Mr. Greenfut. Never: I wonder when it will be over?

Mr. Eelskin. We'd better not go away; the ballet will begin presently, and I'm sure you'll like the dancing, Miss, for, excepting the Westrisis, and your own sweet self, I never saw better dancing.

Miss Theodosia. Yes, I loves dancing; and at the last Cripplegate ball, the master of the ceremonies paid me several compli

ments.

Miss Arabella. Why do all the dancers wear plaids, mamma?

Mrs. Greenfat. Because it's a cool dress,

dear.

Mr. Greenfat. Well, if a girl of mine whisked her petticoats about in that manner, I'd have her horsewhipped.

Mr. Eelskin. Now we'll take a stroll till the concert begins again. This is the marine cave-very natural to look at, Miss, but nothing but paint and canvass, I assure you. This is the rewolving evening war for the present; after the fire-works, it still change into his majesty, King George. Yonder's the hermit and his cat.

Master Peter. Mamma, does that old man always sit there?

Mrs. Greenfat. I'm sure I don't know, child; does he, Mr. Eelskin?

Mr. Greenfat. Nonsense-it's all gammon!

Mr. Eelskin. This way, my angel; the concert has recommenced.

Miss Theodosia. Oh, that's Charles Taylor; I likes his singing; he's such a merry fellow do hancore him, John.

Mrs. Greenfat. Dosee, my dear, you're too bold; it was a very impurent song: I declare I'm quite ashamed of you!

Mr. Greenfat. Never mince matters; always speak your mind, girl.

Mr. Eelskin. The fire-works come next. Suppose we get nearer the Moorish tower, and look for good places, as Mr. G. dislikes paying for the gallery. Now you'll not be afeard; there'll not be the least danger, depend.

Mrs. Greenfat. Is there much smoke, Mr. John?-Do they fire many cannons? -I hates cannons-and smoke makes me cough. (Bell rings.) Run, run, my dearsHumphy, Peter, Bella, run! Mr. Greenfat, run, or we shall be too late! Eelskin and Dosee are a mile afore us! What's that red light? Oh, we shall all be burnt! What noise is that?-Oh, it's the bomb in the Park!-We shall all be burnt!

Mr. Greenfat. Nonsense, woman, don't frighten the children!

Miss Theodosia. Now you're sure the

rockets won't fall on my new pink bonnet, nor the smoke soil my French white dress, nor the smell of the powder frighten me into fits?—Now you're quite sure of it, John?

Mr. Eelskin. Quite sure, my charmer: I have stood here repeatedly, and never had a hair of my head hurt. See, Blackmore is on the rope; there he goes up-up-up! Isn't it pretty, Miss?

Miss Theodosia. Oh, delightful !-Does he never break his neck?

Mr. Eelskin. Never-it's insured! Now he descends. How they shoot the maroons at him! Don't be afeard, lovee, they sha'n't hurt you. See, Miss, how gracefully he bows to you. Isn't it terrific?

Miss Theodosia. Is this all?-I thought it would last for an hour, at least. John, I'm so hungry; I hope papa means to have supper?

Master Peter. Mamma, I'm so hungry. Master Humphrey. Papa, I'm so dry. Miss Arabella. Mamma, I want somewhat to eat.

Mrs. Greenfat. Greenfat, my dear, we must have some refreshments.

Mr. Greenfat. Refreshments! where will you get them? All the boxes are full. -Oh, here's one. Waiter! what, the devil, call this a dish of beef?-It don't weigh three ounces! Bring half a gallon of stout, and plenty of bread. Can't we have some water for the children?

Mr. Eelskin. Shouldn't we have a little wine, sir?-it's more genteeler.

Mr. Greenfat. Wine, Eelskin, wine !Bad sherry at six shillings a bottle!Couldn't reconcile it to my conscience -We'll stick to the stout.

Mrs. Greenfat. Eat, my loves.-Some more bread for Bella.-There's a bit of fat for you, Peter.-Humphy, you shall have my crust.-Pass the stout to Dosee, Mr. John.-Don't drink it all, my dear!

Mr. Greenfat. Past two o'clock !-Shameful!-Waiter, bring the bill. Twelve shillings and eightpence. abominable! Charge a shilling a pot for stout-monstrous! Well, no matter; we'll walk home. Come along.

Garrick Plays.

No. XII.

[From the "Brazen Age," an Historical Play, by Thomas Heywood, 1613.]

Venus courts Adonis.

