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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AIR. |
 | The Bays Miscellany |  |
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 Bays Miscellany | |