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] |
 |
 |
 | The Bays Miscellany |  |
THE PETTY-SESSIONS OF POETS.
With Long-tails and Bob-tails for Frontlet of Bays?
All strove for the Profit, not one for the Honour;
So scribled, petition'd, and harrass'd the Donor.
A Verdict was given in Favour of Bob,
The Word carries Magic, and rithmes well to Rob.
By sly Innuendo I'll mention a few,
Who never were reckon'd among the large Crew.
Was a peevish, mishapen'd, diminutive Man:
A Bard, who by help of Physician and Parson,
Went quickly to work, on his Chair set his A---on,
And murder'd old Homer; but of his own head,
Flesh-dy'd with Blood, murder'd, mangled poor Shakespear, when dead.
Like a Botcher, he knew how to turn an old Coat,
But not make a new one; and just so he wrote.
Asserted his Claim, and said, he had most Merit;
That oftner than Proteus he vary'd his Shape,
Was Draper, Examiner, Buffoon and Ape.
That he many times brazen'd a manifold Rub,
By taking upon him the Tale of a Tub:
He was therefore advised not to sue for the Place,
Till he first turned Christian, and prov'd he had Grace.
An Oil-Merchant once, but a Man of some Fire;
To pourtrait his Gideon's great Stature and Strength,
Made him strut in Heroics full eight feet in length.
But finding his Claim not supported by any,
He drop'd his Pretensions, and set up his Zany,
As S---t had before done by Doctor D**l**y.
To the Bays then the Zany endeavour'd to climb,
But could not make Bombast to pass for Sublime;
Extravagant Flight, and extravagant Thought,
To a groveling Condition this Icarus brought:
The Doctor for Tales and Epistles so famous,
In Poetry Epic was found Ignoramus.
With Orator H---y, both equally modest,
Their Plea did put in; which, for want of a better,
Was, that they had once trump'd up a scandalous Letter:
The one was adjudg'd a most impudent Jester,
And the other sent down for Correction to L---r.
Asserted his Title, which seem'd pretty clear;
But as he misused Favour shew'd him before,
'Twas not proper that he should receive any more.
To a promising Youth, who the Frontlet would grace.
As Scipio not one of the Tribe half so fit,
If Judgment, good Sense, and an accurate Wit
Are Qualifications sufficient to raise
Our Esteem for the Man who does Merit the Bays.
THE BATTLE OF THE POETS:
OR THE Contention for the Laurel.
As it is now Acting At the New Theatre in the Hay-Market; introduced as an intire New Act to the Comical Tragedy of Tom Thumb.
And place it here! here all ye Heroes bow:
This, this is He, foretold by ancient Rhimes,
Th'Augustus born to bring Saturnian Times.
Dunciad.
A NEW PROLOGUE
The first Night of the young Company's acting this Season, at the New Theatre in the Hay-Market; in Behalf of those that came there from the other three Play-houses.
Disdain soft Peace, and love to shine in Arms;
Fortune and Fame with glowing Transport view,
And where They fly, with lab'ring Steps pursue.
Have dar'd to enter this ambitious Strife!
Fond, flattering Hope, to our desiring Eyes,
Presents your Favours, tempts us now to rise,
And bravely strive for such a glorious Prize.
Long the bright Ornaments of Drury's Stage
Have been the darling Favourites of the Age;
But greedy Fate, and Time's destroying Hand,
The generous Purpose of their Souls withstand.
Since then, in their declining, Others rise,
Blameless we may with Those dispute the Prize.
If Their Endeavours patient you attend,
The like Indulgence may to Us extend.
We hope to please—Let Youth atone each Fault,
Nothing at once is to Perfection brought:
The Seeds of Judgment, like the Fruit of Trees,
Wake into Life, and ripen by Degrees,
Young Cyons, e're they flourish, must take Root;
The Spring must usher in the Summer Fruit.
And with your Influence bless our barren Soil;
Or still to Innocent Delight may move,
And give New Pleasure for each different Night,
Us to the Task shall rouze, You to attend invite.
Our Souls assiduous shall no Labour spare,
That may instruct us to be worth your Care:
We'll strive, as all Predecessors strove,
Still at Perfection aiming, upwards move,
And be, in Time, we hope, what you may all approve.
