A collection of poems on various subjects including the theatre, a didactic essay; in the course of which are pointed out, the rocks and shoals to which deluded adventurers are inevitably exposed. Ornamented with cuts and illustrated with notes, original letters and curious incidental anecdotes [by Samuel Whyte] |
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | A collection of poems on various subjects |  |
1
THE THEATRE.
When Pritchard her decisive exit made,
And the last plaudits were to Cibber paid,
The Tragic Muse her comely tresses tore,
That she should look upon their like no more:
Nor vain her fears—now frantic o'er the Stage,
Beyond all temperance, our Heroines rage;
To very tatters every passion rend,
As if they studied only to offend.
'Tis true, 'tis pity they so strut and strain
To tire our patience, and contempt to gain.
And then their action—hold, good censor! there—
'Tis suited well to make the groundlings stare;
Froth and extravagance the herd admire,
Probatum est, and smoke's a proof of fire.
Trick'd in forc'd attitudes and foreign grace,
Foreign indeed to subject, time, and place,
On fluttering pinions of burlesque they rise,
And sacrifice the heart to catch the eyes.
Some, in the opposite extreme, are cool;
Languid by principle, and tame by rule;
Exploding Art, they rest on Nature's laws;
But, partially conceived, betray her cause;
Provoke to laughter where 'twas meant to weep,
Or chaunt with drawling lullabies to sleep.
Twice fifty moons in Lily's labyrinths bred,
Talk not to them of breaking Priscian's head:
Tho' oft the ear uncultur'd idioms grate,
And mangled metre oft disgust create,
Against advice, even at their own request,
They, as a breach of privilege, protest
Your jus et norma,—frivolous! absurd!
Originality is all the word.
Shall genius be confined by servile lore,
And not strike out new paths untrod before?
If from the ancient schools the line you draw,
When Nature to consummate Art gave law,
Their practice and their followers they contemn;
What's Mossop, Garrick, Sheridan to them?
More elegance and grace they set to view
“Than all their pedant discipline e'er knew;”
Or if some grains of merit they allow,
The scene is chang'd, and things are different now;
New lights on all are by the Moderns thrown,
Who act, we grant, by maxims of their own.
Then as to Fops—a despicable race!—
Old King and Woodward must of course give place;
Precedence ours irrefragably prove,
Who like Parnobile draws on a glove?
Wilks, laureate Cibber, or th'arch coxcomb Thé,
Would be mere nothing, nothing at this day:
Egad! to name them with the present school,
The glass of all perfection and the rule,
Strangers to Ton, and ignorant of Style,
Taste and all that—'twould make a Macklin smile;
They in their day might answer well enough,
But now—comparisons are odious, cries Nol Bluff:
And yet, confound those rascal gazetteers!
Not in one paper his great name appears.
With more address our Stagers buy esteem,
And all our prints with their perfections teem.
Where rang'd sedans each morning line the street,
Paddy, a second Stagyrite! you meet,
With news in hand, perch'd on his half-drawn pole,
The seeds of learning pregnant in his soul,
As round him his unletter'd comrades stand,
Spelling the play-puffs to the listening band:
Shoeboys and scavengers their work suspend,
And shrill-voic'd sweeps their rambles, to attend.
Ladies may wait, and angry footmen call,
They see not, hear not, or they curse them all.
Wondrous, O Thespians! must be your renown,
In sweat, soot, dirt, thus bandied thro' the town!
Who can dispute, when oracles so pure
Announce perfection, and success ensure?
But still, should hardy sceptics blots detect,
They swell their crests, and glory in defect;
Nay, tho' a Roscius hold the mirrour forth,
'Tis envy nibbling at superiour worth;
Then, enter wrath, with insult at his side,
The last resort of ignorance and pride.
Even so the moody tyrants they perform,
Come forth in clouds, and exeunt in a storm.
Thus frontless vanity o'ershoots its aim,
And balking censure clips the wings of fame.
And the last plaudits were to Cibber paid,
The Tragic Muse her comely tresses tore,
That she should look upon their like no more:
Nor vain her fears—now frantic o'er the Stage,
Beyond all temperance, our Heroines rage;
To very tatters every passion rend,
As if they studied only to offend.
'Tis true, 'tis pity they so strut and strain
To tire our patience, and contempt to gain.
And then their action—hold, good censor! there—
'Tis suited well to make the groundlings stare;
Froth and extravagance the herd admire,
Probatum est, and smoke's a proof of fire.
Trick'd in forc'd attitudes and foreign grace,
Foreign indeed to subject, time, and place,
2
And sacrifice the heart to catch the eyes.
Some, in the opposite extreme, are cool;
Languid by principle, and tame by rule;
Exploding Art, they rest on Nature's laws;
But, partially conceived, betray her cause;
Provoke to laughter where 'twas meant to weep,
Or chaunt with drawling lullabies to sleep.
Twice fifty moons in Lily's labyrinths bred,
Talk not to them of breaking Priscian's head:
Tho' oft the ear uncultur'd idioms grate,
And mangled metre oft disgust create,
Against advice, even at their own request,
They, as a breach of privilege, protest
Your jus et norma,—frivolous! absurd!
Originality is all the word.
Shall genius be confined by servile lore,
And not strike out new paths untrod before?
If from the ancient schools the line you draw,
When Nature to consummate Art gave law,
Their practice and their followers they contemn;
What's Mossop, Garrick, Sheridan to them?
More elegance and grace they set to view
“Than all their pedant discipline e'er knew;”
Or if some grains of merit they allow,
The scene is chang'd, and things are different now;
3
Who act, we grant, by maxims of their own.
Then as to Fops—a despicable race!—
Old King and Woodward must of course give place;
Precedence ours irrefragably prove,
Who like Parnobile draws on a glove?
Wilks, laureate Cibber, or th'arch coxcomb Thé,
Would be mere nothing, nothing at this day:
Egad! to name them with the present school,
The glass of all perfection and the rule,
Strangers to Ton, and ignorant of Style,
Taste and all that—'twould make a Macklin smile;
They in their day might answer well enough,
But now—comparisons are odious, cries Nol Bluff:
And yet, confound those rascal gazetteers!
Not in one paper his great name appears.
With more address our Stagers buy esteem,
And all our prints with their perfections teem.
Where rang'd sedans each morning line the street,
Paddy, a second Stagyrite! you meet,
With news in hand, perch'd on his half-drawn pole,
The seeds of learning pregnant in his soul,
As round him his unletter'd comrades stand,
Spelling the play-puffs to the listening band:
Shoeboys and scavengers their work suspend,
And shrill-voic'd sweeps their rambles, to attend.
4
They see not, hear not, or they curse them all.
Wondrous, O Thespians! must be your renown,
In sweat, soot, dirt, thus bandied thro' the town!
Who can dispute, when oracles so pure
Announce perfection, and success ensure?
But still, should hardy sceptics blots detect,
They swell their crests, and glory in defect;
Nay, tho' a Roscius hold the mirrour forth,
'Tis envy nibbling at superiour worth;
Then, enter wrath, with insult at his side,
The last resort of ignorance and pride.
Even so the moody tyrants they perform,
Come forth in clouds, and exeunt in a storm.
Thus frontless vanity o'ershoots its aim,
And balking censure clips the wings of fame.
The Stage, thus run to weeds, o'ergrown and wild,
Dishonour'd Nature saw, and pitying smil'd;
But vain is pity and contempt as vain,
Where nonsense charms, and folly holds her reign.
Pathos, that there delighted so of yore,
And Taste and Genius, there delight no more;
But, tho' reluctant, quit their native seat,
And seek in private a secure retreat.
Here once again the feeling soul to warm,
They animate a fair auspicious form,
Such, as we read, from bright Olympus came
To visit earth, and Sheridan her name!
A name, by right hereditary, prov'd
To Science dear, of every Muse belov'd:
Shore's hapless wife, that paragon confess'd,
Free from her stains, in all her beauties dress'd,
She realizes to the ravished view,
As story boasts her, and the Poet drew.
Dishonour'd Nature saw, and pitying smil'd;
But vain is pity and contempt as vain,
Where nonsense charms, and folly holds her reign.
Pathos, that there delighted so of yore,
And Taste and Genius, there delight no more;
But, tho' reluctant, quit their native seat,
And seek in private a secure retreat.
Here once again the feeling soul to warm,
They animate a fair auspicious form,
5
To visit earth, and Sheridan her name!
A name, by right hereditary, prov'd
To Science dear, of every Muse belov'd:
Shore's hapless wife, that paragon confess'd,
Free from her stains, in all her beauties dress'd,
She realizes to the ravished view,
As story boasts her, and the Poet drew.
Poets on different grounds the bays assert,
And few the Actors all in all expert;
Flush'd with pretensions, scorning vulgar reach,
Some cleave the general ear with horrid speech;
Some bustling scenes, and some the trifling suit,
Some whine in Jaffier, others doze in Brute;
Some, strange eccentrics! forfeit all pretence
To character, and even common sense:
And some, too rarely seen, adorn their sphere,
Blaze, comet-like, surprize and disappear!
Some walking cyphers point-devise get drest,
To stop a gap, or to enhance the rest;
What storms soe'er, or passions intervene,
Serene and calm, fix'd to one set routine,
Like school-boys at their tasks, their parts they con,
And daudle off, just as they daudled on:
Beshrew his heart! who could offend their pride;
Dear harmless creatures! they're so satisfied!
And few the Actors all in all expert;
Flush'd with pretensions, scorning vulgar reach,
Some cleave the general ear with horrid speech;
Some bustling scenes, and some the trifling suit,
Some whine in Jaffier, others doze in Brute;
Some, strange eccentrics! forfeit all pretence
To character, and even common sense:
And some, too rarely seen, adorn their sphere,
Blaze, comet-like, surprize and disappear!
Some walking cyphers point-devise get drest,
To stop a gap, or to enhance the rest;
What storms soe'er, or passions intervene,
Serene and calm, fix'd to one set routine,
Like school-boys at their tasks, their parts they con,
And daudle off, just as they daudled on:
Beshrew his heart! who could offend their pride;
Dear harmless creatures! they're so satisfied!
6
Nor all alike are by the audience felt;
Some sit with Cynic phlegm, while others melt;
Some flirt and giggle—you may rave and hoot;
Why, musty sirs! they at the altar do't;
And in the moments sanctified to prayer,
They study fashions, courtesy, bow and stare,
As if for that sole purpose gather'd there.
For admiration and distinction born,
So runs their creed, they're pointed at by scorn;
Yet all her spring-guns, and her traps defy,
To poach for fools, and lure the coxcomb fry.
Have they no feeling of decorum? tush!
They leave it to their grandmothers to blush.
Modern refinement soars above all rules;
Good breeding's only for your vulgar tools,
Who, if they laugh, with cause give laughter birth,
And with discretion always season mirth:
That belles and beaux have either ears or eyes,
Save for themselves, 'twere folly to surmise;
Why think it then to out-talk the players odd?
Dim are their optics who are blind to God.
To them, alas! the genial lamp of day,
The moon and stars, without direction stray;
Years, months and weeks, the morning, noon and night,
Creative wisdom thro' all nature bright,
Unheeded pass; all changes, tide and time,
With less of meaning than a pantomime:
Yet some there are who harlequin admire,
Others his wild vagaries teaze and tire.
Some sit with Cynic phlegm, while others melt;
Some flirt and giggle—you may rave and hoot;
Why, musty sirs! they at the altar do't;
And in the moments sanctified to prayer,
They study fashions, courtesy, bow and stare,
As if for that sole purpose gather'd there.
For admiration and distinction born,
So runs their creed, they're pointed at by scorn;
Yet all her spring-guns, and her traps defy,
To poach for fools, and lure the coxcomb fry.
Have they no feeling of decorum? tush!
They leave it to their grandmothers to blush.
Modern refinement soars above all rules;
Good breeding's only for your vulgar tools,
Who, if they laugh, with cause give laughter birth,
And with discretion always season mirth:
That belles and beaux have either ears or eyes,
Save for themselves, 'twere folly to surmise;
Why think it then to out-talk the players odd?
Dim are their optics who are blind to God.
To them, alas! the genial lamp of day,
The moon and stars, without direction stray;
Years, months and weeks, the morning, noon and night,
Creative wisdom thro' all nature bright,
Unheeded pass; all changes, tide and time,
With less of meaning than a pantomime:
7
Others his wild vagaries teaze and tire.
Some partial to the actor slight the piece;
A few from judgment praise, more from caprice;
With things call'd strokes your novices are caught;
The knowing ones exult in finding fault,
And, fraught with self-conceit, their tongues uncurb;
Retail stale saws and all around disturb:
Ease, life and spirit they ascribe to brass;
A venial slip! there, set me down an ass.
No stone is left unturn'd desert to smother;
One would be well, but he's so like another;
A copyist is a copyist at best;
All servile imitators they detest;
And, cross'd on that tack, if compell'd to strike,
They rake him fore and aft, because not like.
A few from judgment praise, more from caprice;
With things call'd strokes your novices are caught;
The knowing ones exult in finding fault,
And, fraught with self-conceit, their tongues uncurb;
Retail stale saws and all around disturb:
Ease, life and spirit they ascribe to brass;
A venial slip! there, set me down an ass.
No stone is left unturn'd desert to smother;
One would be well, but he's so like another;
A copyist is a copyist at best;
All servile imitators they detest;
And, cross'd on that tack, if compell'd to strike,
They rake him fore and aft, because not like.
Some critics would be thought, and, strange to tell!
They judge of speaking who ne'er learnt to spell;
With borrow'd strictures bundled up by rote,
They rail at veterans of the foremost note;
Arrest their words ere well they give them breath,
And with objections worry you to death.
Pause, accent, emphasis, and parts of speech,
Even to the very lexicon they teach.
Who, classic Sheridan! thy diction blame,
Would swear even Lewis dull and Mossop tame,
And such there are; so petulant is pride!
So prone to carp! so forward to decide!
The itch of cavil, festering to disease,
No art can circumscribe, no genius please;
To beauty's self with elegance combin'd,
The heart grows callous and perception blind.
Why tax Calista's powers?—suspect thy sense,
And do not ape the wit at truth's expence;
The crouded audiences and streaming eyes
Demonstrate clear, thy frigid censure lies.
Monimia treads the stage—Monimia's young,
Too fair a flower to 'scape the wanton tongue;
Foul-mouth'd defamer! easily we see
Which way the wind sits—she's sour grapes to thee:
Misfortune's cruel hand expos'd her there,
Tho' weak her efforts, her misfortunes spare,
The brave in every state respect the fair.
If no untimely frost defeat her spring,
Another Campion future bards may sing:
The oak majestic towering to the skies,
Grew from an acorn to that strength and size.
They judge of speaking who ne'er learnt to spell;
With borrow'd strictures bundled up by rote,
They rail at veterans of the foremost note;
Arrest their words ere well they give them breath,
And with objections worry you to death.
Pause, accent, emphasis, and parts of speech,
Even to the very lexicon they teach.
Who, classic Sheridan! thy diction blame,
Would swear even Lewis dull and Mossop tame,
8
So prone to carp! so forward to decide!
The itch of cavil, festering to disease,
No art can circumscribe, no genius please;
To beauty's self with elegance combin'd,
The heart grows callous and perception blind.
Why tax Calista's powers?—suspect thy sense,
And do not ape the wit at truth's expence;
The crouded audiences and streaming eyes
Demonstrate clear, thy frigid censure lies.
Monimia treads the stage—Monimia's young,
Too fair a flower to 'scape the wanton tongue;
Foul-mouth'd defamer! easily we see
Which way the wind sits—she's sour grapes to thee:
Misfortune's cruel hand expos'd her there,
Tho' weak her efforts, her misfortunes spare,
The brave in every state respect the fair.
If no untimely frost defeat her spring,
Another Campion future bards may sing:
The oak majestic towering to the skies,
Grew from an acorn to that strength and size.
But, oh! what anxious minutes tells the wight,
Who proves ungracious in the Million's sight.
