[120] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, January 9, 1782, with the following introduction: "On Wednesday evening, the 2d instant [January 2, 1782] Alex. Quesnay, Esq., exhibited a most elegant entertainment at the playhouse, where were present his excellency Gen. Washington, the Minister of France, the President of the State, a number of officers of the army, and a brilliant assemblage of ladies and gentlemen of the city who were invited. After a prologue suitable to the occasion, EUGENIE, an elegant French comedy, was first presented (written by the celebrated M. Beaumarchais), and in the opinion of several good judges was extremely well acted by the young gentlemen students in that polite language. After the comedy was acted the LYING VARLET, a farce; to this succeeded several curious dances, followed by a brilliant illumination, consisting of thirteen pyramidal pillars, representing the thirteen States,--on the middle column was seen a cupid, supporting a laurel crown over the motto, 'WASHINGTON, _the pride of his Country and terror of Britain_.' On the summit was the word _Virginia_, on the right _Connecticut_, with the names GREENE and LA FAYETTE, on the left the word _Pennsylvania_, with the names WAYNE and STEUBEN, and so on according to the birthplace and State proper to each general. The spectacle ended with an artificial illumination of the thirteen columns." The prologue, written at the request of Mr. Quesnay, is as above. [121] In the 1786 version, which was reprinted verbatim from the newspaper, this read "Great Sir," with the foot-note, "Addressed to His Excellency General Washington," and the rest of the poem was made to refer solely to him. In the later versions this was changed so as to read, "Addressed to the Commander in Chief and several of the officers of the American army then present at the theatre in Southwark." STANZAS[122] Occasioned by the Ruins of a Country Inn, unroofed and blown down in a storm Where now these mingled ruins lie A temple once to Bacchus rose, Beneath whose roof, aspiring high, Full many a guest forgot his woes: No more this dome, by tempests torn, Affords a social safe retreat; But ravens here, with eye forlorn, And clustering bats henceforth will meet. The Priestess of this ruined shrine, Unable to survive the stroke, Presents no more the ruddy wine, Her glasses gone, her china broke. The friendly Host, whose social hand Accosted strangers at the door, Has left at length his wonted stand, And greets the weary guest no more. Old creeping Time, that brings decay, Might yet have spared these mouldering walls, Alike beneath whose potent sway A temple or a tavern falls. Is this the place where mirth and joy, Coy nymphs and sprightly lads were found? Indeed! no more the nymphs are coy, No more the flowing bowls go round.