To-morrow's chances may bewail, To morrow, urging Mis'ry's tale, May to the cottage gladly hail A welcome. But he who of the scantiest store, CAPRICE. As Nature animation owes To Sol's refulgent heat, So from what Shakespeare's muse bestows Of man in evr'y act and stage, From birth to life's decrease, I mean to sing how ev'ry age In infancy its dawn we view, The whining moan for-something new; When shady down begins to grace But delicate, capricious Miss, Is quite an opposite of this; Detests the very name of Handel; She meets Sir George at Lady Trump's, When Sire and Matron-names that please Each lover of the law-increaseThe steadiness of thought demand, Caprice still waves her fickle wand; At morning o'er the fumes of tea, They plin what calling Jack must be"A statesman, lawyer, bard, divine, "No doubt the boy will some day shine; “But wicked Tim (the younger son) "Is full of mischief, wit, and fun; "A soldier he-by Mars I vow, "He'll be as great as General Howe. "However let us change the subject, "And dinner now must be our object." Then roast and boil'd, and lean and fat, Make up the morn's capricious chat. Now let us view, 'midst urns and books, The antiquarian's thoughtful looks; A beauteous, free estate he sells, To purchase fossils, spars, and shells; He gives-would reason ever think it! An hundred guineas for a trinket; Because medallic Evelyn says, "Twas made in Julius Caesar's days." Caprice but seldom fails to press The mind of second childishness: What sooner can our laughter move Than hearing dotards making love? Or see an old enfeebled creature Dress'd for a ball or fete-champetre? And hear him give his workmen orders To extend his views-put down his borders To make the mansion of a piece, Old Gothic yields to new Chinese. But pity here shall draw her veil, Nor at the faults of age shall rail: Age from the Muse should find protection, Youth link'd to Folly, her correction. Nor will she use the lash severe, But bids her votaries to steer Free of Caprice-the child of freak, Whose sway the bosom's peace distracts, THE SOLITARY REAPER. BEHOLD her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; So sweetly to reposing bands No sweeter voice was ever heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo bird, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, And o'er the sickle bending; LINES, OR RETURNING A RING TO A YOUNG LADY. THOU emblem of faith, thou sweet pledge of a passion, That heaven has reserv'd for one happier than me, On the hand of the fair go resume thy lov'd station, Go bask in the beams that are lavish'd on thee. And when some past scene thy remembrance recalling, Her bosom shall rise to the tear that is falling, With the transport of love may no torture com bine, But be her's all the bliss, and the suffering mine. Yet say to thy mistress, 'ere yet I resign thee, Ah! say why thy charms so indifferent to me; To her thou art dear, then should I not adore thee? Can the heart that is her's be regardless of thee. But the eyes of a lover, a friend, or a brother, prove The emblem of faith, or the token of love! But ah! had the ringlet thou lov'st to surround, Had it e'er kiss'd the rose on the cheek of my dear, What ransom to buy thee could ever be found, Or what force from my heart the possession could tear! A mourner, a suff'rer, a wand'rer, a ranger, In my heart I would wear thee 'till its last pulse were over, Then together we'd sink, and I'd part thee no more. THE COTTAGE. TO ISABELLA. Оn share my cottage gentle maid, To give a sweetness to its shade, Luxurious pride it cannot boast, Tis all simplicity; No perfumes from Arabia's coast, Nor glitt'ring gems thou'lt see. The hawthorn with the woodbine twin'd Present their sweets to thee; And ev'ry balmy breath of wind, Is fill'd with harmony. Here from the splendid gay parade Of noise and folly free, A truly fond and faithful heart, And can'st thou see me thus depart, Then share my cottage, dearest maid, To add fresh beauty to its shade, H. 02 PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS FOR AUGUST. FRENCH THEATRE. MAIDS TO BE MARRIED. (Enter URSULE, listening.) Sainville. You avoid me so scrupulously that I cannot interpret your conduct in a different manner. Louise. Well, Sir, I am an artless girl and will reveal exactly what agitates my heart. Ursule (aloud). Louise, you are wanted, the servants and housekeeper desire to receive your commands. Louise (low to Ursule). What a weight of embarrassment you have taken off my mind. || (Aloud) I am going. Sainville. You had promised to give me an explanation of your conduct. Louise. You are destined by my father, I think you said, to become my husband; but, Sir, there are other young ladies in this house who are equally worthy of your addresses; Agathe and Pauline, for instance. Sainville They are undoubtedly very amiable; yet I should prefer Louise. The truth is, they have rejected you, they have just now declared it to me; and do you believe that after having obtained this knowledge, I should feel much honoured by your attentions-neither are you the only friend of my father's who has paid us a visit. Sainville, What, madam? Louise. Nothing more than this; I rely upon my father's kindness; he will not compel me to form so serious an