AIR

Coeval with man
Our empire began,
And never shall fall
Till ruin shakes all.
With the ruin of all,
Shall Babylon fall.

SECOND PROPHET

RECITATIVE

'Tis thus that pride triumphant rears the head,
A little while, and all their power is fled.
But ha! what means yon sadly plaintive train,
That this way slowly bends along the plain?
And now, methinks, a pallid corse they bear
To yonder bank, and rest the body there.
Alas! too well mine eyes observant trace
The last remains of Judah's royal race;
Our monarch falls, and now our fears are o'er,
The wretched Zedekiah is no more.

AIR

Ye wretches who, by fortune's hate,

In want and sorrow groan;

Come ponder his severer fate,
And learn to bless your own.

Ye sons, from fortune's lap supplied,
Awhile the bliss suspend;
Like yours, his life began in pride;
Like his, your lives may end.

SECOND PROPHET

RECITATIVE

Behold his squalid corse with sorrow worn,
His wretched limbs with ponderous fetters torn ;
Those eyeless orbs that shock with ghastly glare,
Those illbecoming robes, and matted hair!
And shall not Heaven for this its terrors show,
And deal its angry vengeance on the foe?
How long, how long, Almighty Lord of all,
Shall wrath vindictive threaten ere it fall!

200

210

220

230

ISRAELITISH WOMAN

AIR

As panting flies the hunted hind,
Where brooks refreshing stray;
And rivers through the valley wind,
That stop the hunter's way;

Thus we, O Lord, alike distress'd,

For streams of mercy long;

Those streams that cheer the sore oppress'd,
And overwhelm the strong.

FIRST PROPHET

RECITATIVE

But whence that shout? Good heavens! Amazement all!

See yonder tower just nodding to the fall:

See where an army covers all the ground,

Saps the strong wall and pours destruction round;
The ruin smokes, destruction pours along,

How low the great, how feeble are the strong!
The foe prevails, the lofty walls recline;

O God of hosts, the victory is thine!

CHORUS OF ISRAELITES

Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust;

Let vengeance be begun;

Serve her as she hath serv'd the just,

And let thy will be done.

FIRST PRIEST

RECITATIVE

All, all is lost. The Syrian army fails.
Cyrus, the conqueror of the world, prevails!
Save us, O Lord! to thee, though late, we pray;
And give repentance but an hour's delay.

SECOND PRIEST

AIR

Thrice happy, who in happy hour
To Heaven their praise bestow,
And own his all-consuming power
Before they feel the blow!

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250

FIRST PROPHET

RECITATIVE

Now, now's our time! ye wretches bold and blind,
Brave but to God, and cowards to mankind;
Too late you seek that power unsought before,
Your wealth, your pride, your empire, are no more.

AIR

O Lucifer! thou son of morn,
Alike of heaven and man the foe;

Heaven, men, and all,

Now press thy fall,

And sink thee lowest of the low.

SECOND PRIEST

O Babylon, how art thou fallen!
Thy fall more dreadful from delay;
Thy streets forlorn

To wilds shall turn,

Where toads shall pant, and vultures prey.

FIRST PROPHET

RECITATIVE

Such be their fate. But listen! from afar
The clarion's note proclaims the finish'd war.
Cyrus, our great restorer, is at hand,

And this way leads his formidable band.
Now give your songs of Sion to the wind,
And hail the benefactor of mankind:

He comes pursuant to divine decree,

To chain the strong, and set the captive free.

CHORUS OF YOUTHS

Rise to raptures past expressing,
Sweeter from remember'd woes ;
Cyrus comes, our wrongs redressing,
Comes to give the world repose.

CHORUS OF VIRGINS

Cyrus comes, the world redressing,
Love and pleasure in his train;
Comes to heighten every blessing,
Comes to soften every pain.

260

270

280

CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS

Hail to him with mercy reigning,
Skill'd in every peaceful art;

Who, from bonds our limbs unchaining,
Only binds the willing heart.

LAST CHORUS

But chief to Thee, our God, our Father, Friend,
Let praise be given to all eternity;

O Thou, without beginning, without end

Let us,

and all, begin and end in Thee!

VERSES

IN REPLY TO AN INVITATION TO DINNER AT DR. BAKER'S

'This is a poem! This is a copy of verses?'

YOU

YOUR mandate I got,
You may all go to pot;

Had your senses been right,
You'd have sent before night;
As I hope to be saved,
I put off being shaved;
For I could not make bold,
While the matter was cold,
To meddle in suds,

Or to put on my duds;

So tell Horneck and Nesbitt
And Baker and his bit,
And Kauffman beside,

And the Jessamy bride,
With the rest of the crew,
The Reynoldses two,
Little Comedy's face,
And the Captain in lace.
(By-the-bye you may tell him,
I have something to sell him;
Of use I insist,

When he comes to enlist.

Your worships must know

That a few days ago,

An order went out,

For the foot-guards so stout

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10

20

To wear tails in high taste,
Twelve inches at least:
Now I've got him a scale
To measure each tail,
To lengthen a short tail,
And a long one to curtail.)
Yet how can I when vext,
Thus stray from my text?
Tell each other to rue
Your Devonshire crew,
For sending so late
To one of my state.
But 'tis Reynolds's way
From wisdom to stray,
And Angelica's whim
To be frolick like him,

But alas! your good worships, how could they be wiser,
When both have been spoil'd in to-day's Advertiser ?

30

LETTER IN PROSE AND VERSE TO MRS. BUNBURY

MADAM, I read your letter with all that allowance which critical candour could require, but after all find so much to object to, and so much to raise my indignation, that I cannot help giving it a serious answer.

I am not so ignorant, Madam, as not to see there are many sarcasms contained in it, and solecisms also. (Solecism is a word that comes from the town of Soleis in Attica, among the Greeks, built by Solon, and applied as we use the word Kidderminster for curtains from a town also of that name ;—but this is learning you have no taste for !)-I say, Madam, there are sarcasms in it, and solecisms also. But, not to seem an ill-natured critic, I'll take leave to quote your own words, and give you my remarks upon them as they occur. You begin as follows:

'I hope, my good Doctor, you soon will be here,
And your spring-velvet coat very smart will appear,
To open our ball the first day of the year.'

Pray, Madam, where did you ever find the epithet 'good,' applied to the title of Doctor? Had you called me 'learned Doctor,' or 'grave Doctor,' or 'noble Doctor,' it might be allowable, because they belong to the profession. But, not to cavil at trifles, you talk of my 'spring-velvet coat,' and advise me to wear