Dramatis Personae.
- Fopling Fribble,
- Coment Profund,
- Sulky Bathos,
- Noctifer,
- Flaile.
- Lord Truetaste,
- Lord Grizzle,
- Noodle,
- Doodle.
- Dangle,
- Dismal.
- The other Characters as usual in Tom Thumb.
King.
“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.
AIR.
Flights of Cupids hover round me.
Flights of Bats and Owls hover round me,Clap your merry, merry sounding Wings;
Flights of Bats and Owls hover round me,
Whilst transported thus a jolly Poet sings;
Laurel spreading,
My Brow shading,
Io! Victoria! this Sonnet brings.
Well, 'tis a very good Song, and we'll consider on't—So retire a Moment.
[Exeunt Prof. and Song.
Enter Fopling Fribble.
True.
Mr. Fribble, I am glad to see you, we are now proceeding to an Election—pray, Mr. Fribble, if you stand as a Candidate, make a few extempore Lines.
Frib.
Lightning rivet me in the Embraces of my Muse eternally if I don't—Allons, my Dear, the Subject! the Subject!
Nood.
We want an Epithalamium on Tom Thumb's Marriage with the Princess Huncamunca.
Frib.
Ay, ay, my Dear, I'll do't—hum! let me see!
Is a very great Man, gad strike me dumb;
And the fine Princess Huncamunca too,
Shall wed him without any more ado.
The Sun himself shall rise by Break of Day,
To see the Bride and Bridegroom all so gay;
And when that they are wed, and come from Church,
And at the Table sit in easy Chairs—
Griz.
Hold, hold, Mr. Fribble, easy Chairs don't rhime to Church.
Frib.
Hah! gadso, that's true—let me see—strike me speechless if I can find a Word that will rhime to Church—oh! now Sir!
And placed up on high, on large Joint-stools.Griz.
Olud! why Joint-stools rhimes to Church worse than easy Chairs.
Frib.
Psha! Pox, if you stand so hard for a Rhime, the Devil would—be a Poet Laureat.
Griz.
True, Mr. Fribble, pray go on.
Frib.
Now, my Dears, as I suppose, the Epithalamium is to be sung, I'll vary the Movement, for the Benefit of the Musick—hold!—hum!
To chear our Souls;
Our Pipes we will funk a,
For the Honour of great Huncamunca;
And as for Tom Thumb,
Say nothing but Mum:
For him we'll be damnable drunk a—
When he peeps in her Eyes,
For to see the Smiles rise.
Well pleas'd with the Pinking,
And Winking,
And Blinking,
All other Maids he'll despise.
When the Day-light is fled,
And they're going to Bed;
When the Princess is smerking,
And Tom pulls off his Jerkin—
Now 'tis decent to leave them there; and for the Chorus of all—
To the Tune of, Non e Sivago.And Jerkin,
And Jerkin,
And Smerking, &c. [Noise without.]
We'll all come, we will come in.
Nood.
What means this Insolence?
Enter Sulky Bathos—Noctifer—and Profund.
Bath.
And willing soon to understand our Doom,
We thus approach.
Noct.
Nood.
Noct.
Soft Carmen (brawny brave Athletick Chiefs)
Youre Bub salacious crown'd the slabber'd Board,
And curling Whifs of strong Mundungus rise,
Then in the Orchard's bloomy Shade reclin'd
Of Lovers in a Bower, the Fairies dance,
Descending Showers, the Midnight prowling Wolves,
Of Star-light Nights, of Moon-shine, Frost, and Heat,
And Owls and Bats full well devis'd to sing.
Pro.
Bath.
Dar'st thou such tuneless Dissonance rehearse,
And impudently call it Milton's Strain,
Where barbarous Nonsense with undaunted Stare
Thro' the vast Heap of grim Confusion grins.
Dar'st thou,
Thou dangling Under-Spur-leather of Law,
Attempt the Bays? Be dumb, ye Slaves, be dumb!
Have I so long at Wit and Merit roar'd
In thundring Prose, or in Pindarick Hail!
Have I so often at the Popeian popt,
The Head of Lacrymosa Puppi lop'd,
Detected the Poppysmas too, and now
To be confronted by a Pack of Elves!
