Fred. I foresaw this happy turn, therefore have prepared 'em. Call in the dancers.
Song, by Mr. Leveridge.
I.
The rolling years the joys restore,
Which happy, happy Britain knew,
When in a female age before
Beauty the sword of justice drew.
II.
Nymphs and fawns, and rural powers,
Of crystal floods and shady bowers,
No more shall here preside;
The flowing wave and living green,
Owe only to their present queen
Their safety and their pride.
III.
United air and pleasures bring,
Of tender note and tuneful string,
All your arts devoted are
To move the innocent and fair.
While they receive the pleasing wound,
Echo repeats the dying sound.
Y. Book. Since such deserved misfortunes they must share,
Who with gay falsehoods entertain the fair;
Let all with this just maxim guide their youth,
There is no gallantry in love but truth. [Exeunt.
EPILOGUE.
Our too advent'rous author soared to-night
Above the little praise, mirth to excite,
And chose with pity to chastise delight.
For laughter's a distorted passion, born
Of sudden self-esteem and sudden scorn;
Which, when 'tis o'er, the men in pleasure wise,
Both him that moved it and themselves despise;
While generous pity of a painted woe
Makes us ourselves both more approve and know.
What is that touch within which nature gave
For man to man e'er fortune made a slave?
Sure it descends from that dread Power alone,
Who levels thunder from His awful throne,
And shakes both worlds—yet hears the wretched groan.
'Tis what the ancient sage could ne'er define,
Wondered—and called part human, part divine;
'Tis that pure joy which guardian angels know,
When timely they assist their care below,
When they the good protect, the ill oppose;
'Tis what our sovereign feels when she bestows,
Which gives her glorious cause such high success,
That only on the stage you see distress.