Venus. Why doth Adonis fly the Queen of Love,
And shun this ivory girdle of my arms?
To be thus scarf'd the dreadful God of War
Would give me conquer'd kingdoms. For a kiss,
But half like this, I could command the Sun
Rise 'fore his hour, to bed before his time;
And, being love-sick, change his golden beams,
And make his face pale as his sister Moon.
Look on me, Adon, with a stedfast eye,
That in these chrystal glasses I may see

My beauty that charms Gods, makes Men amazed
And stown'd with wonder. Doth this roseat pillow
Offend my Love?

With my
white fingers will I clap thy cheek;
Whisper a thousand pleasures in thy ear.
Adonis. Madam, you are not modest. I affect
The unseen beauty that adorns the mind:
This looseness makes you foul in Adon's eye.
If you will tempt me, let me in your face
Read blusfulness and fear; a modest fear
Would make your cheek seem much more beautiful.
Venus.wert thou made of stone,

I have heat to melt thee; I am Queen of Love.
There is no practive art of dalliance

Of which I am not mistress, and can use.
I have kisses that can murder unkind words,
And strangle hatred that the gall sends forth;
Touches to raise thee, were thy spirits half dead;
Words that can pour affection down thy ears.
Love me! thou can'st not chuse; thou shalt not chuse.
Adonis. Madam, you woo not well. Men covet not
These proffer'd pleasures, but love sweets denied.
These prostituted pleasures surfeit still;
Where's fear, or doubt, men sue with best good will.
Venus. Thou canst instruct the Queen of Love in

love.

Thou shalt not, Adon, take me by the hand;
Yet, if thou needs will force me, take my palm.
I'll frown on him: alas! my brow's so smooth,
It will not bear a wrinkle.-Hie thee hence
Unto the chace, and leave me; but not yet:
I'll sleep this night upon Endymion's bank,
On which the Swain was courted by the Moon.
Dare not to come; thou art in our disgrace:
Yet, if thou come, I can afford thee place!

Phoebus jeers Vulcan.

Vul. Good morrow, Phoebus; what's the news

abroad?

For thou see'st all things in the world are done,
Men act by day-light, or the sight of sun.

Phab. Sometime I cast my eye upon the sea,
To see the tumbling seal or porpoise play.
There see I merchants trading, and their sails
Big-bellied with the wind; sea fights sometimes
Rise with their smoke-thick clouds to dark my beams
Sometimes I fix my face upon the earth,

With my warm fervour to give metals, trees,
Herbs, plants and flowers, life. Here in gardens walk
Loose Ladies with their Lovers arm in arm.
Yonder the laboring Plowman drives his team.
Further I may behold main battles pitcht;
And whom I favour most (by the wind's help)

I can assist with my transparent rays.

Here spy I cattle feeding; forests there

Stored with wild beasts; here shepherds with their lasses,

Piping beneath the trees while their flocks graze.
In cities I see trading, walking, bargaining,
Buying and selling, goodness, badness, all things-
And shine alike on all.

Vul. Thrice happy Phoebus,

That, whilst poor Vulcan is confin'd to Lemnos,
Hast every day these pleasures. What news else?
Phab. No Emperor walks forth, but I see his state;
Nor sports, but I his pastimes can behold.

I see all coronations, funerals,

Marts, fairs, assemblies, pageants, sights and shows.
No hunting, but I better see the chace
Than they that rouse the game. What see I not?
There's not a window, but my beams break in;
No chink or cranny, but my rays pierce through;
And there I see, O Vulcan, wondrous things:
Things that thyself, nor any God besides,
Would give belief to.

And, shall I tell thee, Vulcan, 'tother day
What I beheld?—I saw the great God Mars-

Vul. God Mars

Phab. As I was peeping through a cranny, a-bedVul. Abed with whom?-some pretty Wench, I

warrant.

Phab. She was a pretty Wench.

Vul. Tell me, good Phœbus,

That, when I meet him, I may flout God Mars;
Tell me, but tell me truly, on thy life.

Phab. Not to dissemble, Vulcan, 'twas thy Wife!

The Peers of Greece go in quest of Hercules, and find him in woman's weeds, spinning with Omphale.

Jason. Our business was to Theban Hercules. 'Twas told us, he remain'd with Omphale, The Theban Queen.

Telamon, Speak, which is Omphale? or which Alcides?

Pollur. Lady, our purpose was to Hercules; Shew us the man.

Omphale. Behold him here.

Atreus. Where?

