Then bring me not the blossoms young,
That erst on Flora's forehead hung;
But round thy radiant temples twine,
The flowers whose flaunting mocks at mine.
Give me—nor pinks, nor pansies gay,
Nor violets, fading fast away,
Nor myrtle, rue, nor rosemary,
But give, oh! give, thyself to me!
MONODY
TO THE MEMORY
OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.
PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION.
The very flattering success which attended the first Edition of this brief but affectionate Sketch, I must attribute to the interest of the subject, rather than the merit of the composition; and I cannot but feel grateful to those Writers who have honoured me by their notice and approbation.
I must not again go to press, without acknowledging how much I am indebted to a kind friend, who happened to be in Norfolk at the time I was printing the first Edition; with whom I had the happiness to pass many delightful hours, and to whose admirable taste and judgment I owe many valuable suggestions. In mentioning John Kemble with Sheridan, I associate two of the brightest stars that have illumined the Literature and Drama of the Country.