'Tis held the stars that mark the natal hour,
Have o'er the lives of men despotic power;
It staggers faith; yet by what other rule
Are some the theme of constant ridicule?
And, ah! I ween, thrice luckless, who offends
The powers on whom dramatic fame depends;
For aye the sport of the capricious town,
Like blood-hounds on the scent they hunt him down:
Each flaw of gesture, feature, limb or voice,
A mote, the trick of nature, not of choice,
All in full cry with ruthless censure scan,
And in the actor crucify the man.
Cheerly, good Caius! wipe thy brimming eyes;
Humane like thee, with thee I sympathize:—
Conscious of his defects with heart-struck woe,
To meet the ordeal doom'd to undergo,
He enters; and anon his wounded ear
Horse-laughs assail, low gibe and bitter jeer:
Pit, boxes, galleries mingle in the roar,
And why? he does his best and can't do more.
His sketches given with force are touch'd with skill;
He strives to please, and never fails in will:
Some tints of quaintness may obscure his art,
But pass not sentence 'till you read his heart.
To every truth detraction's ears are shut,
And every plea comes lacquied with—a but;
But, such an odious fright! what brought him there?
What might have made a worse, even thee, a play'r,
Necessity—dishonest means he scorns,
Dost thou for that his pallet plant with thorns,
And mix with needless gall his scanty meal?
When? when will ease and plenty learn to feel?
With scarce a hope his cheerless breast to warm,
He bides the pelting of the pitiless storm;
Mute and submissive bowing low his head,
Support him, heaven! to earn his infants bread.
Ill-fated man! he seeks not for applause;
His cause is nature's, hear him for his cause.
The tongue of kindness pleads, and pleads in vain,
Her gentle whispers but provoke disdain;
Yet to his griefs let consolation speak,
The first in favour won't be so a week:
Wears he the buskin? all bombast, cries spleen;
Give wisdom tears; to bucks the comic scene;
And, chuckling in a knot, they're doubly blest,
When sense disclaims and rudeness points the jest.
Who proves ungracious in the Million's sight.
'Tis held the stars that mark the natal hour,
Have o'er the lives of men despotic power;
It staggers faith; yet by what other rule
Are some the theme of constant ridicule?
9
The powers on whom dramatic fame depends;
For aye the sport of the capricious town,
Like blood-hounds on the scent they hunt him down:
Each flaw of gesture, feature, limb or voice,
A mote, the trick of nature, not of choice,
All in full cry with ruthless censure scan,
And in the actor crucify the man.
Cheerly, good Caius! wipe thy brimming eyes;
Humane like thee, with thee I sympathize:—
Conscious of his defects with heart-struck woe,
To meet the ordeal doom'd to undergo,
He enters; and anon his wounded ear
Horse-laughs assail, low gibe and bitter jeer:
Pit, boxes, galleries mingle in the roar,
And why? he does his best and can't do more.
His sketches given with force are touch'd with skill;
He strives to please, and never fails in will:
Some tints of quaintness may obscure his art,
But pass not sentence 'till you read his heart.
To every truth detraction's ears are shut,
And every plea comes lacquied with—a but;
But, such an odious fright! what brought him there?
What might have made a worse, even thee, a play'r,
Necessity—dishonest means he scorns,
Dost thou for that his pallet plant with thorns,
10
When? when will ease and plenty learn to feel?
With scarce a hope his cheerless breast to warm,
He bides the pelting of the pitiless storm;
Mute and submissive bowing low his head,
Support him, heaven! to earn his infants bread.
Ill-fated man! he seeks not for applause;
His cause is nature's, hear him for his cause.
The tongue of kindness pleads, and pleads in vain,
Her gentle whispers but provoke disdain;
Yet to his griefs let consolation speak,
The first in favour won't be so a week:
Wears he the buskin? all bombast, cries spleen;
Give wisdom tears; to bucks the comic scene;
And, chuckling in a knot, they're doubly blest,
When sense disclaims and rudeness points the jest.
Fast by the orchestra Hircus takes his stand,
The spikes appropriate to support his hand;
His stick thrust to his chin, his head to prop,
How like a wig-block in a barber's shop!
With watering gums he on the actress glotes,
To get a peep beneath her petticoats;
A sage behind his shoulder softly tips,
Sir, be so good,—our prospect you eclipse.
Wak'd from his dream, Sir, what do you mean by that?
Your pardon, sir,—just to take off your hat;
But he, as blockheads will not be advis'd,
Stands bolt upright, and, as he ought, despis'd.
The spikes appropriate to support his hand;
His stick thrust to his chin, his head to prop,
How like a wig-block in a barber's shop!
With watering gums he on the actress glotes,
To get a peep beneath her petticoats;
A sage behind his shoulder softly tips,
Sir, be so good,—our prospect you eclipse.
Wak'd from his dream, Sir, what do you mean by that?
Your pardon, sir,—just to take off your hat;
11
Stands bolt upright, and, as he ought, despis'd.
A-breast the ring, another spark entrenches
On decency alike, and mounts the benches;
No doubt, by such rare proof of shining parts,
To burn to cinders all the misses hearts;
But to them all a nuisance perks the clown,—
Is no good fellow near to knock him down?
No valiant knight to trip such brainless elves?
Odds pins and needles! ladies! right yourselves.
But not confin'd alone to the parterre,
Shame to the boxes! savages are there.
How differ, tell us, ye adepts in spunk!
He with champaign, and he with porter drunk?
Form'd to their gust, and for such worthies fit,
A screen is humour and a sopha wit;
The dialogue, however finely penn'd,
Is quite a bore, and written to no end;
Tho' brilliant fancy glow in every line,
The Graces sport and warble all the Nine,
Deaf to the charmer Maudlin still appears,
And, if he hear him, never shows he hears.
On decency alike, and mounts the benches;
No doubt, by such rare proof of shining parts,
To burn to cinders all the misses hearts;
But to them all a nuisance perks the clown,—
Is no good fellow near to knock him down?
No valiant knight to trip such brainless elves?
Odds pins and needles! ladies! right yourselves.
But not confin'd alone to the parterre,
Shame to the boxes! savages are there.
How differ, tell us, ye adepts in spunk!
He with champaign, and he with porter drunk?
Form'd to their gust, and for such worthies fit,
A screen is humour and a sopha wit;
The dialogue, however finely penn'd,
Is quite a bore, and written to no end;
Tho' brilliant fancy glow in every line,
The Graces sport and warble all the Nine,
Deaf to the charmer Maudlin still appears,
And, if he hear him, never shows he hears.
Birds of a feather! Puppies, bears and hogs,
Love learned pigs, monkies, and dancing dogs.
Some by the quantum estimate the stuff,
And for their money think they've ne'er enough;
What's plot, situation, character or style?
Suffice it them, the bill extends a mile!
A farce to a good play was once a crime,
Now drolls and farces swallow all the time;
And, cramm'd up to the throat, we still deplore
Our wants, like babies, and bawl out for more.
Love learned pigs, monkies, and dancing dogs.
Some by the quantum estimate the stuff,
And for their money think they've ne'er enough;
12
Suffice it them, the bill extends a mile!
A farce to a good play was once a crime,
Now drolls and farces swallow all the time;
And, cramm'd up to the throat, we still deplore
Our wants, like babies, and bawl out for more.
Hard is his task for public taste who carves!
For where one glutton feasts another starves.
Your skilful cook consults the appetite;
But, damn the manager! he's never right:
He gives them tragedy, they mouthe at that;
He gives them comedy—'tis poor and flat;
With fire and frolic seeks he their content,
They grow discreet, and doat on sentiment.
Those the unfetter'd, nervous ancients please;
The moderns tied to rule and compass these;
He veers with each; but still he gets no thanks;
They must have whistlers, tumblers, mountebanks!
Are whistlers, tumblers, mountebanks procur'd?
What, in a playhouse? not to be endur'd!
For where one glutton feasts another starves.
Your skilful cook consults the appetite;
But, damn the manager! he's never right:
He gives them tragedy, they mouthe at that;
He gives them comedy—'tis poor and flat;
With fire and frolic seeks he their content,
They grow discreet, and doat on sentiment.
Those the unfetter'd, nervous ancients please;
The moderns tied to rule and compass these;
He veers with each; but still he gets no thanks;
They must have whistlers, tumblers, mountebanks!
Are whistlers, tumblers, mountebanks procur'd?
What, in a playhouse? not to be endur'd!
Then the performers! what a wretched crew!
Just Falstaff's corps! why doesn't he look for new?
Whom better could he bring, sir, in their stead?
Bring Dodd, bring Quick, bring—Garrick from the dead!
And if old barebones he contriv'd to chouse,
Ere laps'd a month, he would not bring a house.
Just Falstaff's corps! why doesn't he look for new?
Whom better could he bring, sir, in their stead?
Bring Dodd, bring Quick, bring—Garrick from the dead!
And if old barebones he contriv'd to chouse,
Ere laps'd a month, he would not bring a house.
13
Of all amusements, both the grave and gay
The one most rational confess a play;
Yet night succeeding night, in spite of sense,
What shoals devote to pam their time and pence!
Yawning at Shakespeare, some to operas fly,
Adore Trillini, and in cadence die;
Then rous'd encore from their chromatic trance,
Their spirits caper to the bounding dance,
The dupes of Italy, and slaves of France!
All have their whimsies, great as well as small,
And he his claims who strives to humour all.
Tho' calumny may tent him to the quick,
And daring calumnies will sometimes stick,
Back on herself revert her deadly stings,
Oppos'd by facts; for facts are stubborn things.
Envy the harvest of his toil may grudge,
Ill-nature snarl, and ignorance misjudge,
Those on whose brows the beam of candour plays,
Will blame with temper, and with reason praise.
A generous dealing animates the heart,
And life and vigour gives to every part;
The manager with due support requites,
And with the laurel blesses him that writes;
To the performer just acclaim ensures,—
The fear of pleasing his, the pleasure yours.
Each should consider, ere he reprimands,
In what predicament the culprit stands;
For oft, heaven knows! fast to the oar tied,
He must drudge on howe'er disqualified,
And every option of his soul contract,
To drag frail being thro' life's lingering act.
Before you to asperity give place,
If any power can prejudice erase,
Try in your own the merits of his case.
Scout as you may presumption and conceit,
One leading point's agreed on—all must eat;
And better here industrious means to cherish,
Than live a villain, or in prison perish:
Than live a villain! Yes, sir, 'twas my word;
He is a villain, commoner or lord,
Who, revelling in affluence and delight,
Defrauds the needy creditor of right;
And they no less who in collusion draw,
Or aid such rascals to evade the law.
The one most rational confess a play;
Yet night succeeding night, in spite of sense,
What shoals devote to pam their time and pence!
Yawning at Shakespeare, some to operas fly,
Adore Trillini, and in cadence die;
Then rous'd encore from their chromatic trance,
Their spirits caper to the bounding dance,
The dupes of Italy, and slaves of France!
All have their whimsies, great as well as small,
And he his claims who strives to humour all.
Tho' calumny may tent him to the quick,
And daring calumnies will sometimes stick,
Back on herself revert her deadly stings,
Oppos'd by facts; for facts are stubborn things.
Envy the harvest of his toil may grudge,
Ill-nature snarl, and ignorance misjudge,
Those on whose brows the beam of candour plays,
Will blame with temper, and with reason praise.
A generous dealing animates the heart,
And life and vigour gives to every part;
The manager with due support requites,
And with the laurel blesses him that writes;
To the performer just acclaim ensures,—
The fear of pleasing his, the pleasure yours.
Each should consider, ere he reprimands,
In what predicament the culprit stands;
14
He must drudge on howe'er disqualified,
And every option of his soul contract,
To drag frail being thro' life's lingering act.
Before you to asperity give place,
If any power can prejudice erase,
Try in your own the merits of his case.
Scout as you may presumption and conceit,
One leading point's agreed on—all must eat;
And better here industrious means to cherish,
Than live a villain, or in prison perish:
Than live a villain! Yes, sir, 'twas my word;
He is a villain, commoner or lord,
Who, revelling in affluence and delight,
Defrauds the needy creditor of right;
And they no less who in collusion draw,
Or aid such rascals to evade the law.
Oh, there be peers, howe'er they got the name!
Whom fainted patience recreants would proclaim;
Whose deeds aloud for castigation ask,
And whose vile arts 'tis virtue to unmask;
Sharpers in grain, a pest one often meets,
With penury and filth that charge the streets;
That in distress the painful artist steep,
And make the widow and the orphan weep;
Nip hope's fair buds, put commerce to a stand,
And with oppression desolate the land.
Against the times declaimers may inveigh,
The evil trac'd lies in a word—bad-pay:
Plans may be form'd, and regulations made,
Bad-pay contracts, bad-pay subverts our trade;
That every inlet of advantage dams,
And chains resource to indolence and drams;
To that reformers should direct their care,
There bend their forces, point their thunders there;
Not, while on justice wealth and state infringe,
Coop'd in their halls, to grooms and porters cringe;
Or stand arraign'd, which less admits excuse,
For cheats, beslav'd with arrogant abuse.
We boast our laws! laws are of little force,
When those who should maintain pervert their course;
Or, brought to ruin's verge, who gains his suit
Can find no officer to execute;
Or venal reptiles who enhance expence,
Connive at knaves and aggravate offence;
The very laws thus making grievance worse,
Encourage wrongs, and prove themselves a curse.
O you, whom Bailiffs, or Police they call,
Who sweep the beggars from the dripping stall!
Let ruin'd citizens in peace depart,
And clap the powder'd swindler in the cart.
Shall hemp and dungeons be the poor man's fate,
And justice not o'ertake the guilty great?
Thank heav'n! the press our grand palladium's free,
And brands the rogue as sure as Tyburn-tree,
So speed the verse, to all eternity.
Whom fainted patience recreants would proclaim;
Whose deeds aloud for castigation ask,
And whose vile arts 'tis virtue to unmask;
Sharpers in grain, a pest one often meets,
With penury and filth that charge the streets;
That in distress the painful artist steep,
And make the widow and the orphan weep;
Nip hope's fair buds, put commerce to a stand,
And with oppression desolate the land.
15
The evil trac'd lies in a word—bad-pay:
Plans may be form'd, and regulations made,
Bad-pay contracts, bad-pay subverts our trade;
That every inlet of advantage dams,
And chains resource to indolence and drams;
To that reformers should direct their care,
There bend their forces, point their thunders there;
Not, while on justice wealth and state infringe,
Coop'd in their halls, to grooms and porters cringe;
Or stand arraign'd, which less admits excuse,
For cheats, beslav'd with arrogant abuse.
We boast our laws! laws are of little force,
When those who should maintain pervert their course;
Or, brought to ruin's verge, who gains his suit
Can find no officer to execute;
Or venal reptiles who enhance expence,
Connive at knaves and aggravate offence;
The very laws thus making grievance worse,
Encourage wrongs, and prove themselves a curse.
O you, whom Bailiffs, or Police they call,
Who sweep the beggars from the dripping stall!
Let ruin'd citizens in peace depart,
And clap the powder'd swindler in the cart.
Shall hemp and dungeons be the poor man's fate,
And justice not o'ertake the guilty great?
16
And brands the rogue as sure as Tyburn-tree,
So speed the verse, to all eternity.
Yes, tho' I deal not in flagitious rhymes,
The day of reckoning may o'ertake their crimes;
The gibbet's now preparing large and high,
With scare-crows pendant to the passers by:
The truly noble always claim respect,
The caitiff, noble call'd, I will dissect,
And on the canvas of derision hatch,
A living portrait of the felon Scratch;
That the loud gods whene'er he meets their view,
With groans and hisses shall his steps pursue.
Rogues of inferior breed, by no means rare,
May gain a niche, that, to broad day light bare,
The world may see, and of their schemes beware.
