Occasional Address, Spoken by Miss Fontenelle,
on her Benefit-Night, Decr. 4th. 1793. Written by Mr Burns

STILL anxious to secure your partial favour,
And not less anxious sure, this night than ever,
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter,
'T would vamp my Bill, thought I, if nothing better;
So, sought a Poet, roosted near the skies,
Told him, I came to feast my curious eyes;
Said, nothing like his works was ever printed,
And last, my Prologue-business, slily hinted.

Ma'am, let me tell you, quoth my MAN of RHYMES,
I know your bent--------these are no laughing times;
Can you, but Miss, I own I have my fears,
Dissolve in pause--------and sentimental tears--------
With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence,
Rouse from his sluggish slumbers, fell Repentance;
Paint Vengeance, as he takes his horrid stand,
Waving on high the desolating brand,
Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty Land!

I could no more--------askance the creature eyeing,
D'ye think, said I, this face was made for crying?
I'll laugh, that 's pos----nay more, the world shall know it;
And so, your servant, gloomy Master Poet.

Firm as my creed, Sirs, 'tis my fix'd belief,
That Misery's another word for Grief:
I also think------so may I be a Bride!
That so much laughter, so much life enjoy'd.

Thou man of crazy care, and ceaseless sigh,
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye;
Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive------
To make three guineas do the work of five;
Laugh in Misfortune's face------the beldam witch!
Say, you'll be merry----tho' you can't be rich.

Thou other man of care, the wretch in love,
Who long with jiltish airs and arts hast strove;
Who, as the boughs all temptingly project,
Measur'st, in desp’rate thought------a rope--thy neck------
Or, where the beetling cliffs o'erhang the deep,
Peerest, to meditate the healing leap:
[For shame! For shame! I tell thee, thou art no man:
This for a giddy, vain, capricious woman?
A creature, though I say ’t, you know, that should not;
Ridiculous with her idiot, ‘Would and Would not.’]
Wouldst thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf?
Laugh at her follies; laugh e'en at thyself:
Learn to despise those frowns, now so terrific;
And love a kinder------that 's your grand specific!

To sum up all----be merry! I advise;
And as we're merry, may we still be wise.