The Bays Miscellany or Colley Triumphant: containing I. The Petty-Sessions of Poets. II. The Battle of the Poets, or the Contention for the Laurel; as it is now Acting at the New Theatre in the Hay-Market. III. The Battle of the Poets. An Heroic Poem. In Two Canto's. With the True Characters of the several Poets therein mention'd; and just Reasons why not qualify'd for the Laurel. The Whole design'd as a Specimen of those Gentlemens Abilities, without Prejudice or Partiality. Written by Scriblerus Quartus [i.e. Thomas Cooke] |
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 | The Bays Miscellany |  |
“Of Princess Huncamunca and Tom Thumb:
Fetch me my Laureat quickly, let him write
On Huncamunca's Marriage with Tom Thumb,
Epithalamiums full of Frisk and Fun.
Nood.
Alas! my Lord, your noble Laureat's dead.
King.
Ha! dead! Is't possible?
Griz.
My Liege, 'tis true.
King.
Witness, ye Powers, I have not in my Realm
One fit to wear the Laurel after him!
Yet, my good Lords, with officious Haste
Summon the Sons of Crambo, 'tis our Will
They should appear, and rhime it for the Bays:
You, my good Lords, shall judge th'ambitious Strife,
And where 'tis most deserv'd, the Wreath bestow.
[Exeunt King, &c.
Nood.
Haste, fly my Lord, and bid the Tribe convene.
[To Doodle.
Griz.
He need not—Even now around the Door
A numerous Tribe of Rhimesters waiting stand,
Thick as in fly-blown Mutton Maggots breed,
They croud the Palace Gate.
New Mushrom-Poets of a Night start up,
With dirty Fingers reaching at the Bays,
And bawl their Merit forth in hobling Verse.
Tinkers, Sow-gelders, Threshers, Footmen, Pimps,
Old punning Coblers, Taylors insolent,
And scribling snotty-nos'd Attorneys Clerks,
Put in their equal Claim—
Nood.
Admit 'em them—
We'll hear these brave Parnassian Peers contend.
First, let the senior Bard approach our Ears.
[Doodle goes out, and returns with a Paper.
Dood.
My Lord, I cannot get the Senior to approach.
Nood.
Why, what is he?
Griz.
A punning Cobler! An excellent Toad at writing Pindaricks! He's a great Critick too.
Dood.
Yonder he stands without, talking to his gaping Brethren, of the Strength of Genius! the great Hints! the supernatural Emotion! the Soarætherial Conceptions.
Nood.
Heyday! Heyday! Are you sure his Brain is not touch'd?
Griz.
Brain touch'd! Why his Judgment is now full ripe.
Nood.
I fear it will be found like a Medlar, not only ripe, but rotten—But has he sent in any Verses?
Dood.
Yes, yes, here they are.
Nood.
Read 'em, my Lord Truetaste.
[Doodle gives the Paper to Truetaste.
True.
[After perusing a little]
I'll try, but I fear I shan't do him Justice, they are so very sublime.
[Reads.]Thy Influence shed
On this devoted Head!
An happy Hour
Ah! let me snatch it e'er too late!
The shady Laurel even now
Awaits this ancient Brow;
Which if I lose,
I like a Goose,
Or sullen Bittern on the Danube's Shore,
Among the Reeds slow-swinging o'er
The rapid Stream, shall hum, or buz, or roar.
Nood.
Give my Service to him, and tell him, I think he's too sublime for a Laureat; but I'll use my Interest to make him Thunderer at one of the Play-houses.
Griz.
Lord, Sir, he does not write for Interest: Reputation, Fame, immortal Fame, is what he aims at.
True.
Then tell him I think he's an extraordinary Person, and that his Verses are most wonderfully wonderful.
[Exit Doodle.Enter Doodle and Profund.
Nood.
Who is this, my Lord?
Prof.
May it please your Lordship, I was brought up an Attorney, but finding my Capacity above that Business, and having a Taste for Poetry, I inclined my Study that way: As a Proof of my Learning, I have restored the ancient Reading of Jack the Giant-killer, and written a Comment upon Thomas Hickathrift.
Nood.
Do you write fluently, Sir?
Prof.
Sir, in that I dare affirm, None but myself can be my Parallel. My envious Brethren think I only plod on in a beaten Road, like a Pack-horse, but they are maliciously mistaken. I write Plays and Operas with the utmost Expedition; and I can't blow my Nose, but out flies an Entertainment.
Nood.
Pray, Sir, give us a Specimen of your Poetry.
[Profund takes a Paper out of his Pocket.
reads.
“In Days of Yore full-fam'd was Hickathrift,
“A peerless Wight, of Bags great Store had he.
Your modern Publishers and Printers have it so,
but at my peril let it stand corrected thus:
“Full fam'e was Hickathrift in Days of Yore,
“Great Store of Gold had he, a peerless Wight.
As for the first, let all the Commentators in Europe set their Heads together, and ring as many Changes upon it, as were rung upon the Bells in Cornhill, I'll undertake to give 'em twenty more; and as to the second Line, having great Store of Bags—as I humbly apprehend, is having just nothing; but in my Reading, I change the Container, Bags, for the Contained, Gold; which is absolutely, upon the Word of a Scholiast, much—much better.
Nood.
Sir, this may be very learned for what I know, but your Poetry is what I want.
Prof.
Sir, I have a Specimen, which I don't doubt will meet with your Approbation; there's a Song in it, which my singing Back will perform in a high Flight, and such a Flight as Mortal never flew.
Lo! what my Brain prolifick can produce,Full of Surprize and Wonder! in my Verse
Heaven, Earth, Air, Hell, Seas, Fire together blend
And sympathize—
Now, if you please, I'll call in my Back to sing the Song.
[Goes to the Door.
Enter Songstero.
| The Bays Miscellany | |