The day of reckoning may o'ertake their crimes;
The gibbet's now preparing large and high,
With scare-crows pendant to the passers by:
The truly noble always claim respect,
The caitiff, noble call'd, I will dissect,
And on the canvas of derision hatch,
A living portrait of the felon Scratch;
That the loud gods whene'er he meets their view,
With groans and hisses shall his steps pursue.
Rogues of inferior breed, by no means rare,
May gain a niche, that, to broad day light bare,
The world may see, and of their schemes beware.
The Drama, by fanatic zeal despis'd,
Shews us the heart of man anatomiz'd;
Hypocrisy strips of her dark disguise,
Exposes vice, with virtue charms our eyes;
And where a pulpit lecture could not reach,
Will moral truths and sound instruction teach.
Let actors well or ill their tasks discharge,
Types of the actors in the world at large,
We see the pert, the ignorant, the vain,
And at the least expence experience gain,
Secure from peril, and exempt from pain;
And, in their animated pictures shewn,
Learn from their errors to correct our own.
The evils justly censur'd all lament,
Some cure admit, and most we might prevent:
So, look at home, in spite of every care,
Defects prevail, and gross abuses there;
Yet, 'twere a doctrine, strange and ill employ'd,
That for a limb the whole should be destroy'd.
Shews us the heart of man anatomiz'd;
Hypocrisy strips of her dark disguise,
Exposes vice, with virtue charms our eyes;
And where a pulpit lecture could not reach,
Will moral truths and sound instruction teach.
Let actors well or ill their tasks discharge,
Types of the actors in the world at large,
We see the pert, the ignorant, the vain,
And at the least expence experience gain,
Secure from peril, and exempt from pain;
17
Learn from their errors to correct our own.
The evils justly censur'd all lament,
Some cure admit, and most we might prevent:
So, look at home, in spite of every care,
Defects prevail, and gross abuses there;
Yet, 'twere a doctrine, strange and ill employ'd,
That for a limb the whole should be destroy'd.
'Tis in life's theatre as on the stage;
Various pursuits do various minds engage:
Some buoyant ride on faction's turbid stream,
Some, lost to glory, in oblivion dream;
Some their career without obstruction run;
Some toil and fret, and are at last undone,
And knaves and fools whom fortune dignifies,
Are, vile abuse of terms! dubb'd great and wise!
While thousands disappointed, curse their state,
And what they owe to Pride, ascribe to Fate.
Through each department studious artists look,
And colour their designs from Nature's book.
Let pedants with their rules keep e'er such stir,
All's mere dead letter, not deriv'd from her;
And those who from her genuine dictates start,
Howe'er applauded, never gain the heart.
Performers who to eminence ascend,
Begin with nature and with nature end;
On duty's ladder firmly place their feet,
And wary move till fame and merit meet:
Nor in deportment only shun excess,
But, though a trifle, prove their sense in dress;
Vain fools alone propriety resign
To the impertinence of being fine;
Or in the lap of false ambition nurs'd,
For parts unsuited to their talents thirst;
With low manœuvres fostering discontent,
A brother's claims how base to circumvent!
Each has his forte, and well his forte should know,
And to what lengths he may with credit go;
In various casts tho' many bustle on,
Not mean his genius who excels in one.
Various pursuits do various minds engage:
Some buoyant ride on faction's turbid stream,
Some, lost to glory, in oblivion dream;
Some their career without obstruction run;
Some toil and fret, and are at last undone,
And knaves and fools whom fortune dignifies,
Are, vile abuse of terms! dubb'd great and wise!
While thousands disappointed, curse their state,
And what they owe to Pride, ascribe to Fate.
Through each department studious artists look,
And colour their designs from Nature's book.
Let pedants with their rules keep e'er such stir,
All's mere dead letter, not deriv'd from her;
And those who from her genuine dictates start,
Howe'er applauded, never gain the heart.
Performers who to eminence ascend,
Begin with nature and with nature end;
18
And wary move till fame and merit meet:
Nor in deportment only shun excess,
But, though a trifle, prove their sense in dress;
Vain fools alone propriety resign
To the impertinence of being fine;
Or in the lap of false ambition nurs'd,
For parts unsuited to their talents thirst;
With low manœuvres fostering discontent,
A brother's claims how base to circumvent!
Each has his forte, and well his forte should know,
And to what lengths he may with credit go;
In various casts tho' many bustle on,
Not mean his genius who excels in one.
To different powers we different walks assign,
But judgment often wanes where talents shine;
And where the powers of execution fail,
The mind's superiour faculties prevail;
To give complete and permanent delight
Both must concur and happily unite;
And those who at perfection's laurel aim,
On no contracted base must found their claim.
Nor do the subjects represented, less
Their separate modes and signatures possess.
Within the complicated list of parts,
Some, too insipid e'er to reach our hearts,
In one cold uniform dull tenour creep,
And scarce awake the heedless audience keep;
Those, like a mill-stone round the Actor's neck,
A dead load hang, and all his efforts check.
Others a latent excellence conceal,
Which spirited exertion may reveal,
And half the merit is of some effac'd,
If not with personal endowments grac'd.
Some boldly mark'd, instinct with native force,
Performance aid, and interest of course.
Thus with congenial flame, the Muse of Fire
The dullest actor will sometimes inspire;
Conflicting passions, loud, impetuous, strong,
Wrapt in their vortex, hurry him along;
And luckily one striking feature caught,
A semblance stamps, tho' charg'd with many a fault.
Hence with the magic of a Garrick's art,
He wrests incontinent the yielding heart;
Clap, clap all hands; he catches at the prize;
But soon, ah! soon the abortive ferment dies.
Great unawares, but impotently great,
Blown in his speed, and foundered in conceit,
He sinks encumber'd with his author's weight.
So dangerous is it wantonly to rise,
And range improvident forbidden skies.
But judgment often wanes where talents shine;
And where the powers of execution fail,
The mind's superiour faculties prevail;
To give complete and permanent delight
Both must concur and happily unite;
And those who at perfection's laurel aim,
On no contracted base must found their claim.
Nor do the subjects represented, less
Their separate modes and signatures possess.
Within the complicated list of parts,
Some, too insipid e'er to reach our hearts,
19
And scarce awake the heedless audience keep;
Those, like a mill-stone round the Actor's neck,
A dead load hang, and all his efforts check.
Others a latent excellence conceal,
Which spirited exertion may reveal,
And half the merit is of some effac'd,
If not with personal endowments grac'd.
Some boldly mark'd, instinct with native force,
Performance aid, and interest of course.
Thus with congenial flame, the Muse of Fire
The dullest actor will sometimes inspire;
Conflicting passions, loud, impetuous, strong,
Wrapt in their vortex, hurry him along;
And luckily one striking feature caught,
A semblance stamps, tho' charg'd with many a fault.
Hence with the magic of a Garrick's art,
He wrests incontinent the yielding heart;
Clap, clap all hands; he catches at the prize;
But soon, ah! soon the abortive ferment dies.
Great unawares, but impotently great,
Blown in his speed, and foundered in conceit,
He sinks encumber'd with his author's weight.
So dangerous is it wantonly to rise,
And range improvident forbidden skies.
20
What evil genius in more evil hour,
Could prompt thee, fool! beyond thy strength to tow'r?
Yet ere the curtain of thy miseries drop,
Retreat in time, and cultivate thy shop;
There may thy talents, usefully display'd,
Raise thee a name and consequence in trade;
Each smiling day will some new charms unfold,
And industry convert thy dross to gold;
And, to the generous mind worth all the rest,
Bless thee with means of making thousands bless'd:
Scoff as thou wilt, to that my words propose,
Her greatness Britain, George his glory owes;
And more true pleasure one such day affords,
Than a whole life sunk on the play-house boards.
Could prompt thee, fool! beyond thy strength to tow'r?
Yet ere the curtain of thy miseries drop,
Retreat in time, and cultivate thy shop;
There may thy talents, usefully display'd,
Raise thee a name and consequence in trade;
Each smiling day will some new charms unfold,
And industry convert thy dross to gold;
And, to the generous mind worth all the rest,
Bless thee with means of making thousands bless'd:
Scoff as thou wilt, to that my words propose,
Her greatness Britain, George his glory owes;
And more true pleasure one such day affords,
Than a whole life sunk on the play-house boards.
Full many a sad example could I name,
Lost to his friends, to fortune and to fame;
And many a youth, whose woes I might detail,
Has made his final exit in a jail.
Lost to his friends, to fortune and to fame;
And many a youth, whose woes I might detail,
Has made his final exit in a jail.
Mossop! in manhood's prime, the Stage's pride,
A martyr to his evil genius died,
And tho' applause his strong exertions crown'd,
No sterling proofs were in his pockets found.
A martyr to his evil genius died,
And tho' applause his strong exertions crown'd,
No sterling proofs were in his pockets found.
The thrifty Woodward, at a later day,
A bankrupt pining on his death-bed lay,
Convinc'd he had perform'd an idle part,
And the last call releas'd a broken heart:
A fellow sufferer, known in Comus' court,
Even now solicits needy life's support.
A bankrupt pining on his death-bed lay,
Convinc'd he had perform'd an idle part,
And the last call releas'd a broken heart:
21
Even now solicits needy life's support.
Digges! highly born, train'd up and qualified,
With rank acquainted and to rank allied,
Fallen from his state, met the cold stroke of death,
With scarce a friend to catch his lingering breath;
One, and but one, in life's dark ever procur'd,
The balm of comfort on his miseries pour'd:
May the kind hands thus ready to extend,
Ne'er feel distress, nor ever want a friend.
With rank acquainted and to rank allied,
Fallen from his state, met the cold stroke of death,
With scarce a friend to catch his lingering breath;
One, and but one, in life's dark ever procur'd,
The balm of comfort on his miseries pour'd:
May the kind hands thus ready to extend,
Ne'er feel distress, nor ever want a friend.
Wilder! an honest soul, cordial and true
As e'er the vital air in hardship drew,
Not Barry, in her zenith, followed more,
When forty winters he had scuffl'd o'er,
Public neglect with manly reason spurn'd,
And to his pencil and his paints return'd;
Grown wise at last, he with his virtuous wife
Now tastes the comforts of domestic life.
As e'er the vital air in hardship drew,
Not Barry, in her zenith, followed more,
When forty winters he had scuffl'd o'er,
Public neglect with manly reason spurn'd,
And to his pencil and his paints return'd;
Grown wise at last, he with his virtuous wife
Now tastes the comforts of domestic life.
The gallant Spranger—how did Spranger speed?
A combination and a form indeed,
To thousands living might the muse appeal,
Where every god seem'd to have set his seal,
Spent, spent, quite spent, broke down, and harrass'd out,
Bending with years, and tortur'd with the gout,
These pitying eyes beheld, a mere machine,
Borne to the side and hobbling thro' the scene:
Such undertakings men are prompted to,
When life's at stake, and hunger is the cue.
A combination and a form indeed,
To thousands living might the muse appeal,
Where every god seem'd to have set his seal,
Spent, spent, quite spent, broke down, and harrass'd out,
Bending with years, and tortur'd with the gout,
These pitying eyes beheld, a mere machine,
Borne to the side and hobbling thro' the scene:
22
When life's at stake, and hunger is the cue.
Another yet—an Actor and a Sage,
The great restorer of the Irish Stage,
In spite of envy, malice, faction, spleen,
He rais'd and scour'd the Augean stable clean,
Twelve tedious winters closely, hardly toil'd,
In all his schemes of independance foil'd,
At one dire blast saw his fair harvest spoil'd;
Sent with his helpless family adrift,
A fugitive, in foreign climes to shift,
The herse his wife's respected corse that bore
Left him possess'd of not one louis-d'or;
Yet to the last, 'tis true, he ne'er resign'd
The vigorous workings of his ardent mind;
Pregnant with deeds he his quietus made,
And smil'd on death with whom he oft had play'd.
The great restorer of the Irish Stage,
In spite of envy, malice, faction, spleen,
He rais'd and scour'd the Augean stable clean,
Twelve tedious winters closely, hardly toil'd,
In all his schemes of independance foil'd,
At one dire blast saw his fair harvest spoil'd;
Sent with his helpless family adrift,
A fugitive, in foreign climes to shift,
The herse his wife's respected corse that bore
Left him possess'd of not one louis-d'or;
Yet to the last, 'tis true, he ne'er resign'd
The vigorous workings of his ardent mind;
Pregnant with deeds he his quietus made,
And smil'd on death with whom he oft had play'd.
'Gainst these, rash boy, thou may'st retort with scorn
Some casual fact—by miracle a thorn,
And possibly the rose of June may blow
In the chill bosom of December's snow;
But, not detracting from thy force and weight,
What claims are thine to hope a better fate?
Some casual fact—by miracle a thorn,
And possibly the rose of June may blow
In the chill bosom of December's snow;
But, not detracting from thy force and weight,
What claims are thine to hope a better fate?
Domestic ties I would not press too far,
Nor with fond notions generous efforts bar;
I mention not a mother raving wild,
Thus, thus to leave me! poor devoted child!
Nor yet a father's heart corroding grief,
Silent and sad, forbidding all relief;
Wasted his care and pains, his measures broke,
And vanished all his promised joys in smoke;
Haply a brother, to destruction brought,
By the contagion of example caught.
These, and a train of consequences more,
I leave untouch'd and pass unnotic'd o'er;
Dark tho' the prospect, candour must confess,
Misconduct sometimes stumbles on success;
Friendly precaution borne on fancy's wings
May make erroneous estimates of things:
Haply no brother, to destruction brought,
By the contagion of example's caught,
And, tho' but rarely, ancient records tell,
The Prodigal reclaim'd has ended well.—
Nor with fond notions generous efforts bar;
I mention not a mother raving wild,
Thus, thus to leave me! poor devoted child!
23
Silent and sad, forbidding all relief;
Wasted his care and pains, his measures broke,
And vanished all his promised joys in smoke;
Haply a brother, to destruction brought,
By the contagion of example caught.
These, and a train of consequences more,
I leave untouch'd and pass unnotic'd o'er;
Dark tho' the prospect, candour must confess,
Misconduct sometimes stumbles on success;
Friendly precaution borne on fancy's wings
May make erroneous estimates of things:
Haply no brother, to destruction brought,
By the contagion of example's caught,
And, tho' but rarely, ancient records tell,
The Prodigal reclaim'd has ended well.—
But should a daughter, or a sister dear,
Start, stage-attracted, madly from her sphere,
Affliction's cup in bitterness runs o'er,
And wounded nature bleeds at every pore;
Imagination giving anguish scope,
Immers'd in disappointment loses hope.
Slander, that strikes where merit most prevails,
Notes every look, at every turn assails;
The very charms that should protection claim,
Betrayers prove and undermine her fame:
Her own sex piously the work begin,
Who seldom think detraction is a sin,
And many a fop, with falsehood's spirit curs'd,
Biographies her from the lap that nurs'd;
Citing in proof, when, where and how, a list
Of well-known facts that never could exist.
The close seducer, following up the sport,
Inveterates malice and abets report;
Hovering aloof, he keeps awhile at bay,
Watches the unguarded hour and swoops his prey.
A month or two, unconscious of her fate,
Perhaps she flaunts it criminally great;
Pleasures illusive her acceptance stay,
Her minions guard her, and her slaves obey;
Obsequious chieftains for supreme command,
And grave divines for mitres kiss her hand;
Soft adulation lives but in her smiles,
And glare and influence sense of shame beguiles.
Mark the reverse—in early life's decline,
O Bellamy! the dire reverse was thine.
In the brief whirl of her exuberant reign
Assistance sought was never sought in vain;
Too careless of events, stripp'd of her all,
Those, whom her affluence fed, deride her fall.
Desponding on the margin of the flood,
Wild with her griefs the child of folly stood;
No grateful friend, from Thames' insurgent wave,
Prelate nor chieftain, stretch'd a hand to save.—
Intemperate youth! could youth, alas! reflect?
Here's ample cause thy frenzy to correct:
On what presumption, by what just decree,
Must honour, kindred, peace, succumb to thee?