Be gone, and take it for sufficient Praise,
When it is said, you durst contend with me.
Frib.
All four speak together.
Pro.
Read mine, my Lord—
Noct.
I'm recommended by—
Bath.
They can't be so good as mine—
Frib.
I wish your Lordship wou'd peruse.
Griz.
Ye Insects, in the Sun-shine of a Court
Grown warm, you're troublesome;
Depart the Room! Go leave us, we'll debate
In Private where to place the Dignity.
I have carried the Day.
Nood.
You, Mr. Fribble, stay.
Frib.
Brethren, farewell.
Bath.
Fare thee well;
Ill Luck awaits me, and ill I must fare.
[Exeunt Bath. Pro. and Noct.
[A Noise without.]
True
Pray keep back.
Flail.
Clear the Way, and let a Body come in.
[Within.
Griz.
What bustling Fellow is that?
Flail.
Wauns, I will come in, I'se tell you but that. [Within.
Enter Flail.
Why, what a Thrusting and Squeezing is here!
Odsflesh, if this be coming to Court—
True.
Pray, my Lord, upon what Account is this Fellow introduced?
Flail.
Whoy, I'm but a West-country Thresher; but I heard Volk were a making Varses vor a Place at Court, zo I come to zhow my Zel; for an Rhiming be all, I'ze rhime as thick as Hail, I warrant ye.
Griz.
Have you ever been acquainted with Poetry?
Flail.
Ah!—Laud help your Head, read Poetry, quotha! I've read Patient Grizzle, the Babes i' the Wood, Chevy-Chace, and the Dragon o' Wantley.
Nood.
You're learned.
Flail.
Learned, oy, oy—or else I'd ne'er made Varses for our Bell-man this ten Years—Nay I can crack Jokes in Rhime: At Joan Drake's Christning of her last Child, I made zuch Varses, the old Gossips were ready to die with Laughter:—Nay, they'd make your Hair stand on End to read 'em, they be so vull of Wit.
Oh, you set up for a Wit then—that's the worst thing you can do—the Title of a Wit never carries the Laurel.
Flail.
Noa! waunds, I thought they were all Wits—so plaguy zharp, that a Country Fellow cou'd not speak to 'um, but zure they are no cunninger, d'ye see, than other Volk—I'll zoon try my Skill.
Behind a Cock of new-made Hay,
Quoth Roger to Dolly, Ah! let me now!
Noa, Roger, quoth she, you shan't I vow.
If ye liken to wed me, ye may play
With me quite thro' the live long Day.
Quo' Hodge, we may play, but how shall we live?
My Father, quo' Doll, five Pounds will give.
At this young Roger began to smerk;
Besides, quo' Doll, I can stitch with a Jerk.
Hoh! hoh! hoh!
Nood.
Oh pox, Mr. Thresher,—you're a meer Wag.
Flail.
Oy, oy, you zee Iz'e a very Wag.—
True.
Well, Mr.—What's your name, withdraw a little, and you shall be answer'd.
[Exit Flail.
Nood.
Well, in my Opinion, Mr. Fribble has carried it from 'em all, and so Lord Grizzle proceed.
[They rise and come to the Front of the Stage, Grizzle leading Fribble.
Griz.
As pendent Bushes shew the Sale of Wine, And Pontack's Head denotes good Food within, Thee, from thy Verses, Laureat I pronounce.
[To Frib.Call in the Ministers in solemn Form, Invest his Temples with the glorious Bays.
[Exit Doodle, and Enter Dismal and Dangle with Laurels.
Dism.
Are all Materials ready?
Sir, they are.
Dis.
With both my Eyes I have the Room survey'd,
And can't espy the Mug of potent Ale.
Dang.
Ale! Sir,—you mean Sack.
Dis.
Sir, I said Ale, and mean to be obey'd.
[Enter Servant with a Tankard.
[Dangle sits—Fribble kneels before him.]
Dang.
Laureats, like other common Scriblers, yield,
And thou art chosen to maintain the Post
Which thy great Predecessor whilom fill'd,
Hail, Son mature! Undaunted Poet, hail!
