A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes

On old Parnassus, t'other day,
The Muses met to sing and play;
Apart from all the rest were seen
The tragick and the comick queen,
Engag'd, perhaps, in deep debate,
On Rich's, or on Fleetwood's fate.
When, on a sudden, news was brought
That Garrick had the patent got,
And both their ladyships again
Might now return to Drury-lane.
They bow'd, they simper'd, and agreed
They wish'd the project might succeed,
'Twas very possible, the case
Was likely too, and had a face—
A face! Thalia titt'ring cry'd,
And cou'd her joy no longer hide;

254

Why, sister, all the world must see
How much this makes for you and me:
No longer now shall we expose
Our unbought goods to empty rows,
Or meanly be oblig'd to court
From foreign aid a weak support;
No more the poor polluted scene
Shall teem with births of Harlequin;
Or vindicated stage shall feel
The insults of the dancer's heel.
Such idle trash we'll kindly spare
To operas now—they'll want them there;
For Sadler's-Wells, they say, this year
Has quite undone their engineer.

Pugh, you're a wag, the buskin'd prude
Reply'd, and smil'd; besides 'tis rude
To laugh at foreigners, you know,
And triumph o'er a vanquish'd foe:
For my part, I shall be content
If things succeed as they are meant;
And should not be displeas'd to find
Some changes of the tragick kind.
And say, Thalia, mayn't we hope
The stage will take a larger scope?
Shall he whose all-expressive powers
Can reach the heights that Shakespear soars,
Descend to touch an humbler key,
And tickle ears with poetry;

255

Where every tear is taught to flow
Thro' many a line's melodious woe,
And heart-felt pangs of deep distress
Are fritter'd into similes?
—O thou, whom nature taught the art
To pierce, to cleave, to tear the heart,
Whatever name delight thine ear,
Othello, Richard, Hamlet, Lear,
O undertake my just defence,
And banish all but nature hence!
See, to thy aid with streaming eyes
The fair afflicted Constance flies;
Now wild as winds in madness tears
Her heaving breasts and scatter'd hairs;
Or low on earth disdains relief
With all the conscious pride of grief.
My Pritchard too in Hamlet's queen—
The goddess of the sportive vein
Here stop'd her short, and with a sneer,
My Pritchard, if you please, my dear!
Her tragick merit I confess,
But surely mine's her proper dress;
Behold her there with native ease,
And native spirit, born to please;
With all Maria's charms engage,
Or Milwood's arts, or Touchwood's rage,
Thro' every foible trace the fair,
Or leave the town, and toilet's care

256

To chaunt in forests unconfin'd
The wilder notes of Rosalind.

O thou, where-e'er thou fix thy praise,
Brute, Drugger, Fribble, Ranger, Bays!
O join with her in my behalf,
And teach an audience when to laugh.
So shall buffoons with shame repair
To draw in fools at Smithfield fair,
And real humour charm the age,
Tho' Falstaff should forsake the stage.

She spoke. Melpomene reply'd,
And much was said on either side;
And many a chief, and many a fair,
Were mention'd to their credit there.
But I'll not venture to display
What goddesses think fit to say.
However, Garrick, this at least
Appears, by both a truth confess'd,
That their whole fate for many a year
But hangs on your paternal care.
A nation's taste depends on you
—Perhaps a nation's virtue too.
O think how glorious 'twere to raise
A theatre to virtue's praise.
Where no indignant blush might rise,
Nor wit be taught to plead for vice:
But every young attentive ear
Imbibe the precepts, living there.

257

And every unexperienc'd breast
There feel its own rude hints express'd,
And, waken'd by the glowing scene,
Unfold the worth that lurks within.

If possible, be perfect quite;
A few short rules will guide you right.
Consult your own good sense in all,
Be deaf to fashion's fickle call,
Nor e'er descend from reason's laws
To court what you command, applause.

Mrs. Cibber.

Mr. Quin, inimitable in that character, who was then leaving the stage.

University of Virginia Library

To Mr. GARRICK.

By the Same.