University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The Battery. The steam packet William Gibbons, just arriving from Charleston.
Enter Philus.
Phi.
Now, by St. Paul, the work goes bravely on,
And doubt no longer argues pro and con.
What molehill mountains would not prudence see,
Through some weak eyes, to undertake like me!
Come, come—this doubt's a scarecrow after all,
Cold prudence climbs not, lest it chance to fall,
While confidence soon scales the laden bough,
And banquets on the fruit, as I do now.
E'en all mankind to wealth and fame incline,
Great men choose greater means—the Mirror's mine.

Enter Finance, with papers.
Fin.
Good news, my lord, the William Gibbons spoke,
Below the Hook, the packet Hearts of Oak,
And brought up all our European files—
Read their contents, and see how fortune smiles.
Here's one that says—“the thrilling notes of fame,
From north to south, from east to west, proclaim,
The New York Mirror's worth, to every ear,
In every clime, and zone, and hemisphere;
In England, Scotland, Germany, and France,
And throughout Asia, does it cause advance;
While classic bards in Italy and Greece,
Awake their lyres to honor its increase.

Phi.
Thy news, Finance, true modesty can 't swallow;
Go, wash it down, and here 's a phœnix dollar.
[Exit Finance.
Was ever Fame thus boldly wooed and won?
Has ever Fame adopted such a son?
What I! without a friend my suit to back,
To court her thus, and yet not get the sack!
Upon my life, the goddess seems to find
Something in me. I'll have my office lined
With Mirror pictures—and I'll keep in pay
A score or two of artists, by the day.
For since I 've crept in favor with myself,
I will maintain it—never mind the pelf.

Enter Epigram.
Phi.
Cousin of Epigram, give me thy hand,
I'm glad to see thee—how do matters stand
In the proud Athens of our native land.

Epi.
Apollo and the muses, in convention,
Agreed, at once, without the least dissension,
To braid a civic chaplet for thy brow,
Of flowers and laurels—they are at it now.

Phi.
Now, by St. Paul! methinks I feel it here,
Its tints and odors do my senses cheer!
What think'st thou, cousin—wert an easy matter,
To get a “Brush Hat,” too, from Bond the hatter?

Epi.
No doubt, my lord, he strait shall send you one.

Phi.
Thus far, before the wind, we gayly run.
My fortune smiles, and no one boon refuses,
Even to a chaplet from the tuneful muses!
Tell Bond to send the best upon his shelf.

Epi.
I fly to serve thee.

Phi.
Say to serve thyself.
For by-and-by, claim thou of me, my cousin,
(Our work complete), and thou shalt have a dozen.
[Exit Epigram.
Why, now my golden dream is out at last,
Ambition, like an early friend, hast cast
With eager hand, my curtains back, to say,
That what I dreamed last night is true to-day.
A laurel crown! thou bright reward of toil,
Oh! how thy glory makes my spirits boil;
Lie still, my heart, more nerves must yet be strained,
Crowns won by toil, must be by toil maintained.
[Exit Philus.