Omphale. There, at his task.

Jason. Alas, this Hercules !

This is some base effeminate Groom, not he
That with his puissance frighted all the earth.

Hercules. Hath Jason, Nestor, Castor, Telamon,
Atreus, Pollux, all forgot their friend?
We are the man.

Jason. Woman, we know thee not:
We came to seek the Jove-born Hercules,
That in his cradle strangled Juno's snakes,
And triumph'd in the brave Olympic games.
He that the Cleonean lion slew,

Th' Erimanthian boar, the bull of Marathon,
The Lernean hydra, and the winged hart
Telamon. We would see the Theban
That Cacus slew, Busiris sacrificed,
And to his horses hurl'd stern Diomed
To be devoured.

Pollar. That freed Hesione

From the sea whale, and after ransack'd Troy,
And with his own hand slew Laomedon.

Nestor. He by whom Dercilus and Albion fell;
He that Ecalia and Betricia won.

Atreus. That monstrous Geryon with his three heads vanquisht,

With Linus, Lichas that usurpt in Thebes,
And captived there his beauteous Megara.

Poller. That Hercules by whom the Centaurs fell, Great Achelous, the Stymphalides,

And the Cremona giants: where is he?

Telamon. That trait'rous Nessus with a shaft transfixt,

Strangled Anthens, purged Augeus' stalls,
Won the bright apples of th' Hesperides.

Jason. He that the Amazonian baldrick won ;
That Achelous with his club subdued,
And won from him the Pride of Caledon,
Fair Deianeira, that now mourns in Thebes
For absence of the noble Hercules !

Atreus. To him we came; but, since he lives not here,

Come, Lords; we will return these presents back
Unto the constant Lady, whence they came.

Hercules. Stay, Lords

Jason. 'Mongst women ?

Hercules. For that Theban's sake,

Whom you profess to love, and came to seek,
Abide awhile; and by my love to Greece,
I'll bring before you that lost Hercules,
For whom you came to enquire.
Telamon. It works, it works-
Hercules. How have I lost myself!

Did we all this? Where is that spirit become,
That was in us? no marvel, Hercules,

That thou be'st strange to them, that thus disguised
Art to thyself unknown !—hence with this distaff,
And base effeminate chares; hence, womanish tires;
And let me once more be myself again.
Your pardon, Omphale!

I cannot take leave of this Drama without noticing a touch of the truest pathos, which the writer has put into the mouth of Meleager, as he is wasting away by the operation of the fatal brand, administered to him by his wretched Mother.

My flame encreaseth still-Oh father Eneus;
And you Althea, whom I would call Mother,
But that my genius prompts me thou'rt unkind:
And yet farewell!

What is the boasted "Forgive me, but forgive me!" of the dying wife of Shore in Rowe, compared with these three little words?

C. L.

Topography.

ST. MARGARET'S AT CLIFF.

For the Table Book.

Stand still. How fearful

And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low!
The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air
Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head :
The fishermen that walk upon the beach
Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy,
Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge,
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard so high.-

SHAKSPEARE.

The village of St. Margaret's at Cliff is situated at a small distance from the South Foreland, and about a mile from the high road half way between Dover and Deal. It was formerly of some consequence, on account of its fair for the encouragement of traders, held in the precincts of its priory, which, on the dissolution of the monastic establishments by Henry VIII, losing its privilege, or rather its utility, (for the fair is yet held,) the village degenerated into an irregular group of poor cottages, a decent farm-house, and an academy for boys, one of the best commercial school establishments in the county of Kent. The church, though time has written strange defeatures on its mouldering walls, still bears the show of former importance; but its best claim on the inquisitive stranger is the evening toll of its single bell, which is generally supposed to be the curfew, but is of a more useful and honourable character. It was established by the testament of one of its inhabitants in the latter part of the seventeenth century, for the guidance of the wanderer from the peril of the neighbouring precipices, over which the testator fell, and died from the injuries he received. He bequeathed the rent of a piece of land for ever, to be paid to the village sexton for tolling the bell every evening at eight o'clock, when it should be dark at that hour

The cliffs in the range eastward of Dover to the Foreland are the most precipitous, but not so high as Shakspeare's. They are the resort of a small fowl of the widgeon species, but something less than the widgeon, remarkable for the size of its egg, which is larger than the swan's, and of a pale green, spotted with brown; it makes its appearance in May, and, choosing the most inaccessible part of the precipice, deposits its eggs, two in number, in holes,