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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 V.

King, Arsaces, Vardanes.
King.
But where 's Evanthe? Where 's the lovely Maid?

Arsaces.
On the cold pavement, by her aged Sire,
The dear companion of his solitude,
She sits, nor can persuasion make her rise;
But in the wild extravagance of joy
She weeps, then smiles, like April's sun, thro' show'rs.
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While with strain'd eyes he gazes on her face,
And cries, in ecstacy, “Ye gracious pow'rs!
“It is too much, it is too much to bear!”
Then clasps her to his breast, while down his cheeks
Large drops each other trace, and mix with hers.

King.
Thy tale is moving, for my eyes o'erflow—
How slow does Lysias with Evanthe creep!
So moves old time when bringing us to bliss.
Now war shall cease, no more of war I'll have,
Death knows satiety, and pale destruction
Turns loathing from his food, thus forc'd on him.
The triffling dust, the cause of all this ruin,
The trade of death shall urge no more.—

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