Thee from the Origin of Things fore-doom'd
To wear the Bays, I ween:
No common Honour waits thy ample Brow;
Thou Prince of Poets shall distinguish'd stand,
And chaunt in Strains unrival'd Arthur's Praise.
Mark well the Oath, which th'art firmly bound
Sacred to hold, and every Part fulfil.
[Fribble lays his Hand upon the Laurel.
[The OATH.]
Where easy Wit in just Expression shines,
Shall once appear.—To be no thieving Ass,
(Tho' hard thy Forehead as Corinthian Brass)
Profoundly swear, lest what you call your own
Be prov'd another's, for your Parts are known.
Whene'er you choose an Epigram to write,
Swear to be waggish, very unpolite;
In Elegy that you will ne'er appear
Natural, Easy, Strong, Succinct or Clear;
If to the Odes, Pindarick Odes, you soar,
To be stark mad, and like a Tempest roar;
And when in Satyr you delight to rail,
To write with toothless Head, and stingless Tail;
In Panegyricks daub your Patron well.
In all thy Thoughts and Actions still be sure
“All Nonsense thus of old or modern Date,
“Shall in thee center, from thee circulate.
Frib.
All this I swear, I'll prove to all Mankind,
None better for this Honour is design'd:
Already they perceive how I can write,
This be my Poison but I'll do thee Right.
[Drinks.
[The Officers put the Wreath on his Head.]
The SONG.
[Tune of, What a pox wou'd you be at—Frib. sings.
I
My Temples aroundWith Laurel thus bound,
All you that behold at present a,
Shall find I have Wit
For my Post very fit,
By Nature I seem for it meant a.
II
Sure no Wretch will dareWith me to compare,
Nor meagre grim Satyrist flout me;
For the highest Degree
Of Quality see
The Paraphonalia about me.
III
I've a Bronze in my Face,In my Carriage a Grace,
Which has oft been expos'd to the Town a.
At my Plays, tho' the Croud
Have hist very loud,
Egad they cou'd ne'er hiss me down a.
IV
For next New year's Day,I'll show you a Lay
Writ with such Spirit, Force and Energy,
And in such a Strain,
As ne'er flow'd from the Brain
Of the late witty Son of the Clergy.
V
Since now of good SackI shall ne'er know the Lack,
The Flights of my Fancy pursuing,
With Surprize you shall view
The Laureat out-do
His wonderful usual Out-Doing.
Nood.
The grand Procession only now remains, which I will go prepare.
[Exit.
True.
Haste and caparison, with wondrous Speed,
The Ass that's destin'd to support the Weight
Of this our peerless Bard, and round proclaim
His Honours in quaint Songs and Roundelays.
[Exeunt in Form.
[Mob without, buzzaing! and Flourish of Trumpets and Musick.
Enter King Arthur, Grizzle, and Courtiers, meeting Lord Noodle, &c. who give the King an Account of Tom Thumb's being swallowed up by the Cow. The King expresses his Concern for this Misfortune in the following Speech.
K. Arth.
To Horror and Confusion all be turn'd;
Let all the World run mad. Is there not Cause?
In what ill-fated Hour was I conceiv'd,
That thus a gloomy Cloud should over-cast
My Dawn of Joy!—
Start, glaring Eye-balls, from your Sockets start:
Ten thousand Furies with your brandish'd Snakes
Now lash my Soul, and thro' the vast Abyss
Pursue me with Variety of Pain:
Cerberus gape, and swallow me alive.
Promethean Vulturs gnaw my lab'ring Heart,
Let me, Ixion, to thy Wheel be chain'd,
But not behold yon grizly Spectre's Face.
This now I take to be an unprecedented Incident of Scriblerus Secundus; and therefore to correct this Error of my elder Brother's, I have introduced the Laureat to conclude the Play with the following Speech.
Enter Fribble.In the best fairest Part of all Mankind!
Since these bright Orbs are blotted from their Spheres,
Nature appears an universal Blank.
No Day inconscious of your Worth shall pass;
Sooner shall Fleet ditch clearer run than Thames,
A Make-weight Candle darken Titan's Beams,
Profund write Sense, and Bathos be a Wit,
And Milton's Strain to Noctifer's submit,
E'er I, immortal Peers, your Praise forget.
| The Bays Miscellany | |