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Juvenile poems on various subjects

With the Prince of Parthia, a tragedy
Godfrey, Thomas (1736-1763)

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[section]
  
ELEGY, To the Memory of Mr Thomas Godfrey.
  
ELEGY, to the Memory of the same.
  
The INVITATION. 1758.
  
VERSES
  
ODE ON FRIENDSHIP. 1758.
  
EPISTLE
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PASTORALS.
 1. 
I. To the same.
 2. 
II. To Dr. J--- K---sl---y, jun.
 3. 
III. To the Memory of General WOLFE, who was slain at the taking of QUEBEC.
  
A DITHYRAMBIC ON WINE.
  
The WISH.
  
A NIGHT-PIECE.
  
THE COURT of FANCY;
  
VICTORY.
  
A PARAPHRASE on the first PSALM.
  
A CANTATA, ON PEACE. 1763.
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SONGS.
 1. 
[I. The day was clos'd beneath the shade]
 2. 
[II. When in Celia's heav'nly Eye]
 3. 
III. To SYLVIA.
 4. 
[IV. Young Thyrsis with sighs often tells me his Tale]
 5. 
[V. O come to Misonborough's grove]
  
[VI. For Chloris long I sigh'd in vain]
  
VII. AMYNTOR.
  
THE ASSEMBLY OF BIRDS; from CHAUCER.
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THE PRINCE OF PARTHIA,
  
Advertisement.
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ACT I.
 1. 
SCENE I.
 2. 
SCENE II.
 3. 
SENE III.
 4. 
SCENE IV.
 5. 
SCENE V.
 6. 
SCENE VI.
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ACT II.
 1. 
SCENE I.
 2. 
SCENE II.
 3. 
SCENE III.
 4. 
SCENE IV.
 5. 
SCENE V.
 6. 
SCENE VI.
 7. 
SCENE VII.
 8. 
SCENE VIII.
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ACT III.
 1. 
SCENE I.
 2. 
SCENE II.
 3. 
SCENE III.
 4. 
SCENE IV.
 5. 
SCENE V.
 6. 
SCENE VI.
 7. 
SCENE VII.
 8. 
SCENE VIII.
 9. 
SCENE IX.
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ACT IV.
 1. 
SCENE I.
 2. 
SCENE II.
 3. 
SCENE III.
 4. 
SCENE IV.
 5. 
SCENE V.
 6. 
SCENE VI.
 7. 
SCENE VII.
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ACT V.
 1. 
SCENE I.
 2. 
SCENE II.
 3. 
SCENE III.
 4. 
SCENE IV.
 5. 
SCENE V.
 6. 
SCENE VI.
 7. 
SCENE VII.
 8. 
SCENE VIII.
 9. 
SCENE IX.
 10. 
SCENE the Last.

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SCENE I.

The PALACE.
Queen and Edessa.
Queen.
Talk not of sleep to me, the God of Rest
Disdains to visit where disorder reigns;
Not beds of down, nor music's softest strains,
Can charm him when 'tis anarchy within.
He flies with eager haste the mind disturb'd,
And sheds his blessings where the soul's in peace.

Edessa.
Yet, hear me, Madam!

Queen.
Hence, away, Edessa,
For thou know'st not the pangs of jealousy.
Say, has he not forsook my bed, and left me
Like a lone widow mourning to the night?
This, with the injury his son has done me,
149

If I forgive, may heav'n in anger show'r
Its torments on me—Ha! is n't that the King?

Edessa.
It is your Royal Lord, great Artabanus.

Queen.
Leave me, for I would meet him here alone,
Something is lab'ring in my breast—

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