engagement against my inclination. (Low to Ursule). Ah! my dear Ursule, I must hasten away, lest he should see the tears ready to burst from my eyes. [Exit. Sainville (aside). Is it aversion or coquettry that directs her actions? This house is really the nest of female perfection! The one with her love for hunting and her Amazonian appearance, the other with her sickly partiality for novels, and a third whose mind is the sport of whim Alas! my dear Jaquemin, you know very little how to educate girls. so unfortunate as unconsciously to displease your friend. Ursule. Impossible! Sainville. Then it is the effect of one of her caprices; and you must own that my prospect of happiness with her, is not very bright. But why should I be in a hurry to marry, and seek for a wife in Mr. Jaquemin's family? his daughters and wards are not the only ladies on earth; and Louise is not the only one who is adorned with sense and beauty, for I have an instance of the contrary before me. Ursule. I feel how unworthy I am of such a compliment. I have no caprices it is true, but I am incapable of committing an act of deceit, and though Mr. Jaquemin invited me this morning to enter the lists with his wards and daughters, I will only speak of Louise to you. Sainville. Let me never hear of her any more, I beseech you. Ursule. Let me try to find the cause of this quarrel. Is it not that you have told her your intention of living in the country? Sainville. Well? Ursule. It has probably chagrined Louise, who without acknowledging it, secretly wishes to settle at Paris. Sainville. This piece of information puts an end to my uncertainty, and I now rejoice at having refused the apartment Mr. Jaquemin has prepared for me. Ursule. For my part I cannot conceive what pleasures Paris can afford. Sainville. You are fond of the country? Ursule. Passionately; when in the company of those we love every abode becomes delightful. I live so happy with my mother. Sainville. I long to pay her my respects, and will instantly bid adieu to Mr. Jaquemin. Ursule. Not for ever, I sincerely hope. I perceive him coming, and will leave you together; but I tell you before hand, whenever you visit us expect to hear my mother and I speak of no one else but Louise. (Aside as she goes.) He will marry me. [Exit. Sainville (alone). Undoubtedly I shall visit Ursule. May I ask, Sir, what is the cause of the mother of this amiable young lady. What your seeming affliction? goodness she displayed when she took Louise's Sainville. I am indeed afflicted, at having been part-what fire! what animation! Enter JAQUEMIN. Jaquemin. How now, Sainville? how fares your heart among so many captivating objects? how successful in your adresses? Suintille. You are very kind.-(Aside.) He will fly into a passion, and break off my connection, perhaps; but at all events I am determined to tell the truth, however unpleasant. Jaquemin. You give me no answer? Saimille. You know, my friend, that happiness in the married state depends upon a similitude of dispositions, and I must own I am rather eccentric. Jaquemin. I understand you, you mean my two wards, they were too old when they were placed under my care to have their education cast into a new mould;-they do not suit you. Sainville. I am far from admiring them. Jaquemin. But Louise? the case is different there. Sainville. She is possessed of a thousand good qualities, I doubt not, yet Jaquemin. Yet! what, are you not in love with my daughter? Sainville. I fear I am not happy enough to please her. Jaquemin. Not please her? nonsense! Louise has too much good sense not to esteem you when she is better acquainted with you. Sainville. No; I believe it is better to give up all pretensions to her hand at once. Jaquemin. Give her up at once! that is a weak pretence, a false excuse, it is you who refuse to marry her. Sainville. She received me with a denial. Jaquemin. To refuse the hand of my daughter! Jaquemin. Oh yes, set off, you are right. Sainville. Yes, my friend, I am right. When this storm will be over, you will feel I have acted like an honest man, your daughter would not have been happy with me. [Exit. Jaquemin. Infamous! infamous! such are our modern friends! who ever heard of such conduct? I am so angry with him, Louise, and all my wards; where are they, (calling) Agathe, Pauline, Louise, Therese. They must have committed some extravagance, which has fallen upon the head of my poor girl. Enter THERESE. Therese. What has happened, father, that you call so loud? Jaquemin. What has happened; I wonder, Miss, that at your age you should dare to fix your inclination upon your cousin without my consent, and own it before me. Learn that I forbid you to write to him, or receive any of his letters. Enter AGATHE, PAULINE, and LOUISE. Agathe. What are your wishes, my dear guardian? Jaquemin. My wishes, Miss, what means your conduct towards that honest man, Ledoux? Is it not time you should be married? Pauline. Really, Mr. Jaquemin, you are in a strange humour. Jaquemin. And you, Miss; don't you see you spoil yourself with reading ridiculous romances. Are such books fit to be perused by a young lady? Louise. Be not so angry, father. Jaquemin. Ah! you, dare to speak to me too. It is you who are the cause of all this; you, from