Start, stage-attracted, madly from her sphere,
Affliction's cup in bitterness runs o'er,
And wounded nature bleeds at every pore;
Imagination giving anguish scope,
Immers'd in disappointment loses hope.
Slander, that strikes where merit most prevails,
Notes every look, at every turn assails;
The very charms that should protection claim,
Betrayers prove and undermine her fame:
24
Who seldom think detraction is a sin,
And many a fop, with falsehood's spirit curs'd,
Biographies her from the lap that nurs'd;
Citing in proof, when, where and how, a list
Of well-known facts that never could exist.
The close seducer, following up the sport,
Inveterates malice and abets report;
Hovering aloof, he keeps awhile at bay,
Watches the unguarded hour and swoops his prey.
A month or two, unconscious of her fate,
Perhaps she flaunts it criminally great;
Pleasures illusive her acceptance stay,
Her minions guard her, and her slaves obey;
Obsequious chieftains for supreme command,
And grave divines for mitres kiss her hand;
Soft adulation lives but in her smiles,
And glare and influence sense of shame beguiles.
Mark the reverse—in early life's decline,
O Bellamy! the dire reverse was thine.
In the brief whirl of her exuberant reign
Assistance sought was never sought in vain;
Too careless of events, stripp'd of her all,
Those, whom her affluence fed, deride her fall.
Desponding on the margin of the flood,
Wild with her griefs the child of folly stood;
25
Prelate nor chieftain, stretch'd a hand to save.—
Intemperate youth! could youth, alas! reflect?
Here's ample cause thy frenzy to correct:
On what presumption, by what just decree,
Must honour, kindred, peace, succumb to thee?
The pictures here exhibited to view
Are fairly drawn; the originals I knew.
To this late period, from my boyish age,
I have trac'd the specious warfare of the stage,
And, scrutiniz'd in every point of light,
Decided truths to inexperience write;
For as a man, man's sufferings doom'd to share,
That, no slight province, challenges my care.
Here giddy youth may learn those rocks to shun,
On which such numbers split and are undone;
Here learn the fate of overweening pride,
Of time mispent and talents misapplied.—
On Green-room history were it meet to dwell,
The page of grievance would to folios swell.
But why forestal resistless sorrow's date?
Evil, untutor'd, never comes too late;
Gladly the painful office I forego,
And leave to time the blazonry of woe.
Forbid it, justice, to reproach or scorn,
Worth native there and to the manner born,
Or one illiberal stricture to express,
When genius seeks that refuge from distress.
To fools and knaves are fortune's favours given,
Genius, a ray electric, comes from heaven;
Eluding the dull ken of vulgar sight,
It ranges free, and deviates into right;
But vanity will find, by sorrow school'd,
Will is not power, nor all that glitters, gold.
Are fairly drawn; the originals I knew.
To this late period, from my boyish age,
I have trac'd the specious warfare of the stage,
And, scrutiniz'd in every point of light,
Decided truths to inexperience write;
For as a man, man's sufferings doom'd to share,
That, no slight province, challenges my care.
Here giddy youth may learn those rocks to shun,
On which such numbers split and are undone;
Here learn the fate of overweening pride,
Of time mispent and talents misapplied.—
On Green-room history were it meet to dwell,
The page of grievance would to folios swell.
But why forestal resistless sorrow's date?
Evil, untutor'd, never comes too late;
Gladly the painful office I forego,
And leave to time the blazonry of woe.
Forbid it, justice, to reproach or scorn,
Worth native there and to the manner born,
26
When genius seeks that refuge from distress.
To fools and knaves are fortune's favours given,
Genius, a ray electric, comes from heaven;
Eluding the dull ken of vulgar sight,
It ranges free, and deviates into right;
But vanity will find, by sorrow school'd,
Will is not power, nor all that glitters, gold.
With cold remonstrance passion to oppose,
Perhaps small knowlege of its nature shews;
But tho' the films of passion reason blind,
Some lucky moment truth may entrance find.
If but a single proselyte I gain,
Say, happy parent! have I writ in vain?
And many a wandering mind for virtue fram'd,
By friendly treatment might have been reclaim'd.
Of such perverse materials some are made,
They move, like crabs, by nature retrogade,
Wilfully blind and listlessly secure,
Whom they distress or what they may endure;
Devoted to the chace where ruin lies,
They mock restraint, precaution they despise;
Low-minded craft for wisdom's lore mistake,
And vice and folly their associates make.
Their doom is seal'd—to those who merit praise,
Warm from the heart, my pen due tribute pays.
Perhaps small knowlege of its nature shews;
But tho' the films of passion reason blind,
Some lucky moment truth may entrance find.
If but a single proselyte I gain,
Say, happy parent! have I writ in vain?
And many a wandering mind for virtue fram'd,
By friendly treatment might have been reclaim'd.
Of such perverse materials some are made,
They move, like crabs, by nature retrogade,
Wilfully blind and listlessly secure,
Whom they distress or what they may endure;
Devoted to the chace where ruin lies,
They mock restraint, precaution they despise;
Low-minded craft for wisdom's lore mistake,
And vice and folly their associates make.
Their doom is seal'd—to those who merit praise,
Warm from the heart, my pen due tribute pays.
27
Not warp'd by spleen, or causeless prone to blame,
What muse, Fitz-Henry, could forget thy name,
By virtue dignified and dear to fame?
A tender mother and a faithful wife,
She grac'd the scene and trod the stage of life;
Taught her lov'd offspring, as a parent should,
The noblest lesson, that of being good;
Their guide and pattern, in the paths of truth
She train'd their childhood and confirm'd their youth;
And, oh! that many such the stage supplied,
She lived like Pritchard, and like Pritchard died.
Rest, gentle pair! a pair so well approv'd,
In death lamented as in life belov'd,
How rare to meet!—yet humble was their state,
'Till genius and their virtues prov'd them great.
No silken robes around their footsteps flow'd,
No gems seductive on their bosoms glow'd;
Dormant their hopes, as well as talents lay,
Till adverse trials forc'd them into day;
Success far seated on a mountain's brow
They saw, but dimly, from the shade below:
And now with hope, half kindling, half repress'd,
To gain the summit they their steps address'd;
Rough was the way, and steep was the ascent,
Yet on, scarce dreaming to what end, they went;
Great was the toil, and greatly they endur'd;
On those sole terms is eminence procur'd.
That empty pastime for an empty king
Aptly devis'd, beneath their roofs could bring
No formal parties, wont to reimburse
The claims of fashion from their neighbour's purse.
With Matadores, Pont, Basto and Spadille,
Their precious hours let poring dotards kill;
Heedless how trumps were play'd or honours dealt,
The tragic page they tasted and they felt,
And as around the friendly hearth they read,
Oft sent their hearers weeping to their bed.
In time's due course, reveal'd in all her charms,
Melpomene received them to her arms,
And tho' of friends and kindred aid depriv'd,
At wealth and fame with honour they arriv'd.
No father's hopes, no mother's peace destroy'd,
Left free to choose that freedom they employ'd;
And what in thousands candour must condemn,
So differ things, was rectitude in them.
'Tis not the station that contempt deserves;
But who from reason and from duty swerves.
What muse, Fitz-Henry, could forget thy name,
By virtue dignified and dear to fame?
A tender mother and a faithful wife,
She grac'd the scene and trod the stage of life;
Taught her lov'd offspring, as a parent should,
The noblest lesson, that of being good;
Their guide and pattern, in the paths of truth
She train'd their childhood and confirm'd their youth;
And, oh! that many such the stage supplied,
She lived like Pritchard, and like Pritchard died.
Rest, gentle pair! a pair so well approv'd,
In death lamented as in life belov'd,
How rare to meet!—yet humble was their state,
'Till genius and their virtues prov'd them great.
No silken robes around their footsteps flow'd,
No gems seductive on their bosoms glow'd;
Dormant their hopes, as well as talents lay,
Till adverse trials forc'd them into day;
Success far seated on a mountain's brow
They saw, but dimly, from the shade below:
And now with hope, half kindling, half repress'd,
To gain the summit they their steps address'd;
Rough was the way, and steep was the ascent,
Yet on, scarce dreaming to what end, they went;
Great was the toil, and greatly they endur'd;
On those sole terms is eminence procur'd.
28
Aptly devis'd, beneath their roofs could bring
No formal parties, wont to reimburse
The claims of fashion from their neighbour's purse.
With Matadores, Pont, Basto and Spadille,
Their precious hours let poring dotards kill;
Heedless how trumps were play'd or honours dealt,
The tragic page they tasted and they felt,
And as around the friendly hearth they read,
Oft sent their hearers weeping to their bed.
In time's due course, reveal'd in all her charms,
Melpomene received them to her arms,
And tho' of friends and kindred aid depriv'd,
At wealth and fame with honour they arriv'd.
No father's hopes, no mother's peace destroy'd,
Left free to choose that freedom they employ'd;
And what in thousands candour must condemn,
So differ things, was rectitude in them.
'Tis not the station that contempt deserves;
But who from reason and from duty swerves.
O thou! whose stars a kindlier aspect wear,
Spare thy connections, thy own blushes spare!
Short are the triumphs of impertinence,
And shame the meed of prostituted sense;
Then learn betimes what ills misprision wait;
When howls the storm, reflection comes too late.
By futile brains are futile schemes imbib'd,
Discretion trimly steers the course prescrib'd;
To no false lights her steady views incline,
Her pilot, Reason;—make that pilot thine;
Nor by the glare of tinsel'd shew misled,
While with disgrace thou earn'st precarious bread,
Heap fresh anathemas on Shakspeare's head.
Spare thy connections, thy own blushes spare!
Short are the triumphs of impertinence,
And shame the meed of prostituted sense;
Then learn betimes what ills misprision wait;
When howls the storm, reflection comes too late.
29
Discretion trimly steers the course prescrib'd;
To no false lights her steady views incline,
Her pilot, Reason;—make that pilot thine;
Nor by the glare of tinsel'd shew misled,
While with disgrace thou earn'st precarious bread,
Heap fresh anathemas on Shakspeare's head.
Immortal Bard! whose heaven-illumin'd mind,
Compriz'd the volume of all human kind;
Pierc'd at a glance extended nature thro',
Her worlds exhausted, and develop'd new;
Bade viewless Nothing into Being start,
And rul'd at will the captivated heart;
Unlike the lordlings of succeeding days,
Who ravage nations, or who pilfer bays;
Despis'd while living, and in death their name
Damn'd to oblivion, or more damn'd in fame;
How have thy sacred pages been defac'd!
Tortur'd at Press, and on the Stage disgrac'd!
Shall I once more, a loss I have long deplor'd,
Behold thee, Shakspeare! to thy rights restor'd?
Shall I, O Fashion! Fashion! e'er again
See thee, sweet Bard! in wonted splendour reign?
Ah! no, sweet Bard! I never shall see more,
What I have seen, and ever shall deplore.
Farewel the mystic song, the potent spell,
Ye more than mortal agencies, farewel!
Strive ridicule and reason as they may,
Witlings will rise, and dunces have their day.
Thrown on the shelf poor banish'd Romeo lies,
And in the tomb forgotten Juliet dies;
Macbeth no more his air-form'd dagger draws,
While bloodier tyrants plunder with applause.
Compriz'd the volume of all human kind;
Pierc'd at a glance extended nature thro',
Her worlds exhausted, and develop'd new;
Bade viewless Nothing into Being start,
And rul'd at will the captivated heart;
Unlike the lordlings of succeeding days,
Who ravage nations, or who pilfer bays;
Despis'd while living, and in death their name
Damn'd to oblivion, or more damn'd in fame;
How have thy sacred pages been defac'd!
Tortur'd at Press, and on the Stage disgrac'd!
Shall I once more, a loss I have long deplor'd,
Behold thee, Shakspeare! to thy rights restor'd?
Shall I, O Fashion! Fashion! e'er again
See thee, sweet Bard! in wonted splendour reign?
Ah! no, sweet Bard! I never shall see more,
What I have seen, and ever shall deplore.
Farewel the mystic song, the potent spell,
Ye more than mortal agencies, farewel!
30
Witlings will rise, and dunces have their day.
Thrown on the shelf poor banish'd Romeo lies,
And in the tomb forgotten Juliet dies;
Macbeth no more his air-form'd dagger draws,
While bloodier tyrants plunder with applause.
Turn o'er the annals of the present age,
Such fell destroyers ne'er disgrac'd the Stage:
Shylock the Jew was merciful to these,
He thirsts but for his bond, they for rupees;
A pound of Christian flesh, penurious feast!
Nabobs entire are swallowed in the East;
Not for the purposes of peculation,
All's for the good and honour of the nation.
But what's the honour, what the nation's good,
By fraud atchiev'd, and seal'd with human blood?
Reproach abroad, domestic virtue stain'd,
To hostile force and tyrant pleas constrain'd;
Crowns got with blood must be with blood maintain'd.
The inundation of a golden tide
Obliterates all, save luxury and pride;
And ostentation vaunting in their train,
Intemperance and indolence and pain,
And arrogance the pander of disdain.
With the same lust of power was Rome possess'd,
With the same predatory views impress'd,
With the same hopes on foreign wars resolv'd,
With the same climes in martial strife involv'd,
With the same fortunes were here Eagles crown'd,
With the same influx of corruption drown'd;
And, as a document to States unborn,
Rome, mistress of the world, became its scorn.
Such goodly fruits from depredation springs!
Such glorious laurels impious conquest brings!!
Such fell destroyers ne'er disgrac'd the Stage:
Shylock the Jew was merciful to these,
He thirsts but for his bond, they for rupees;
A pound of Christian flesh, penurious feast!
Nabobs entire are swallowed in the East;
Not for the purposes of peculation,
All's for the good and honour of the nation.
But what's the honour, what the nation's good,
By fraud atchiev'd, and seal'd with human blood?
Reproach abroad, domestic virtue stain'd,
To hostile force and tyrant pleas constrain'd;
Crowns got with blood must be with blood maintain'd.
The inundation of a golden tide
Obliterates all, save luxury and pride;
And ostentation vaunting in their train,
Intemperance and indolence and pain,
And arrogance the pander of disdain.
With the same lust of power was Rome possess'd,
With the same predatory views impress'd,
31
With the same climes in martial strife involv'd,
With the same fortunes were here Eagles crown'd,
With the same influx of corruption drown'd;
And, as a document to States unborn,
Rome, mistress of the world, became its scorn.
Such goodly fruits from depredation springs!
Such glorious laurels impious conquest brings!!
And then our Sensibility's so nice,
To mark the argument is deem'd a vice.
But here the real and mimic scene agree,
No Daniel comes to judgment till you see;
Bribe deep, and fearless accusation meet,
The perquisite makes every thing smell sweet;
Yet, tho' all India's diamonds tempt the breach,
The foe of virtue, virtue will impeach,
And little will the subterfuge avail,
When character'd in death he reads the tale.
Not mine the task his punishment to urge,
Not mine the office to apply the scourge;
Not mine the bosom that must feel the shock,
To see the cart, the halter, or the block.
But should corruption stretch her gilded hand,
And screen her minion when the laws demand,
To Heaven lies the appeal; to Heaven belongs,
To avenge a Prince's and a People's wrongs;
The solemn ties infring'd, the blood he spilt,
Shall rise in judgment, and confront his guilt;
The shades of mothers and their babes destroy'd,
While he his good things and his ease enjoy'd;
Of free-born maids to loath'd embraces led,
Torn from their sires, and perishing for bread;
Shall all his soul enormities retrace,
And ceaseless horrors stare him in the face;
Their barbed stings in his gor'd breast implant,
And rack his peace, who peace refus'd to grant.
Vain the proud glare of Asiatic state,
His costly vases and his piles of plate,
Nor opiate, 'sleep or waking, shall he find
To 'swage the hell in his perturbed mind.
What needs the farce of calling to the bar,
The cloak of trial and the wordy war?
Will it dispeopled provinces excuse,
That not a man was left to bear the news;
Or tomes of crimes and misdemeanors need,
When tortur'd conscience pleads—I have done the deed!
