sunshine weather

That, you must know, at the first beck
The lady leapt about his neck,
And off they went together.

WILLIAM CONGREVE.

BORN 1669.-DIED 1729.

FROM THE MOURNING BRIDE.

Almeria meeting her husband Alphonso, whom she had imagined to be dead, now disguised as the captive Osmyn, at the tomb of his father Anselmo.

Enter ALMERIA and LEOnora.

Alm. Ir was a fancied noise, for all is hushed. Leon. It bore the accent of a human voice.

Alm. It was thy fear, or else some transient wind Whistling through hollows of this vaulted aisle. We'll listen

Leon, Hark!

Alm. No, all is hushed, and still as death-'tis dreadful!

How reverend is the face of this tall pile,

Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
To bear aloft its arched and ponderous roof,
By its own weight made stedfast and immoveable,
Looking tranquillity. It strikes an awe

And terror on my aching sight; the tombs

And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice;
Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear
Thy voice-my own affrights me with its echoes.
Leon. Let us return; the horror of this place,
And silence, will increase your melancholy.

Alm. It may my fears, but cannot add to that.
No, I will on; shew me Anselmo's tomb,

Lead me o'er bones and skulls, and mouldering earth,

Of human bodies; for I'll mix with them,

Or wind me in the shroud of some pale corpse,

Yet
green in earth, rather than be the bride
Of Garcia's more detested bed: that thought
Exerts my spirits, and my present fears
Are lost in dread of greater ill. Then shew me,
Lead me, for I am bolder grown: lead on
Where I may kneel, and pay my vows again,
To him, to Heaven, and my Alphonso's soul.
Leon. I go; but Heaven can tell with what regret.
[Exeunt.

Enter HELI.

Heli. I wander through this maze of monuments, Yet cannot find him-Hark! sure 'tis the voice Of one complaining-There it sounds!-I'll follow

it.

[Exit.

SCENE II.-Opening, discovers a place of Tombs: one Monument, fronting the view, greater than the

rest.

Enter ALMERIA and LEONora.

Leon. Behold the sacred vault, within whose womb

The poor remains of good Anselmo rest,
Yet fresh and unconsumed by time or worms.
What do I see? Oh, Heaven! either my eyes
Are false, or still the marble door remains
Unclosed; the iron gates, that lead to death
Beneath, are still wide stretched upon their hinge,
And staring on us with unfolded leaves!

Alm. Sure 'tis the friendly yawn of death for me;
And that dumb mouth, significant in show,
Invites me to the bed, where I alone

Shall rest; shews me the grave, where nature,

weary

And long oppressed with woes and bending cares,
May lay the burthen down, and sink in slumbers
Of peace eternal. Death, grim death, will fold
Me in his leaden arms, and press me close
To his cold clayey breast: My father, then,
Will cease his tyranny; and Garcia, too,
Will fly my pale deformity with loathing.

My soul, enlarged from its vile bonds, will mount,
And range the starry orbs, and milky-ways,
Of that refulgent world, where I shall swim
In liquid light, and float, on seas of bliss,
To my Alphonso's soul. Oh, joy too great!

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