« السابقةمتابعة »
OTTOKESA (to the Officer]. Did you not say my
child was dead ?-I thank you, Yea, kindly thauk yoú :I was just struggling on the fatal brink, And this last sentence ends me.
Farewell, for ever ;There sunk a glorious fabrick ;-my
child too! What would I not revenge on this curs'd Artamon, But for my Catharine's love!
No more I 'll see him ; On some lone beach I 'll mourn my weary hours In penance for his guilt, -make reparation To Heaven's high throne for his unheard of crimes, If not fore-doom'd beyond the reach of mercy.
Never! thou perfect being, thou ’rt all the hold
My cruel father!
Shall be for life imprison d ;
Though blinded long, and by a villain lost,
IN THE CHARACTER OF CATHARINE.
WELL-I've said all I can-but 'tis the vogue,
state, And sink Queen Catherine down to vulgar Kate.
Yet say, ye fair, have Titles then no charms ?
For these, the Maid, such is the modern rule,
rade : " Lord! how delicious! what a charming crea
ture! “Such symmetry of limb, such grace, such fea“ E'en frozen age, such ripen'd charms must
move, « To
gaze, is here another phrase for Love.” Straight to the wish some Mummy Lord appears, Fraught with experience of full fourscore years; The Peer, 'tis true, has somewhat passed his prime, But Bath repairs the ravages of time: Relations then are summon'd, writings made, In all the unmeaning round of law-parade; The Title only Miss's doubts removes, Papa still hesitates—Mamma approves : At length vast Settlements secure her pow'r, And Special License crowns the midnight hour.
My Lord, whom youthful beauty still inspires, “ For in his ashes live their wonted fires," In whose enraptur'd breast the embers glow, Like Ætna glimmering through a field of snow, Unable to repress the ardent flame, Using each soft, each sympathizing name, In extacy supreme, while Wits deride, Tottering and boastful, dares essay the Bride.
Their happiness complete is then the boast, Till hints besiege each circulating post ;
Pray have you heard ? - the world does say
Caught in her chamber,—nay I do not know," « Pistol and THORAX * then complete the blow.
* See School for Scandal.
Such is the scene that gilds their married life, A nauseous fondness, and a peevish strife, Ills heap'd on ills, and force repell’d by force, Till a third winter crowns the wish'd divorce; The brother Cuckolds the dead Lord deride, The living Fair one blooms again a Bride. Have Titles then no charms ?-Must the fair scorn
them ? Titles add lustre, when the great adorn them.