Self-condemnation needs no other proof,
Ye ministers of vengeance! stand aloof,
Despair itself shall do the hangman's part,
Or drench the poignard in his ruthless heart.
Thus curs'd the wretch, and blasted be his fame,
If any such e'er bore a Briton's name.
To mark the argument is deem'd a vice.
But here the real and mimic scene agree,
No Daniel comes to judgment till you see;
Bribe deep, and fearless accusation meet,
The perquisite makes every thing smell sweet;
Yet, tho' all India's diamonds tempt the breach,
The foe of virtue, virtue will impeach,
And little will the subterfuge avail,
When character'd in death he reads the tale.
Not mine the task his punishment to urge,
Not mine the office to apply the scourge;
Not mine the bosom that must feel the shock,
To see the cart, the halter, or the block.
But should corruption stretch her gilded hand,
And screen her minion when the laws demand,
To Heaven lies the appeal; to Heaven belongs,
To avenge a Prince's and a People's wrongs;
32
Shall rise in judgment, and confront his guilt;
The shades of mothers and their babes destroy'd,
While he his good things and his ease enjoy'd;
Of free-born maids to loath'd embraces led,
Torn from their sires, and perishing for bread;
Shall all his soul enormities retrace,
And ceaseless horrors stare him in the face;
Their barbed stings in his gor'd breast implant,
And rack his peace, who peace refus'd to grant.
Vain the proud glare of Asiatic state,
His costly vases and his piles of plate,
Nor opiate, 'sleep or waking, shall he find
To 'swage the hell in his perturbed mind.
What needs the farce of calling to the bar,
The cloak of trial and the wordy war?
Will it dispeopled provinces excuse,
That not a man was left to bear the news;
Or tomes of crimes and misdemeanors need,
When tortur'd conscience pleads—I have done the deed!
Self-condemnation needs no other proof,
Ye ministers of vengeance! stand aloof,
Despair itself shall do the hangman's part,
Or drench the poignard in his ruthless heart.
Thus curs'd the wretch, and blasted be his fame,
If any such e'er bore a Briton's name.
33
But scenes of fraud and rapine have too long
Engross'd attention, and prophan'd the song;
Whom such delight on system may advance,
Enough for me to take a passing glance.
The evils done no remedy admit,
No tongue can mitigate, no language fit;
And since we nearer home may be supplied,
Turn we from those disgustful themes aside.
Not lur'd by wealth, nor caught by dazzling shows,
Which in possession wound, not give repose,
Me other prospects, other objects charm,
My labours sweeten, my affections warm;
Solace my griefs, if any griefs intrude,
My joys enhance, and brighten solitude.
Content with competence, and hating strife,
Let me pass quiet thro' the vale of life;
The good I can without parade dispense,
Nor tread my neighbour's grounds, nor break his fence,
That honest hearts, who the same journey take,
May bless my children for their father's sake.
If in my walks the excursive truant stray,
Abuses rise, or folly cross my way,
Reprove I must, correct them if I can,
But show in all humanity to man:
Convinc'd of this, howe'er I miss my ends,
The friend of mankind cannot want for friends.
Engross'd attention, and prophan'd the song;
Whom such delight on system may advance,
Enough for me to take a passing glance.
The evils done no remedy admit,
No tongue can mitigate, no language fit;
And since we nearer home may be supplied,
Turn we from those disgustful themes aside.
Not lur'd by wealth, nor caught by dazzling shows,
Which in possession wound, not give repose,
Me other prospects, other objects charm,
My labours sweeten, my affections warm;
Solace my griefs, if any griefs intrude,
My joys enhance, and brighten solitude.
Content with competence, and hating strife,
Let me pass quiet thro' the vale of life;
The good I can without parade dispense,
Nor tread my neighbour's grounds, nor break his fence,
That honest hearts, who the same journey take,
May bless my children for their father's sake.
If in my walks the excursive truant stray,
Abuses rise, or folly cross my way,
Reprove I must, correct them if I can,
But show in all humanity to man:
Convinc'd of this, howe'er I miss my ends,
The friend of mankind cannot want for friends.
34
Such was the poet whose instructive page,
Gives us the form and pressure of the age,
And, as you will, ye Prynnes and Colliers! rave,
Rake up the filth, and stocks, and pillory brave,
The Stage might furnish, on a just review,
A school of morals and of virtue too.
Even in decline, perverted and disgrac'd,
It forms a touchstone of our sense and taste;
And, subject to each skyish influence, proves
That man caprice more than discretion moves.
See thro' the world the little and the great,
Kings, Lords, and Coblers, all bow down to fate:
So on the Stage, as Fate the die shall fling,
Last night a cobler, and to-day a king.
The case of our disfranchis'd bard pursue,
Proofs rise on proofs, and wisdom may accrue.
Gives us the form and pressure of the age,
And, as you will, ye Prynnes and Colliers! rave,
Rake up the filth, and stocks, and pillory brave,
The Stage might furnish, on a just review,
A school of morals and of virtue too.
Even in decline, perverted and disgrac'd,
It forms a touchstone of our sense and taste;
And, subject to each skyish influence, proves
That man caprice more than discretion moves.
See thro' the world the little and the great,
Kings, Lords, and Coblers, all bow down to fate:
So on the Stage, as Fate the die shall fling,
Last night a cobler, and to-day a king.
The case of our disfranchis'd bard pursue,
Proofs rise on proofs, and wisdom may accrue.
If in disgust a Statesman quit his place,
So does the player, tho' with better grace;
The grave-diggers, caviare to ears refin'd,
As patriots should, unpension'd, have resign'd,
And now the motley race no audience bear;
Tho' look around, motley's your only wear;
Nor can the alluring charms of Rosalind,
Equip'd en cavalier, her doom rescind;
And Claudio's fate did virtue's self oppugn,
Her advocation is not now in tune.
Timon deserted may his follies curse,
Rats smell a wreck, and friends an empty purse.
The Winter's Tale, and Taming of the Shrew,
All's Well that Ends Well, are discarded too;
But, at the name tho' all appear in terrors,
Thro' life we play the Comedy of Errors.
Hamlet, new vamp'd, such is the time's caprice,
With Guido's aid, may serve an after-piece;
And cap-a-pee a macaroni grown,
In Lingua Franca may be yet the ton.
Thus while those crafty minstrels we caress,
Wrongs heap'd on wrongs poor Imogen oppress,
And native talents languish in distress.
John, 'tis the foible of the day, retires,
And Benedick in wedlock's snare expires;
Wolsey his state, Lear abdicates his throne,
And Jack, tho' last not least, old Jack survives alone.
'Tis true, albeit in the vale of years,
Barry erewhile beguiled us of our tears;
His light put out, the Moor is quite unmoor'd,
And now each puny whipster gets his sword.
Even Richard's sun is set, or sans remorse,
Some hoarse, crude murderer brawls, a horse! a horse!
So does the player, tho' with better grace;
The grave-diggers, caviare to ears refin'd,
As patriots should, unpension'd, have resign'd,
And now the motley race no audience bear;
Tho' look around, motley's your only wear;
Nor can the alluring charms of Rosalind,
Equip'd en cavalier, her doom rescind;
And Claudio's fate did virtue's self oppugn,
Her advocation is not now in tune.
35
Rats smell a wreck, and friends an empty purse.
The Winter's Tale, and Taming of the Shrew,
All's Well that Ends Well, are discarded too;
But, at the name tho' all appear in terrors,
Thro' life we play the Comedy of Errors.
Hamlet, new vamp'd, such is the time's caprice,
With Guido's aid, may serve an after-piece;
And cap-a-pee a macaroni grown,
In Lingua Franca may be yet the ton.
Thus while those crafty minstrels we caress,
Wrongs heap'd on wrongs poor Imogen oppress,
And native talents languish in distress.
John, 'tis the foible of the day, retires,
And Benedick in wedlock's snare expires;
Wolsey his state, Lear abdicates his throne,
And Jack, tho' last not least, old Jack survives alone.
'Tis true, albeit in the vale of years,
Barry erewhile beguiled us of our tears;
His light put out, the Moor is quite unmoor'd,
And now each puny whipster gets his sword.
Even Richard's sun is set, or sans remorse,
Some hoarse, crude murderer brawls, a horse! a horse!
O you! whom genius, or the fates impel,
Who not unweeting purpose to excel,
In situations less exposed to shame,
First prove your strength, and meditate your aim;
There imp your wings, and short excursions try,
And all defects with diligence supply.
Tho' fair and open lie the realms of day,
And luring prospects all around display,
The giddy heights let raw adventurers shun,
Nor rashly tempt the Chariot of the Sun.
Yet blind to peril, confident and vain,
If you, presumptuous, must assume the rein,
'Till with experience and with judgment bless'd,
Keep a tight hand; the middle way's the best.
Who not unweeting purpose to excel,
In situations less exposed to shame,
First prove your strength, and meditate your aim;
36
And all defects with diligence supply.
Tho' fair and open lie the realms of day,
And luring prospects all around display,
The giddy heights let raw adventurers shun,
Nor rashly tempt the Chariot of the Sun.
Yet blind to peril, confident and vain,
If you, presumptuous, must assume the rein,
'Till with experience and with judgment bless'd,
Keep a tight hand; the middle way's the best.
But humbler scenes, and more familiar strife,
Come home to feeling, and are drawn from life;
With every charm of composition grac'd,
Order, decorum, elegance and taste;
These to support and suitably express,
Precision claim, skill, aptitude, address;
Ingredients, indispensable to all,
Rarely combin'd, more rarely at a call.
The harmonizing tints and softer traits,
Illusive shun the crude observer's gaze;
And justly to discriminate, demand
A practised pencil, and a master hand,
Which, happy in the fine effect, reveal
The most perfection where they most conceal.
'Twas in this arduous field Horatio shone,
Array'd in peerless merit, ‘all his own.’
So Syrian Zara's highly finish'd role,
By soft approaches stealing on the soul,
And this of Shore, touch'd with consummate skill,
Were drawn for thee, for thee reserv'd to fill.
Come home to feeling, and are drawn from life;
With every charm of composition grac'd,
Order, decorum, elegance and taste;
These to support and suitably express,
Precision claim, skill, aptitude, address;
Ingredients, indispensable to all,
Rarely combin'd, more rarely at a call.
The harmonizing tints and softer traits,
Illusive shun the crude observer's gaze;
And justly to discriminate, demand
A practised pencil, and a master hand,
Which, happy in the fine effect, reveal
The most perfection where they most conceal.
'Twas in this arduous field Horatio shone,
Array'd in peerless merit, ‘all his own.’
37
By soft approaches stealing on the soul,
And this of Shore, touch'd with consummate skill,
Were drawn for thee, for thee reserv'd to fill.
Your buskin'd dames, whom thirst of pomp inspires,
Whom dress enchants, and ostentation fires;
Divinities of that illustrious class,
Whose occupation is the looking-glass;
Whose love of fame, and stronger love of pelf,
Are merely abigails to love of self;
Who see no excellence, conceive no grace,
But what pertains to person and to face;
Who shine conspicuous in coquettish arts,
And play themselves when they should play their parts,
Tho' from the pen of Rowe, they brook with pain,
A part that doffs their rouge and gaudy train.
How have I seen the dainty things distress'd,
Of some the wonder, and of some the jest,
Stop in mid-rant, or hurry to the close,
To adjust the tucker, or a curl compose;
Then with a silly self-approving leer,
Consult the beaux, and bless some Strephon near.
Whom dress enchants, and ostentation fires;
Divinities of that illustrious class,
Whose occupation is the looking-glass;
Whose love of fame, and stronger love of pelf,
Are merely abigails to love of self;
Who see no excellence, conceive no grace,
But what pertains to person and to face;
Who shine conspicuous in coquettish arts,
And play themselves when they should play their parts,
Tho' from the pen of Rowe, they brook with pain,
A part that doffs their rouge and gaudy train.
How have I seen the dainty things distress'd,
Of some the wonder, and of some the jest,
Stop in mid-rant, or hurry to the close,
To adjust the tucker, or a curl compose;
Then with a silly self-approving leer,
Consult the beaux, and bless some Strephon near.
Oh! how unlike the vain unfeeling throng,
Shines the fair subject of my votive song!
With sober step and low dejected mien,
Suited with just conception to the scene,
Like a sad votarist, beautiful in tears,
Child of unfeign'd contrition she appears.
Thro' her fine form, adorn'd with every grace,
In each according feature of her face,
The anguish of a soul oppress'd we trace.
She speaks, and with the tongue of eloquence,
Speaking her author's, proves her own good sense;
Each word, each action, even her silence moves,
Extends our feelings, and the sense improves.
Critics! throughout her varying powers attend,
And approbation will in wonder end.
Shines the fair subject of my votive song!
With sober step and low dejected mien,
Suited with just conception to the scene,
38
Child of unfeign'd contrition she appears.
Thro' her fine form, adorn'd with every grace,
In each according feature of her face,
The anguish of a soul oppress'd we trace.
She speaks, and with the tongue of eloquence,
Speaking her author's, proves her own good sense;
Each word, each action, even her silence moves,
Extends our feelings, and the sense improves.
Critics! throughout her varying powers attend,
And approbation will in wonder end.
Lo! for the Royal Innocents she pleads,
With kindred sympathy the audience bleeds;
Alas! for pity! she forboding cries,
Alas! for pity! every bosom sighs.
Rapt with the theme, and glowing with her part,
She wings each word directly to the heart,
With every power and every grace of speech,
Which feeling can suggest, and art can teach:
She sooths, excites, she deprecates, she burns
With generous zeal, with keen reflection mourns,
That could the Drama from prescription err,
Stern Gloucester's self might well be mov'd by her.
Then, when, all-judging Heav'n! she bows to thee,
And owns thy justice in the hard decree,
With what simplicity her accents flow,
In all the melting energy of woe!
With kindred sympathy the audience bleeds;
Alas! for pity! she forboding cries,
Alas! for pity! every bosom sighs.
Rapt with the theme, and glowing with her part,
She wings each word directly to the heart,
With every power and every grace of speech,
Which feeling can suggest, and art can teach:
She sooths, excites, she deprecates, she burns
With generous zeal, with keen reflection mourns,
That could the Drama from prescription err,
Stern Gloucester's self might well be mov'd by her.
Then, when, all-judging Heav'n! she bows to thee,
And owns thy justice in the hard decree,
With what simplicity her accents flow,
In all the melting energy of woe!
39
Now 'scap'd, feeble and spent, the rabble roar
Behold her suppliant at Alicia's door!
Ingratitude, fell monster! thrusts between;
How few to take the wretched in are seen!
Pale monument of want! forlorn she stands—
Bursts not the thunder of applauding hands?
No; in mute wonder fix'd attention reigns,
And every sense absorpt partakes her pains.
At intervals some stilly murmurs rise,
But checkt, evaporate in smother'd sighs:
Aw'd by the genuine majesty of grief,
We fear to give our struggling pangs relief.
Intent on her, quite of ourselves bereft,
With agony our very souls are cleft;
From every eye the ardent spirit flies,
And trembles every nerve where pity lies;
Down each pale cheek the copious tributes flow,
And throbs each breast responsive to her woe.
Rudely repuls'd from those once-friendly walls,
Her last resource, the famish'd victim falls.
“It was not always thus!”—resign'd and weak,—
The rest her looks unutterably speak.
“Where are thy friends?”—“Ah! Belmour, where indeed?”—
How much in those few simple words she said!
Nature exerted pierc'd each bounding heart,
And caught a wreath beyond the reach of art.
Behold her suppliant at Alicia's door!
Ingratitude, fell monster! thrusts between;
How few to take the wretched in are seen!
Pale monument of want! forlorn she stands—
Bursts not the thunder of applauding hands?
No; in mute wonder fix'd attention reigns,
And every sense absorpt partakes her pains.
At intervals some stilly murmurs rise,
But checkt, evaporate in smother'd sighs:
Aw'd by the genuine majesty of grief,
We fear to give our struggling pangs relief.
