me at once with verse and resentment. I take advice! And from whom?

You shall hear.

First let me suppose, what may shortly be true, The company set and the word to be-loo; All smirking and pleasant and big with adventure, And ogling the stake which is fixed in the centre. Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly damn,

At never once finding a visit from pam;

I lay down my stake apparently cool,

While the harpies about me all pocket the pool;
I fret in my gizzard, get cautious and sly,
I wish all my friends may be bolder than I;
Yet still they sit snug; not a creature will aim,
By losing their money, to venture at fame.
'Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold,
'Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold;
All play their own way, and they think me an ass ;
What does Mrs. Bunbury? I, Sir? I pass.
Pray what does Miss Horneck? Take courage,
come, do!

Who, I? Let me see, Sir; why I must pass too.
Mrs. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the Devil,
To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil;
Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on,
Till made by my losses as bold as a lion.
I venture at all; while my avarice regards
The whole pool as my own. Come, give me five
cards.

Well done! cry the ladies; ah! Doctor, that's good, Ah! the Doctor is loo'd.

The pool's very rich.

Thus foil'd in my courage, on all sides perplext, I ask for advice from the lady that's next.

Pray, Ma'am, be so good as to give your advice; Don't you think the best way is to venture for 't twice?

I advise, cries the lady, to try it I own;

Ah! the Doctor is loo'd. Come Doctor, put down.
Thus playing and playing I still grow more eager,
And so bold and so bold, I'm at last a bold beggar.
Now, ladies, I ask if law matters you're skilled in,
Whether crimes such as yours should not come
before Fielding;

For giving advice that is not worth a straw,
May well be called picking of pockets in law;
And picking of pockets with which I now charge

! ye,

Is by Quinto Elizabeth, death without clergy. What justice, when both to the Old Bailey brought! By the gods I'll enjoy it, tho' 'tis but in thought! Both are placed at the bar with all proper decorum, With bunches of fennel and nosegays before 'em ; Both cover their faces with mobs and all that,

But the Judge bids them angrily take off their hat. When uncover'd, a buzz of inquiry goes round, Pray what are their crimes? They've been pilfering found.

But, pray whom have they pilfer'd? A Doctor, I hear;

What, yon solemn-faced odd-looking man that stands near?

The same. What a pity! How does it surprise one !

Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on! Then their friends all come round me with cringing and leering,

To melt me to pity and soften my swearing.
First Sir Charles advances with phrases well
strung,

Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young.
The younger the worse, I return him again,
It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain;
But then they're so handsome, one's bosom it
grieves :

What signifies handsome when people are thieves!
But where is your justice? Their cases are hard;
What signifies justice ?—I want the reward.

There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty pounds-There's the parish of St. Leonard, Shoreditch, offers forty pounds-There's the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog in the Pound to St. Giles's Watchhouse, offers forty pounds—I shall have all that if I convict them.

But consider their case, it may yet be your own, And see how they kneel; is your heart made of stone?

This moves; so at last I agree to relent,

For ten pounds in hand and ten pounds to be spent.

I challenge you all to answer this. I tell you, you cannot. It cuts deep; but now for the rest of the letter; and next-but I want room.-So I believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week.—I don't value you all.

O. G.

A PROLOGUE WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY

THE POET LABERIUS,

A ROMAN KNIGHT, WHOM CÆSAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE.

PRESERVED BY MACROBIUS.1

WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage,
And save from infamy my sinking age!
Scarce half alive, oppress'd with many a year,
What in the name of dotage drives me here?
A time there was, when glory was my guide,
Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside;
Unaw'd by power, and unappall'd by fear,
With honest thrift I held my honour dear:
But this vile hour disperses all my store,
And all my hoard of honour is no more;
For, ah! too partial to my life's decline,
Cæsar persuades, submission must be mine;
Him I obey, whom Heaven itself obeys,
Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclin'd to please.
Here then at once I welcome every shame,
And cancel at threescore a life of fame:

1 This translation was first printed in one of our author's earliest works: 'The Present State of Polite Learning in Europe,' 12mo. 1759.