The following Lines, written by the Rev. Mr. PRITCHARD, Jun. before he knew the Author was in possession of…

There liv'd at Argos once a youth of fame, (So Horace tells) and Lycas was his name, Who, (if there is a joy which mad men know, And such as madness only can bestow) By the strong force of its prevailing pow'r, Wak'd to fresh transport ev'ry new-born hour. Each visionary scene that fancy drew, His mind embodied, and confirm'd it true. Oft, in the height of his distemper's rage, He saw, or fancy'd that he saw, a stage; Where as he heard the self-imagin'd sound, And trod, or thought he trod, dramatic ground; Where, with nice skill in imitative art, Each son of Thespis seem'd to play his part, The fond conceit drew down his loud applause, As tho' reality had been the cause, And ev'ry member, head, hands, lips, and eyes, Profess'd their praise, and testified surprize.

If such the charm where fancy gave delight, Let truth, not fiction, plead our cause to-night; And, as I come to take a nearer view, Pleading for him who strives to pleasure you, Oh! may propitious Beauty smile reward! May Science favour, and the Gods regard!

Sons of renown, the bards of ancient days, Wore on their heads a circling crown of bays, These bloom eternal, for to them belong The grace, the pride, the energies of song; The tale well-told, the animated line, The glow of sentiment, and thought divine; Yet still there blossoms many a virgin flow'r, On the fair spot where Genius rears her bow'r; Of these our bard presents before your view, One of a simple, but unsully'd hue; Should the mild off'ring kind acceptance share, Tis your's to weave the crown, and his to wear.