Intent on her, quite of ourselves bereft,
With agony our very souls are cleft;
From every eye the ardent spirit flies,
And trembles every nerve where pity lies;
Down each pale cheek the copious tributes flow,
And throbs each breast responsive to her woe.
Rudely repuls'd from those once-friendly walls,
Her last resource, the famish'd victim falls.
“It was not always thus!”—resign'd and weak,—
The rest her looks unutterably speak.
“Where are thy friends?”—“Ah! Belmour, where indeed?”—
How much in those few simple words she said!
Nature exerted pierc'd each bounding heart,
And caught a wreath beyond the reach of art.
40
But when on the cold ground she prostrate lies,
Fainting, exhausted, never more to rise!
“Forgive me! but forgive me!”—not an ear
Her thrilling tones could deaf to mercy hear.
Our swelling bosoms spurn despotic laws,
Curse the crook'd tyrant, and assert her cause.
Fiction's no more—'tis, 'tis too much to bear;
Inhuman slaves! your persecution spare;
“Not eat these three days!”—her deservings plead,
Like angels trumpet tongued, against the deed.
Vile stretch of savage power!—tumultuous pants
Each breast to succour the poor sufferer's wants,
And proud oppression crush; a glorious strife!
And cheap the conquest at the expence of life.
Fainting, exhausted, never more to rise!
“Forgive me! but forgive me!”—not an ear
Her thrilling tones could deaf to mercy hear.
Our swelling bosoms spurn despotic laws,
Curse the crook'd tyrant, and assert her cause.
Fiction's no more—'tis, 'tis too much to bear;
Inhuman slaves! your persecution spare;
“Not eat these three days!”—her deservings plead,
Like angels trumpet tongued, against the deed.
Vile stretch of savage power!—tumultuous pants
Each breast to succour the poor sufferer's wants,
And proud oppression crush; a glorious strife!
And cheap the conquest at the expence of life.
Dear to our hearts, as charming to our eyes!
How amiably, sweet maid! thy merits rise!
Never, save in such mimic scenes express'd,
May one unquiet thought affect thy breast;
Thy breast, of elegance the chosen seat,
Where taste and judgment, wit and candour meet,
And genius with humility unites,
Knowlege abounds, and modesty delights,
And all the kindly charities are found,
With honour, virtue, and good humour crown'd.
While thus in character, you doubly shine,
Perhaps the Drama yields some traits of mine.
Alike in kind, nor differing in degree,
So ceaseless beats my anxious heart for thee.
On the rich basis of a parent's worth
Affection grew, and at thy birth took birth.
When deepening clouds obscur'd my helpless years,
She sooth'd my drooping heart; dispell'd my fears;
Sustain'd the steps of my unfriended youth,
And brought me erring to the paths of truth.
She lov'd to bless, and blessings so conferr'd,
That not the nicest string of sufferance stirr'd;
Her memory dear, with sighs I cherish yet,
And, grateful, would repay the pious debt
To thee, in happy hour thy earliest guide;
My glory her esteem; thy fame my pride;
Thy sorrows too, for sorrows thou hast known,
I more than thought, I felt them all my own:
Then cast thy cares on me, on me depend,
Thy other father, thy indulgent friend,
And while my fates have one fair hour in store,
To dry thy tears thou shalt not want a Shore.
How amiably, sweet maid! thy merits rise!
Never, save in such mimic scenes express'd,
May one unquiet thought affect thy breast;
Thy breast, of elegance the chosen seat,
Where taste and judgment, wit and candour meet,
And genius with humility unites,
Knowlege abounds, and modesty delights,
And all the kindly charities are found,
With honour, virtue, and good humour crown'd.
While thus in character, you doubly shine,
Perhaps the Drama yields some traits of mine.
41
So ceaseless beats my anxious heart for thee.
On the rich basis of a parent's worth
Affection grew, and at thy birth took birth.
When deepening clouds obscur'd my helpless years,
She sooth'd my drooping heart; dispell'd my fears;
Sustain'd the steps of my unfriended youth,
And brought me erring to the paths of truth.
She lov'd to bless, and blessings so conferr'd,
That not the nicest string of sufferance stirr'd;
Her memory dear, with sighs I cherish yet,
And, grateful, would repay the pious debt
To thee, in happy hour thy earliest guide;
My glory her esteem; thy fame my pride;
Thy sorrows too, for sorrows thou hast known,
I more than thought, I felt them all my own:
Then cast thy cares on me, on me depend,
Thy other father, thy indulgent friend,
And while my fates have one fair hour in store,
To dry thy tears thou shalt not want a Shore.
Nor blush, dear maid! that with thy worth impress'd,
I on the fruitful theme with pleasure rest.
Let greater bards, I envy not their claim,
On wealth and titles build their hopes of fame;
Let rigid Satire with vindictive rage,
Impale the guilt of a corrupted age;
Perhaps erroneous, dragging crimes to light,
Better consign'd to everlasting night.
What boots it that a tyrant's minion writ,
With all the loose festivity of wit?
Or he whose gross polluted pages show
How miscreants liv'd two thousand years ago?
Who thus exhibit with empiric skill
Details of vice, and precedents of ill,
Conspiring with the foe that lurks within,
On Virtue's altars sacrifice to Sin;
And while against depravity they preach,
Confess her influence, and her mysteries teach.
But worse, if worse can be, the motley band
Of ribbald rhymers, wits at second hand,
Whose foul travesties reprobate their zeal,
And, couch'd beneath, the cloven foot reveal.
Vice should be scourg'd, delinquents brought to shame,
And public characters are lawful game;
'Tis Satire's province, and 'tis often true,
There wit abounds, and wholsome precepts too;
But who Corruption's rapid foot can tether,
Or stem the mountain torrent—with a feather?
Beyond the power, beyond the scope of verse,
Scenes may occur too flagrant to rehearse;
But on the garbage of offence to feast,
Speaks not the wit, but rather shews the beast.
Necessity's a poor, a vain excuse,
To palliate slander, or defend abuse;
And ill deserve they credit or applause,
Who marshal vice in virtue's sacred cause.
Admitting all their advocates assert,
For one reclaim'd, ten thousand they pervert,
And under colour of correcting evil,
Promote the holy empire of the devil.
I on the fruitful theme with pleasure rest.
Let greater bards, I envy not their claim,
On wealth and titles build their hopes of fame;
Let rigid Satire with vindictive rage,
Impale the guilt of a corrupted age;
42
Better consign'd to everlasting night.
What boots it that a tyrant's minion writ,
With all the loose festivity of wit?
Or he whose gross polluted pages show
How miscreants liv'd two thousand years ago?
Who thus exhibit with empiric skill
Details of vice, and precedents of ill,
Conspiring with the foe that lurks within,
On Virtue's altars sacrifice to Sin;
And while against depravity they preach,
Confess her influence, and her mysteries teach.
But worse, if worse can be, the motley band
Of ribbald rhymers, wits at second hand,
Whose foul travesties reprobate their zeal,
And, couch'd beneath, the cloven foot reveal.
Vice should be scourg'd, delinquents brought to shame,
And public characters are lawful game;
'Tis Satire's province, and 'tis often true,
There wit abounds, and wholsome precepts too;
But who Corruption's rapid foot can tether,
Or stem the mountain torrent—with a feather?
Beyond the power, beyond the scope of verse,
Scenes may occur too flagrant to rehearse;
But on the garbage of offence to feast,
Speaks not the wit, but rather shews the beast.
43
To palliate slander, or defend abuse;
And ill deserve they credit or applause,
Who marshal vice in virtue's sacred cause.
Admitting all their advocates assert,
For one reclaim'd, ten thousand they pervert,
And under colour of correcting evil,
Promote the holy empire of the devil.
Thus in the glebe the deadly night-shade grows,
Flaunts in the sun, and mingles with the rose;
The specious bane the prowling urchin spies;
Touch! touch it not!—he gorges it and dies!
Even so the Aretins of modern rhymes,
With pens immers'd in gall pourtray the times;
But with licentious images inflame,
And spread contagion as they spread the shame;
Quick to the brain the noxious vapours rise,
The good depress'd, a caput mortuum lies.
Howe'er on classic grounds they take defence;
Howe'er adroit their nostrums they dispense;
Impartially let loss and gain be tried,
And soon the balance Reason will decide.
Flaunts in the sun, and mingles with the rose;
The specious bane the prowling urchin spies;
Touch! touch it not!—he gorges it and dies!
Even so the Aretins of modern rhymes,
With pens immers'd in gall pourtray the times;
But with licentious images inflame,
And spread contagion as they spread the shame;
Quick to the brain the noxious vapours rise,
The good depress'd, a caput mortuum lies.
Howe'er on classic grounds they take defence;
Howe'er adroit their nostrums they dispense;
Impartially let loss and gain be tried,
And soon the balance Reason will decide.
Be it my boast to praise where praise is due,
And bring retiring virtue forth to view;
Be it my boast, tho' studious to commend,
I never yet one venal couplet penn'd;
O! be it still my boast, whate'er my lot,
The friend my heart approv'd I ne'er forgot.
And bring retiring virtue forth to view;
Be it my boast, tho' studious to commend,
I never yet one venal couplet penn'd;
44
The friend my heart approv'd I ne'er forgot.
Accept the lay, from adulation free,
To Merit sacred, and inscrib'd to thee.
To Merit sacred, and inscrib'd to thee.
45
BON TON THEATRICALS.
47
EPILOGUE TO HENRY THE FOURTH.
PERFORMED AT CASTLETOWN. SPOKEN BY THE LATE LORD CHIEF BARON HUSSEY BURGH, WHO PLAYED HOTSPUR.
A plodding lawyer from an hero bold,
Well may you say poor Percy's spur is cold.
Our Players scarce saw me in my blacks array'd,
But straight they'd have a sample of my trade,
And send me forth in their behalf to plead;
I argued, lawyer-like, I was not fee'd;
But, 'stead of guineas, Percy's noble dame
Pronounc'd three golden words, and forth I came.
Well may you say poor Percy's spur is cold.
Our Players scarce saw me in my blacks array'd,
But straight they'd have a sample of my trade,
And send me forth in their behalf to plead;
I argued, lawyer-like, I was not fee'd;
But, 'stead of guineas, Percy's noble dame
Pronounc'd three golden words, and forth I came.
Think not our frolick shall go free from blame,
Envy no doubt will carp at every name;
But chief Louisa's—that new joys will yield;
How sweet to slander that untasted field!
Ten thousand Prudes, with lifted hands and eyes,
Shall strain a blush, and meditate surprize;
Fair, virtuous, modest!—Madam, so they say.
Fine modesty indeed!—to act a play!
Dear prudent creatures! they can ne'er be wrong
Who only act a part—their whole life long.
Ten thousand Dames, who with maternal care,
Hourly thank Heaven their daughters are not fair,
Shall rail at noble softness, modest taste,
With all e'er virtue lov'd or beauty grac'd;
For what, alas! my daughter, what are they,
When she who had them all could act a play?
Yet 'tis not spite, good souls! they're not so wicked,
They want not worth, they only want—a ticket.
Envy no doubt will carp at every name;
But chief Louisa's—that new joys will yield;
How sweet to slander that untasted field!
Ten thousand Prudes, with lifted hands and eyes,
Shall strain a blush, and meditate surprize;
Fair, virtuous, modest!—Madam, so they say.
Fine modesty indeed!—to act a play!
48
Who only act a part—their whole life long.
Ten thousand Dames, who with maternal care,
Hourly thank Heaven their daughters are not fair,
Shall rail at noble softness, modest taste,
With all e'er virtue lov'd or beauty grac'd;
For what, alas! my daughter, what are they,
When she who had them all could act a play?
Yet 'tis not spite, good souls! they're not so wicked,
They want not worth, they only want—a ticket.
Nor shall our male performers 'scape detractors,
Senators, Nobles, Privy Counsel,—Actors!
Say, will not Hoey, tho' with a trembling sting,
Assail the sacred person of our King?
With zeal full fiery while the Freeman glows,
Say will he light no brand at Bardolph's nose?
Then for the youths who play—their education,
O! what an ample field for declamation!
'Twould almost tempt a grave good man to scandal,
'Tis such a theme for sober folks to handle—
Fire, fancy, sentiment, wit, judgment, sound,
A man might say in Shakspeare may be found:
But arguments like these will have no force;
Lord, sir, it is not in the College course.
Our plump Sir John his character to fit,
Witty himself, will still give cause for wit;
The Smarts will sneer, and all the gibing train
Rail at that wit they imitate in vain.
Senators, Nobles, Privy Counsel,—Actors!
Say, will not Hoey, tho' with a trembling sting,
Assail the sacred person of our King?
With zeal full fiery while the Freeman glows,
Say will he light no brand at Bardolph's nose?
Then for the youths who play—their education,
O! what an ample field for declamation!
'Twould almost tempt a grave good man to scandal,
'Tis such a theme for sober folks to handle—
Fire, fancy, sentiment, wit, judgment, sound,
A man might say in Shakspeare may be found:
But arguments like these will have no force;
Lord, sir, it is not in the College course.
Our plump Sir John his character to fit,
Witty himself, will still give cause for wit;
49
Rail at that wit they imitate in vain.
For me, what lawyer ever did as I did,
Against the statute in that case provided;
Here to appear in tinsel and in stuff,
Instead of sober black enriched with snuff,
To practice fluent speech and speak in rhyme,
Against the use of immemorial time;
This will I fear be thought a huge transgression
'Gainst the decorum of our grave profession;
A high contempt of all our ancient law;
Treason, flat treason against hum and haw—
Against the statute in that case provided;
Here to appear in tinsel and in stuff,
Instead of sober black enriched with snuff,
To practice fluent speech and speak in rhyme,
Against the use of immemorial time;
This will I fear be thought a huge transgression
'Gainst the decorum of our grave profession;
A high contempt of all our ancient law;
Treason, flat treason against hum and haw—
We strove to please you, in return befriend us,
And from the tongue of malice thus defend us.
Say, that we deem'd it no inglorious part
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart:
Say, that we thought it could no baseness carry,
With Jack to smile, or to reform with Harry:
Say, on the world's great stage we ne'er will deign,
To dissimulate a vice, or virtue feign;
But scorning little views and mean controul,
Avow the genuine dictates of the soul.
And from the tongue of malice thus defend us.
Say, that we deem'd it no inglorious part
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart:
Say, that we thought it could no baseness carry,
With Jack to smile, or to reform with Harry:
Say, on the world's great stage we ne'er will deign,
To dissimulate a vice, or virtue feign;
But scorning little views and mean controul,
Avow the genuine dictates of the soul.
57
OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE TO HENRY THE FOURTH,
Performed at Drumcree, Tuesday, Jan. 5, 1773, SPOKEN BY MR. WHYTE, IN THE CHARACTER OF THE KING.
- King Henry, Mr. Whyte,
- Hotspur, Mr. Tandy,
- Sir John Falstaff, Mr. Wm. Smith,
- Bardolph, Rev. Gilbert Austin.
Cæteri desunt.
Don't drop the curtain, sir! there yet remain
Some previous points to settle and explain.
Some previous points to settle and explain.
The stated business of the drama o'er,
Tho' now we tread the mimic scene no more,
Possess'd of Power, and vested with a Crown,
Who would not grieve so soon to lay them down?
Yes; still imperial Fancy soars on wing,
And in the shadow still prevails the King.
Come forth, ye living! and arise, ye dead!
(Ladies, they are harmless ghosts, don't be afraid)
Cowards and brave, true men and thieves appear!
Confess yourselves, and pay due homage here.
Behold your King to this bright circle bends,
For here without co-rival reign his friends.
Tho' now we tread the mimic scene no more,
Possess'd of Power, and vested with a Crown,
Who would not grieve so soon to lay them down?
Yes; still imperial Fancy soars on wing,
And in the shadow still prevails the King.
Come forth, ye living! and arise, ye dead!
(Ladies, they are harmless ghosts, don't be afraid)
Cowards and brave, true men and thieves appear!
Confess yourselves, and pay due homage here.
58
For here without co-rival reign his friends.
While in the heart of this degenerate land
Frequent and full the shrines of Folly stand;
While covert guile, debaucheries and broils,
The fair addition of our manhood soils,
And foreign modes, and ill-adopted taste,
Lay the rich glebe of ancient virtue waste;
Lo! here the golden age restor'd we see,
And sense and merit cherish'd at Drumcree.
Lo! here, as reverend chronicles unfold,
The Muses flourish as in days of old,
And round the jocund vicinage are seen
Night-tripping fairies deftly foot the green;
Above, below, about, and every where
We trace their steps, their dulcet voices hear;
And every dingle, bourn and bushy dell,
Profuse of beauty, does their influence tell.
Here native roses deck the virgin cheek,
And untaught blushes inward worth bespeak;
Hymen unspotted keeps his peaceful throne,
And Doctor's Commons is a name unknown:
Free and at ease with genuine spirits warm,
Bless'd in themselves, nor meditating harm,
All spend their time in song, and dance, and sport:
But banish the wild rout of Comus' court.
Frequent and full the shrines of Folly stand;
While covert guile, debaucheries and broils,
The fair addition of our manhood soils,
And foreign modes, and ill-adopted taste,
Lay the rich glebe of ancient virtue waste;
Lo! here the golden age restor'd we see,
And sense and merit cherish'd at Drumcree.
Lo! here, as reverend chronicles unfold,
The Muses flourish as in days of old,
And round the jocund vicinage are seen
Night-tripping fairies deftly foot the green;
Above, below, about, and every where
We trace their steps, their dulcet voices hear;
And every dingle, bourn and bushy dell,
Profuse of beauty, does their influence tell.
Here native roses deck the virgin cheek,
And untaught blushes inward worth bespeak;
Hymen unspotted keeps his peaceful throne,
And Doctor's Commons is a name unknown:
Free and at ease with genuine spirits warm,
Bless'd in themselves, nor meditating harm,
All spend their time in song, and dance, and sport:
But banish the wild rout of Comus' court.
59
Appealing now to you, bold truth asserts,
Our actors all, save one, have topp'd their parts;
So felt, so mark'd, with such precision shown,
You'd almost swear the characters their own;
But in the Poet's nobler flights, 'twas clear,
They spoke themselves, and were no Actors there.
For instance now, a paradox I own,
Enough to put our gravest doctors down,
We have seen to-night a dear respected youth,
For prudence fam'd, integrity and truth,
Of person pleasing, juvenile and thin,
In braggart Falstaff even rival Quin.
Our actors all, save one, have topp'd their parts;
So felt, so mark'd, with such precision shown,
You'd almost swear the characters their own;
But in the Poet's nobler flights, 'twas clear,
They spoke themselves, and were no Actors there.
For instance now, a paradox I own,
Enough to put our gravest doctors down,
We have seen to-night a dear respected youth,
For prudence fam'd, integrity and truth,
Of person pleasing, juvenile and thin,
In braggart Falstaff even rival Quin.
Such is the magic power of Shakspeare's muse!
Such ardours, friends! your generous smiles infuse,
Tho' all untrain'd, and aliens to the stage,
We cheerly on and dare the critics rage;
Applaud but you, they rail, alas! in vain,
In that the summit of our hopes we gain.
Such ardours, friends! your generous smiles infuse,
Tho' all untrain'd, and aliens to the stage,
We cheerly on and dare the critics rage;
Applaud but you, they rail, alas! in vain,
In that the summit of our hopes we gain.
61
PROLOGUE TO COMUS,
PERFORMED AT MARLAY, THE SEAT OF THE RT. HON. DAVID LATOUCHE. SPOKEN BY MR. WHYTE.
In strict observance of Theatric laws,
We should, imprimis, plead the Author's cause;
Happy, at least in this, a brighter name
Than Milton's shines not in the rolls of fame;
The intrinsic sterling of whose deathless lays
Strikes censure dumb, and supersedes all praise:
Yet, “fallen on evil tongues and evil day,”
His Comus, not exempt, neglected lay,
'Till genuine taste, prevailing, found its worth,
And taught the lyre to call its beauties forth.
Scorning a barbarous, dull, fanatic age,
For after-times he penn'd his sacred page,
And bade his muse fit audience find tho' few,
Prophetic surely with this night in view!
We should, imprimis, plead the Author's cause;
Happy, at least in this, a brighter name
Than Milton's shines not in the rolls of fame;
The intrinsic sterling of whose deathless lays
Strikes censure dumb, and supersedes all praise:
Yet, “fallen on evil tongues and evil day,”
His Comus, not exempt, neglected lay,
'Till genuine taste, prevailing, found its worth,
And taught the lyre to call its beauties forth.
Scorning a barbarous, dull, fanatic age,
For after-times he penn'd his sacred page,
And bade his muse fit audience find tho' few,
Prophetic surely with this night in view!
O! for a moment, heaven-born Muse! descend;
Propitious, now, my ardent prayer attend;
As erst thy Milton's, with celestial fire,
My mind irradiate, and my voice inspire!
So, as its brighter glories well demand,
Marlay with Ludlow might immortal stand.
Yet here tho' Naiads, Fauns, and Dryads vie,
And art and nature court the curious eye,
Could those the tooth of wrinkled care deride,
If conscious worth did not within reside?
The grand Elixir that, the potent spell,
Why here no anger, frowns, or sorrows dwell.
Propitious, now, my ardent prayer attend;
62
My mind irradiate, and my voice inspire!
So, as its brighter glories well demand,
Marlay with Ludlow might immortal stand.
Yet here tho' Naiads, Fauns, and Dryads vie,
And art and nature court the curious eye,
Could those the tooth of wrinkled care deride,
If conscious worth did not within reside?
The grand Elixir that, the potent spell,
Why here no anger, frowns, or sorrows dwell.
Our little Actors have, indeed, their cares,
For sure to night an arduous task is theirs,
With wish'd success, to grace their glorious cause,
And, by due steps, to merit your applause;
Then, lest their tender age might suffer harm,
Your's be the part each anxious fear to charm—
Hence, captious pedants!—envious raillers, hence!
Nor dare prophane the shrine of innocence;
Nor let hypocrisy's insidious leer,
With false presentments, shed blear influence here,
To nip our early buds, and check the promis'd year!
For sure to night an arduous task is theirs,
With wish'd success, to grace their glorious cause,
And, by due steps, to merit your applause;
Then, lest their tender age might suffer harm,
Your's be the part each anxious fear to charm—
Hence, captious pedants!—envious raillers, hence!
Nor dare prophane the shrine of innocence;
Nor let hypocrisy's insidious leer,
With false presentments, shed blear influence here,
To nip our early buds, and check the promis'd year!
When Mariann, dispatch'd of sovereign Jove,
Performs her high commission from above,
Whate'er slight imperfections may appear,
Pure nature speaks, and marks the mind sincere;
And, if I rightly of your feelings guess,
Tho' the Two Brothers prove but males in dress,
Such forms in fancy's eye, as Poets say,
Trip o'er the clouds and in the rainbow play,
Espousing sentiments so much their own,
For all defects will easily atone.
Our dear Eliza's suit we next might plead;
But who can equal to herself succeed?
With simple elegance she melts the heart,
And in the Lady paints her own desert.
O! may she still, as now, her bosom keep
Pure as the smiling thoughts of babes asleep!
Virtuous herself, may she be Virtue's friend,
And all good angels on her steps attend!
Performs her high commission from above,
Whate'er slight imperfections may appear,
Pure nature speaks, and marks the mind sincere;
And, if I rightly of your feelings guess,
Tho' the Two Brothers prove but males in dress,
63
Trip o'er the clouds and in the rainbow play,
Espousing sentiments so much their own,
For all defects will easily atone.
Our dear Eliza's suit we next might plead;
But who can equal to herself succeed?
With simple elegance she melts the heart,
And in the Lady paints her own desert.
O! may she still, as now, her bosom keep
Pure as the smiling thoughts of babes asleep!
Virtuous herself, may she be Virtue's friend,
And all good angels on her steps attend!
As for our fairy Bacchanalian troop,
(In character promiscuously they groupe)
Careless and free, they'll top their several parts,
And ask no advocate to gain your hearts—
Nor let my hopes your wonted goodness fail,
But, while you judge, let candour hold the scale.
(In character promiscuously they groupe)
Careless and free, they'll top their several parts,
And ask no advocate to gain your hearts—
Nor let my hopes your wonted goodness fail,
But, while you judge, let candour hold the scale.
67
EPILOGUE SPOKEN BY MRS. GARDINER, AFTER THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH,
PERFORMED AT THE RIGHT HON. LUKE GARDINER'S THEATRE, IN THE PHOENIX PARK, ON THE 26TH AND 28TH OF JANUARY, 1778.
You all seem pleas'd, I read it in your eyes;
Then sure my heart with yours must sympathize;
Yet we, who strive to please you, have our fears;
Will none, who like the play, condemn the play'rs?
Will no severer tongue our sports arraign,
And call this new-rais'd mansion Folly's Fane;
No souls sublime, who virtue's paths pursue,
From Whist to Quinze, and from Quadrille to Loo,
Laugh at our weakness for preferring still,
Shakspeare to Pam, and Jonson to Spadille?
Those nicer minds who blame the moral stage,
Do they prefer the pleasures of the age?
Parties and Routs, Ball-paré, Ball-masqué,
Rotundas, Operas, Concerts, and-stay, stay,
Festinos and Ridottos, and what not!—
The Fantocini, I almost forgot.
Then sure my heart with yours must sympathize;
Yet we, who strive to please you, have our fears;
Will none, who like the play, condemn the play'rs?
Will no severer tongue our sports arraign,
And call this new-rais'd mansion Folly's Fane;
No souls sublime, who virtue's paths pursue,
From Whist to Quinze, and from Quadrille to Loo,
Laugh at our weakness for preferring still,
Shakspeare to Pam, and Jonson to Spadille?
Those nicer minds who blame the moral stage,
Do they prefer the pleasures of the age?
Parties and Routs, Ball-paré, Ball-masqué,
Rotundas, Operas, Concerts, and-stay, stay,
Festinos and Ridottos, and what not!—
The Fantocini, I almost forgot.
68
For my part now, I own, I can't divine,
Why these are thought so very, very fine!
For instance now, a rout—none here but knows it—
The whole town cramm'd in two rooms and a closet,
Where sullen dowagers and ancient beaux
Rail o'er their cards, and almost come to blows;
Where essenc'd fops shed nonsense and perfume,
And silent misses glide from room to room;
Where smart coquettes their towering plumage show,
And puny lovers wonder from below.
But chief the macaroni strikes our eyes;
His foot conceal'd beneath his buckle lies,
And sattin half an ell, his coat supplies;
Whispering some fair, in tones so soft and sweet!
What might be posted in the public street:
‘Lord! how Miss Bab is dress'd; she's quite a fright!
‘Sestini acted vastly well last night:’
Then close into her ear he thrusts his nose,
‘I swear you've got the prettiest suit of cloaths.’—
Why these are thought so very, very fine!
For instance now, a rout—none here but knows it—
The whole town cramm'd in two rooms and a closet,
Where sullen dowagers and ancient beaux
Rail o'er their cards, and almost come to blows;
Where essenc'd fops shed nonsense and perfume,
And silent misses glide from room to room;
Where smart coquettes their towering plumage show,
And puny lovers wonder from below.
But chief the macaroni strikes our eyes;
His foot conceal'd beneath his buckle lies,
And sattin half an ell, his coat supplies;
Whispering some fair, in tones so soft and sweet!
What might be posted in the public street:
‘Lord! how Miss Bab is dress'd; she's quite a fright!
‘Sestini acted vastly well last night:’
Then close into her ear he thrusts his nose,
‘I swear you've got the prettiest suit of cloaths.’—
Oh! but a ball—a ball's all fire and spirit—
There are, to whom the supper has its merit.
As for the rest—the misses meet at seven—
Our male and female fops lounge till eleven;
Then in they saunter, tir'd and bor'd to death:
‘Lord! who can dance! it puts one out of breath;
‘Bless me! what rude fatigue! 'tis horrid sure!’
No, to be manly now, 'tis quite Vielle Cour—
They now in minuet slow must glide along,
Or amble in the mazy cotillon.
There are, to whom the supper has its merit.
As for the rest—the misses meet at seven—
Our male and female fops lounge till eleven;
Then in they saunter, tir'd and bor'd to death:
‘Lord! who can dance! it puts one out of breath;
‘Bless me! what rude fatigue! 'tis horrid sure!’
No, to be manly now, 'tis quite Vielle Cour—
69
Or amble in the mazy cotillon.
But hark! I think I hear some frantic fair,
Thus call her favourite genius from her sphere:
‘Come thou in party colour'd robe arrayed,
‘Goddess! yclep'd of mortals, masquerade!’
Give me to dance the motley crew among,
And see what ne'er was read in fabled song:
And lo! the pantomimic scenes arise,
Bears, witches, ladies, devils, and goose-pies!
‘I know you pretty mask.’—‘You don't.’—‘I do;’
‘I know that sparkling eye.’—‘Not you.’—not you.’
Thus call her favourite genius from her sphere:
‘Come thou in party colour'd robe arrayed,
‘Goddess! yclep'd of mortals, masquerade!’
Give me to dance the motley crew among,
And see what ne'er was read in fabled song:
And lo! the pantomimic scenes arise,
Bears, witches, ladies, devils, and goose-pies!
‘I know you pretty mask.’—‘You don't.’—‘I do;’
‘I know that sparkling eye.’—‘Not you.’—not you.’
'Tis passing strange, that thus your fancies hit,
Noise without mirth, and laughter without wit.
In times like these will you the hand accuse,
Which rears a temple to the mourning muse;
That sweet enchantress, who with magic power,
Can fill the vacant, charm the studious hour;
Can give to Fancy's work a blaze more bright,
Or Reason's steady lamp feed with new light;
Will you the well intended act despise,
Which by amusement courts you to be wise?
Noise without mirth, and laughter without wit.
In times like these will you the hand accuse,
Which rears a temple to the mourning muse;
That sweet enchantress, who with magic power,
Can fill the vacant, charm the studious hour;
Can give to Fancy's work a blaze more bright,
Or Reason's steady lamp feed with new light;
Will you the well intended act despise,
Which by amusement courts you to be wise?
72
SONG, SUNG BY ORLANDO, IN AS YOU LIKE IT.
Long time I serv'd young Rosalind;
But when her power she knew,
The little tyrant grew unkind,
And I my love withdrew.
But when her power she knew,
The little tyrant grew unkind,
And I my love withdrew.
Now anger all my bosom sway'd,
Pride fortified my soul;
I swore—but from her ambuscade
The pretty wheedler stole.
Pride fortified my soul;
I swore—but from her ambuscade
The pretty wheedler stole.
I view'd her face; I paus'd awhile;
I heard and stood reprov'd:
She coax'd me to her with a smile;
I kiss'd her, and I lov'd.
I heard and stood reprov'd:
She coax'd me to her with a smile;
I kiss'd her, and I lov'd.
When beauteous Rosalind commands,
How vain the boasts of men!
She frown'd—I broke love's silken bands;
She smil'd—I lov'd again.
How vain the boasts of men!
She frown'd—I broke love's silken bands;
She smil'd—I lov'd again.
But, O ye Fair! be not inclin'd
Like her your power to prove:
Few nymphs can charm like Rosalind;
Few swains like me can love.
Like her your power to prove:
Few nymphs can charm like Rosalind;
Few swains like me can love.
73
OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF JANE SHORE,
REPRESENTED AT LADY BORROWES'S, MARCH 16, 1790. WITH CONSIDERABLE ADDITIONS.
By way of Prologue here I stand before ye;
Tho' faith I scarce know how to tell my story.
The custom is, I think, to make excuses.