whom I expected more comfort, have now injured me more than any. What did you say to Sainville, that he leaves me, vowing never to enter this house again, and refusing to marry you? Louise Does Mr. Sainville refuse me, I rejoice at it heartily (sighing). Jaquemin. You rejoice at it! you are all mad, and wish to make me rave. Enter CORSIGNAC and LEDOUX. Corsignac. I've conquered! I've conquered! (to Agathe) here is your slave (presenting Ledoux). Jaquemin. What do you mean? Corsignac. Only this, dear guardian, your ward is no longer blind to the merits of Mr. Ledoux, who returns to her more loving than ever, and wants nothing more than your consent to celebrate the nuptials. Jaquemin. As for you, Sir, I believe you are an honourable man; but it is Mr. Sainville who introduced you to me, and he has behaved in such a manner that his aquaintance with you is no recommendation to me But no; it is Louise alone who is the cause of all this. Louise. Permit me to withdraw, I cannot bear your anger; but since it has been kindled by Mr. Sainville, I hate his very name. [Exit. Jaquemin. Very well, she hates him; and he is gone never to return! Therese. But father, my cousin and I are not in the least guilty. Jaquemin. Hold your tongue; this is the effect of my goodness, my indulgence, or rather my folly; but I'll be so no more; and if you don't amend I'll give you all up, and you shall die old maids! [Exit. Therese. Oh father! do not curse us. Pauline. What a burst of rage! Corsignac (to Pauline). Be so kind as to initiate me into this mystery. Pauline. What do you wish, Sir? to fatigue me with your love; it would be very untimely, for I never was so far from feeling disposed to laugh in my life. [Exit. Ledoux (to Agathe). Must I a second time withdraw from your presence? Agathe. Just as you please. My guardian is angry with me without knowing why, and so am 1 with you. [Exit. Corsignac. Every head goes wrong in this house. Therese (to Ledoux). Follow Agathe.-(To Corsignac.) and you Pauline. Corsignac. Let us interrogate your father, the servants, the whole house, for we must know whence this tempest proceeds. || circumstances, partly by his father's profusion, and partly by his own credulity in depending upon a false friend. He is attached to Sylvia Conroy, who is under the guardianship of two uncles, who are both solicitous that she should marry. She has two other lovers, one Grumley, the tyrannical Lord of the Manor, and Verdict, the Attorney of the village. She despises them both, and is secretly partial to Frank WoodlandFrank, having but little fortune, is too delicate to avail himself of her affection. After several ludicrous mistakes, and much pleasant equivoque, the uncles consent to a marriage, and it appears that one of these uncles, Commodore Convoy, had brought home property belonging to Frank, which enables him to redeem his estate from mortgage in the hands of Grumley. There is an under-plot arising from a former connection between the Lawyer and the Widow Hall, as well as from the distresses of an old schoolmaster and his family who have been brought to beggary by the oppression of Grumley. The piece is diversified by the humours of the Commodore, of the Lawyer, of a rustic Waiter, as well as by the wild desperation of Invoice, a broken speculator. This Comedy is the production of Mr. T. Dibdin, who approaches nearer to the particular line of Mr. Colman than any modern dramatist. If we were inclined to be fastidious we might object to the model he has chosen; but as the drama, by the general concurrence of the town, has long been exempted from the obligation of ordinary rules, and been suffered to plead to criticism with a pardon in its pocket, it would be ungenerous to quarrel with the puns or attempts at overcharged character, which abound in this piece. In a country where folly is faith, who would be a martyr to good sense? In an age in which the stage relishes, and indeed admits nothing else, Mr. Dibdin would be to blame to risk his profit Therese. From our neighbour, Ursule, I have for his reputation, or prefer the general object of no doubt. [Exit. || writing to one of its most barren and precarious Corsignac. Yes, you are right, I'll soon find it || compensations. [Exit. out. Ledoux. Why did I return so soon. END OF THE SECOND ACT, (To be continued.) HAYMARKET. THE public were on Thursday, the 13th, attracted to this theatre by a new Comedy, entitled Errors Excepted. The scene lies in a country town, and though there is no great intricacy in the plot, it is very well calculated to excite an interest, and to afford diversion. The hero of the piece, Frank Woodland, is embarrassed in his This is doubtless Mr. Dibdin's excuse to himself, and may well be admitted as his apology to the critics. Some objections, however, we are bound to make. In the first place, the plot was somewhat stale -A bankrupt not appearing to his commission, a young man becoming a dupe to misplaced confidence, a ship foundering at sea, &c &c. lucidents of this sort are of a species of plot which abound in that catalogue of mercantile sufferings, Lloyd's List and the London Gazette. Mr Dibdin might have looked around him, and found a better story with ease. The characters were not very new; Verdict is |