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part with great spirit, and even bold in male disguise. The audience were much pleased with her exertions, and (he was honoured with repeated tokens of approbation.
September 171 This theatre commenced its career this evening with the Castle Spellre and the Prize. Miss Biggs, Miss De Camp, Mrs. Walcot, Mr. Bannister, Mr. C. Kemble, Mr. PalMer, £ic.\vere greeted with reiterated plaudits. The interior of the house remains much the fame; for taste and genius have already exhausted themselves in the decorations by which it has been embellished on a former occasion. The fronts of the boxes, indeed, have been burnished into their native brightness; and the entire coup d'ceilhss a grand effect.
We shall now have to record, in this, our Dramatic Register, the novelties of these two great theatres during the ensuing winter. Even the ghosts and apparitions which may be introduced in grissly array, shall not affright us j we shall at least attempt to grasp the phantoms, and present them, with their pallid charms, to the eye of gaping curiosity.
F OR SEPTEMBER, 1799.
PROGRESS OF LIBERTY.
Aurea Libertas, canimus tua dorta, Britanni!
'HAT time in glitl'iing armour drest,
The Roman wav'd his plumy crest,
And, ruining-to the glorious war,
Britannia drove her scythed car;
The goddess freedom took her stand,
Triumphant on this rocky strand.
Again they bleed, again they die;
Urg'd by the love of liberty,
Unconquer'd still they wield the sword.
At length the regions of the north
Pour'd a resistless deluge forth;
Rome bows—she falls, p.nd Britain free
Spurns the base yoke of slavery:
At Hengist's fable arms dismay'd,
On Cambria's rocks (he six'd her reign,
And carnage dyes the crimfon'd heath.
I>ong, in varn, thetyrant tried
To scale the shaggy mountain's side:
Hark! 'tis the din of battle loud,
That sounds o'er Conway's distant flood;
Fearless, 'midst an host of foes,
Breast to breast thy chiefs oppose.
Heard ye the shout of victory?
They fall, they bleed, they die.
Beneath the Norman's tyrant pow'r
Bcsmear'd with blood a corse he lay, Long time for him did Britain mourn, Her heroes bleed, her cities burn,
Her harvests fall.—to force a prey. Ah! lost is all that wonted sire, That whilom did your breasts inspire; Beneath the fl raw-built roof, unstrung, Each -Briton's useless bow is hung, •Whilst proud oppression calls her vengesul bandj And rules with iron sway the wasted land.
At length in shining arms array'd,
Again they call thy pow'rsul aid;
The lion rears his tawny breast*
Fierce rising from the bed of rest;
He roars, he spurns the servile chain,
And vindicates his just domain.
His eye-balls glare, his sury glows;
Eager to meet his tyrant foes,
With rage inflam'd he tears the ground:
With breathless haste before him fly
The trembling train of tyranny.
Thou, goddess, to the brave a friend,
Come, from thy cloud-capt hills descend;
Thou can'st wake the warlike soul,
Fair freedom took her armed stand:
She frees her fav'ritc land.
At Runcmede, in gorgeous state,
Her daring sons the goddess met; Rous'd by the hopes her chearing smiles inspire, Each British bosom flames with more than mortal 6re.
Encircled by his Barons bold,
Where shone the tent with waving gold,
The tyrant king, no longer free,
The charter signs of liberty.
The trumpet swells it's brazen throat,
And fame straight caught the lofty note.
Freed from a monarch's angry nod,
No more she dreads th' oppressor's rod.
O'er Albion's unpolluted groves,
The silver-phimeil goddess roves;
The sirst and fairest os the train,
Science adorn'd her peacesul reign,
The lofty nymph, to whom belong
The golden lyre, th' immortal song.
By heav'nly contemplation led,
Slow wand'ring o'er the dewy mead,
Avon's smooth stream in chrystal pride,
Reflects each flow'ret by its side;
Oft watching in the starry sphere,
The motions of the various year: