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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 III.

Arsaces,
alone.
'Tis here that hapless Bethas is confin'd;
He who, but yesterday, like angry Jove,
When punishing the crimes of guilty men,
Spread death and desolation all around,
While Parthia trembl'd at his name; is now
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Unfriended and forlorn, and counts the hours,
Wrapt in the gloomy horrors of a goal.—
How dark, and hidden, are the turns of fate!
His rigid fortune moves me to compassion.
O! 'tis a heav'nly virtue when the heart
Can feel the sorrows of another's bosom,
It dignifies the man: The stupid wretch
Who knows not this sensation, is an image,
And wants the feeling to make up a life—
I'll in, and give my aid to sooth his sorrows.

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