Preserve, urn! his filent dust, AUGUST A. RECITATIVE. Genius of Britain! give thy forrows o'er.. BRITANNI A. RECITATIVE, I own the new arising light, I fee paternal grandeur fhine, Defcending, through th' illustrious line, In the fame royal favours bright. 65 70 75 Laft DUETTO, with all the inftruments. BRIT. Gently finooth thy flight, O time! AUG. Smoothly wing thy flight, O time! BOTH. And as thou flying growest old, Still this happy race behold In Britannia's court fublime. 80 85 BRIT. Lead along their finiling hours; Still this happy race behold In Britannia's court fublime. E P I L OGUE Spoken by Mr. MILLS, At the Queen's Theatre, on his Benefit-Night, February 16, 1709; a little before the Duke of Marlborough's going for Holland. WHETHER our ftage all others does excell In ftrength of wit, we'll not prefume to tell: Such worth conspicuous, beauty so divine, Valour and Beauty ftill were Britain's claim, 15 By both the Mules live, from both they catch their flame. Then as by you, in folid glory bright, Our envy'd ifle through Europe fpreads her light, 20 And mark the golden track of Anne's diftinguish'd reign; So, by your prefence here, we'll strive to raise 25 WRITTEN IN A WINDOW A T GREENHI THE. GREAT pr fident of light, and eye of day, As through this glafs you caft your vifual ray, And view with nuptial joys two brothers bleft, And fee us celebrate the genial feast, Confefs that, in your progrefs round the sphere, You've found the happielt youths and brighteft beau ties here. M THE THE TOASTERS. WHILE circling healths inspire your sprightly wit, And on each glass some beauty's praise is writ, TOFTS AND MARGARETTA. M USIC has learn'd the difcords of the state, And concerts jar with whig and tory hate. Here Somerfet and Devonshire attend The British Tofts, and every note commend, Lull'd statesmen melt away their drowsy cares Who would not fend each year blank paffes o'er, THE WANDERING BEAUTY. I. THE Graces and the wandering Loves To chace the fawns, or deep in groves From daily triumphs; yet, each day, II. But fee! implor'd, by moving prayers, Proud mortals, who this maid pursue, Think you, fhe'll e'er refign? Ceafe, fools, your wishes to renew, Till she grows flesh and blood like you, |