To palliate faults and reconcile abuses,
With solemn phiz and phrase devoutly humble,
Lest Critics, (none I hope are here), should grumble;
And for the Ladies, wheresoever muster'd,
There's flummery serv'd; perhaps not worth a custard.
Our Prompter might have found a Spokesman fitter;
For in my mouth, I doubt, 'twill make you titter;
But there he stands, so crusty and imperious,
I'd better tack about;—now to be serious.
Tho' faith I scarce know how to tell my story.
The custom is, I think, to make excuses.
To palliate faults and reconcile abuses,
With solemn phiz and phrase devoutly humble,
Lest Critics, (none I hope are here), should grumble;
And for the Ladies, wheresoever muster'd,
There's flummery serv'd; perhaps not worth a custard.
Our Prompter might have found a Spokesman fitter;
For in my mouth, I doubt, 'twill make you titter;
But there he stands, so crusty and imperious,
I'd better tack about;—now to be serious.
In barbarous states and breasts unciviliz'd,
Letters and polish'd arts are little priz'd;
There, all their lives in sensual pleasures sunk,
The proof of excellence is getting drunk;
But if the means their niggard fates deny,
To gaming's more pernicious arms they fly;
Where oft, to every social duty blind,
The sordid passion so inflames the mind,
They sacrifice their all; their children; wives;
Nay, desperate in the extreme, have stak'd their lives.
For crying proofs we have not far to roam;
The reign of ignorance prevail'd at home.—
Letters and polish'd arts are little priz'd;
There, all their lives in sensual pleasures sunk,
The proof of excellence is getting drunk;
74
To gaming's more pernicious arms they fly;
Where oft, to every social duty blind,
The sordid passion so inflames the mind,
They sacrifice their all; their children; wives;
Nay, desperate in the extreme, have stak'd their lives.
For crying proofs we have not far to roam;
The reign of ignorance prevail'd at home.—
In nations more advanced the ears are caught,
And Music supersedes the toil of Thought;
Whether the dexterous finger they display,
Run wild bravures, or chaunt the roundelay,
Or personal attractions would enhance,
To soft minuetto swimming thro' the dance.
Yet, not to talk profanely of the art,
Can wire and catgut more affect the heart,
Or purer joys, than Roscius can, dispense,
With Kemble's judgment, giving Otway's sense?
And on the list of friends whom worthier found,
With Rizzio's talents, or Tenducci's crown'd?
What deeper clouds hang o'er the private scene,
Than o'er the orchestra, to encourage spleen?
The prudent descants that the drama hit,
Preclude the curl-irons, harpsichord and kit;
For, from what has been, arguing what may chance,
No girl should learn to sing, or play, or dance,
Or have her hair dress'd a-la-mode de France.
And Music supersedes the toil of Thought;
Whether the dexterous finger they display,
Run wild bravures, or chaunt the roundelay,
Or personal attractions would enhance,
To soft minuetto swimming thro' the dance.
Yet, not to talk profanely of the art,
Can wire and catgut more affect the heart,
Or purer joys, than Roscius can, dispense,
With Kemble's judgment, giving Otway's sense?
And on the list of friends whom worthier found,
With Rizzio's talents, or Tenducci's crown'd?
What deeper clouds hang o'er the private scene,
Than o'er the orchestra, to encourage spleen?
The prudent descants that the drama hit,
Preclude the curl-irons, harpsichord and kit;
For, from what has been, arguing what may chance,
No girl should learn to sing, or play, or dance,
Or have her hair dress'd a-la-mode de France.
75
All polished circles for amusement look,
Those deal out scandal, these prefer a book,
And mixing with the grave, the young and gay,
Lay by the sampler for a moral play.
Can this, knows any here? the science hurt
Of pudding manufacture, or of shirt?
Must every social virtue be effac'd,
To plant a needle, and to shine in paste?
And yet what husband blushes to give raps
At lectures upon handkerchiefs and caps?
Zounds! cries Sir Nob! and on his chair he shuffles,
Your head's an auction-room of gauze and ruffles,
And that loquacious clack, which never tires,
Is fit for nothing but to call in buyers.
Such are the contradictions that we meet
In man, so wise! so knowing and discreet!
If female minds are uninform'd and blank,
Whom, lordly sirs! are female tongues to thank?
And if they thunder nonsense in your ears,
Why for such paltry talents choose your dears?
If you no higher excellence can brook,
Go wed at once your sempstress or your cook:
No matter of what coarse, what groveling brood,
In thought how barren and in speech how rude,
You get a nurse, and have your tables grac'd,
Indulge your pride, and show the world your taste!
And when to pinch your destiny begins,
She'll darn your stockings, or she'll rub your shins:—
Cursing your blindness, then you'll feel at least,
Wherein the Angel differs from the beast.
Those deal out scandal, these prefer a book,
And mixing with the grave, the young and gay,
Lay by the sampler for a moral play.
Can this, knows any here? the science hurt
Of pudding manufacture, or of shirt?
Must every social virtue be effac'd,
To plant a needle, and to shine in paste?
And yet what husband blushes to give raps
At lectures upon handkerchiefs and caps?
Zounds! cries Sir Nob! and on his chair he shuffles,
Your head's an auction-room of gauze and ruffles,
And that loquacious clack, which never tires,
Is fit for nothing but to call in buyers.
Such are the contradictions that we meet
In man, so wise! so knowing and discreet!
If female minds are uninform'd and blank,
Whom, lordly sirs! are female tongues to thank?
And if they thunder nonsense in your ears,
Why for such paltry talents choose your dears?
If you no higher excellence can brook,
Go wed at once your sempstress or your cook:
No matter of what coarse, what groveling brood,
In thought how barren and in speech how rude,
You get a nurse, and have your tables grac'd,
Indulge your pride, and show the world your taste!
76
She'll darn your stockings, or she'll rub your shins:—
Cursing your blindness, then you'll feel at least,
Wherein the Angel differs from the beast.
But, not o'ermuch your patience to excise,
We'll, if you please, the matter compromise;
Admit the things which furnish your delight,
To know and regulate is fit and right;
And she who's in those requisites to school,
With all her breeding, is but half a fool:
Yet mayn't the Sage's, or the poet's page
The eye of beauty in its turn engage?
And shall vain bugbears, (stating right the fact),
Impose a negative to read or act?
Many from pure deficiency want will,
And out of envy reprobate the skill;
Some speciously to modesty pretend,
And some their cause with ridicule defend;
But who their art applaud; their humour who commend?
Does it more blameful confidence require,
To speak with Crawford's pathos, Siddons' fire,
Natures effusions that from Shakspeare flow,
Or Virtue's dictates justified by Rowe,
Than in a crowded drawing-room disclose,
'Midst staring misses, matrons, fidlers, beaux,
The vocal powers, opinion not to wrong,
Such as to George or Billington belong,
Attun'd to the smooth emptiness of modern song?
Yet in their places both, or either's right,
And those approv'd may sing, and these recite.
We'll, if you please, the matter compromise;
Admit the things which furnish your delight,
To know and regulate is fit and right;
And she who's in those requisites to school,
With all her breeding, is but half a fool:
Yet mayn't the Sage's, or the poet's page
The eye of beauty in its turn engage?
And shall vain bugbears, (stating right the fact),
Impose a negative to read or act?
Many from pure deficiency want will,
And out of envy reprobate the skill;
Some speciously to modesty pretend,
And some their cause with ridicule defend;
But who their art applaud; their humour who commend?
Does it more blameful confidence require,
To speak with Crawford's pathos, Siddons' fire,
Natures effusions that from Shakspeare flow,
Or Virtue's dictates justified by Rowe,
Than in a crowded drawing-room disclose,
'Midst staring misses, matrons, fidlers, beaux,
77
Such as to George or Billington belong,
Attun'd to the smooth emptiness of modern song?
Yet in their places both, or either's right,
And those approv'd may sing, and these recite.
Since affectation, canting, and grimace
Are signs, none doubts,—of judgment, wit, and grace,
Let those who count the mind's improvement sin,
And shew their teeth for reasons—shrug and grin:
Let connoisseurs their tuneful banquets share,
And feed, like true camelions, upon air;
Let pert, untutor'd savages make sport
Of health and temperance, and destruction court:
Let those endu'd another's woe to feel,
Whose words are truth, whose actions prove their zeal,
Whose bosoms candour and good sense inspire,
Who look at home, nor cards, nor dice require;
Let those enjoy, thro' wisdom's mild controul,
“The feast of Reason and the flow of Soul;”
Such feasts as genuine worth, which here presides,
For guests of your distinguish'd taste provides.
Are signs, none doubts,—of judgment, wit, and grace,
Let those who count the mind's improvement sin,
And shew their teeth for reasons—shrug and grin:
Let connoisseurs their tuneful banquets share,
And feed, like true camelions, upon air;
Let pert, untutor'd savages make sport
Of health and temperance, and destruction court:
Let those endu'd another's woe to feel,
Whose words are truth, whose actions prove their zeal,
Whose bosoms candour and good sense inspire,
Who look at home, nor cards, nor dice require;
Let those enjoy, thro' wisdom's mild controul,
“The feast of Reason and the flow of Soul;”
Such feasts as genuine worth, which here presides,
For guests of your distinguish'd taste provides.
You are bid to-night, can we our purpose keep,
To laugh with Jobson, and with Shore to weep:
Shore, did I say?—a novice in the art,
By much entreaty won, attempts the part;
Without one jarring atom is she made,
And friendship's call she tremblingly obeyed;
But now entreats indulgence to her fears,
Her inexperience, and her want of years—
The author's words and meaning to comprize,
To mark with truth the passions as they rise,
And 'gainst untried embarrassments to guard,
In eight days limits, was a task full hard;
But not to frustrate a dear friend's request,
She meets the peril, and submits the rest.
The fair Alicia, to the Drama new,
By me solicits your indulgence too:
As for the rest, I'll answer, to a man,
Tho' lately drill'd, they'll please you—if they can.
To laugh with Jobson, and with Shore to weep:
Shore, did I say?—a novice in the art,
By much entreaty won, attempts the part;
Without one jarring atom is she made,
And friendship's call she tremblingly obeyed;
78
Her inexperience, and her want of years—
The author's words and meaning to comprize,
To mark with truth the passions as they rise,
And 'gainst untried embarrassments to guard,
In eight days limits, was a task full hard;
But not to frustrate a dear friend's request,
She meets the peril, and submits the rest.
The fair Alicia, to the Drama new,
By me solicits your indulgence too:
As for the rest, I'll answer, to a man,
Tho' lately drill'd, they'll please you—if they can.
79
PRELUDE TO THE SAILOR METAMORPHOSED; OR, THE ANIMATION OF HARLEQUIN;
In which his mystic Presentation is now first elucidated. WEDNESDAY, JANUARY VI, MDCCXC.
[Scene I.]
Scene, a desert Coast; in the Back Ground a troubled Sea; clouded Moon, &c.—Thunder and Lightning—Screech Owl—Enter Witches severally, flying down on different sides—Hecate from above, over a skirt of the Sea.1st Witch.
Hecate!
2d Witch.
Hecate!
3d Witch.
Hecate!
Hecate.
Who calls for me?
I come, I come, I come—prepar'd you see— [Showing her wand.
What is't now, Beldames! you would have me do?
Bind up the Welkin, or a Tempest brew?
Or shrouded in the dusky cloak of night,
With mystic visionry I'll glad your sight,
And show the poor dull-thoughted sons of care,
With true adepts how bootless to compare.
Say but the word.—
80
—Sister! we don't refuse
Your proffer'd aid; yet tempests we'd excuse;
Disposed to night amusing scenes to raise,
And praise deserve from those deserving praise.
Hecate.
Suppose we wake the music of the spheres,
And with melodious sounds enchant their ears—
2d Witch.
Why, sister! that were well; but nothing new;
For skill is theirs; celestial voices too;
And I divine, ere setting of the moon,
To more effect we may prefer the boon.
Hecate.
Then let's invoke the fairies for a dance—
3d Witch.
Hum!—there again we stand but little chance;
The tiny elves that deftly foot the ground
Within our limits now are rarely found.
Hecate.
I have hit it, crones!—as hitherward I bow'd,
Horsed on the summit of a murky cloud,
I mark'd a shipman o'er the ocean skim
In his tight vessel, rigg'd in gallant trim,
Plying off Howth, as conscious of her freight,
A Prince of mighty trust to bless Ierne's state.—
To prove his courage, and his mind prepare
For rubs, which men in place are doom'd to bear,
I'll loose the winds, and on the rugged rock
Dash her proud keel—at the resistless shock,
Masts, timbers, decks shall shiver to your view;
This, aye! and more, I'll do! I'll do! I'll do!
81
Good, sister! good; we all to that agree:
1st Witch.
And thanks receive from me!
2d Witch.
From me!
3d Witch.
From me!
[Waves her wand, and exeunt omnes.
SCENE II.
Storm.—Ship in distress.—Wrecked.—Mariner cast ashore.—Re-enter Witches, who examine the body lying on the beach.1st. Witch.
Gone!
2d Witch.
Gone!
3d Witch.
Quite gone!
Hecate.
—Then here our pastime ends!—
But let's unite our power, and stand his friends.
In life, esteem'd and lov'd, he bore a name,
And his revival will exalt our fame;
For know, tho' little dreamt, this trunk within
A genius lives—no less than Harlequin!
Him I'll call forth, and with full powers invest,
To play his gambols o'er at your behest;
But speedier to effect a deed so rare,
Call we our spirits hovering in the air,
Their choicest lore and sovereign spells to bring,
While round, and round, and round, we dance the ring. [Grotesque dance. The wood rises, and discovers a flaming cauldron.
Behold the cauldron! there, my sisters three!
Immerse the body; stir the pot with glee;
82
To give him pulse and vivifying heat.—
The charm's wound up—enough—our labour's done,—
And now, my sisters! recognize our son.
Obey my summons, child of whim and mirth!
And from this potent wand receive new birth; [Thunder and lightning.
Rise, like another Phœnix, from the flame,
And by good conduct my protection claim— [Harlequin rises.
But heedless youth as perils oft invade,
Arm him, kind sisters! with your present aid;
And that he better thro' the world may shift,
Let each contribute some peculiar gift.
1st Witch.
First, I this Sword, for use not show, supply,
And tho' unmeet to catch a lady's eye,
Blade worthier thrift ne'er garnish'd coxcomb's thigh:
'Tis Perseverance hight—of temper such,
Force can't resist, nor fraud elude its touch;
By which empowered to ward impending ill,
All things shall change obedient to thy will:
[Clap of thunder and lightning.
2d Witch.
This Hat I give thee—mean and poor in size,
To those broad brims which fashion's slaves disguise;
This—clep'd above Intelligence—a fence
With which vain mortals easily dispense—
83
Confound thy foes, and shield thee from their spite—
But, safe in covert, keep from baseness free:
No rule are knaves and hypocrites to thee.
[Thunder, &c.
3d Witch.
And by our art instructed in my task,
I from a statesman borrow'd him the Mask.
They, who the phantoms of ambition chase,
Have often need, I wot, to hide their face,
And lest at some short turn our vagrant fall,
Why not, as great folks wont, the time forestall?
Hecate.
Prudence, deceit apart, I don't condemn;
That dole be his, the other leave to them;
And in his tripping step and motley vest,
They'll find anon their idol's freaks express'd.—
That dole be his, the other leave to them;
And in his tripping step and motley vest,
They'll find anon their idol's freaks express'd.—
Go now, accomplished cap-a-pee, appear,
And run secure thy frolicsome career:
A beauteous Columbine at hand remains,
The pledge of peace, to recompence thy pains.—
In scrapes or 'scapes, pursuing or pursu'd,
'Tis all a type of life's vicissitude:
Then cheerly on and play your mimic parts;
Justice and candour dwell in worthy hearts;
To them appeal, make their applause your aim;
On Wisdom's basis rests the throne of fame;
And in life's real scenes, as yet unknown,
Be goodness still and bliss unchang'd your own.—
And run secure thy frolicsome career:
A beauteous Columbine at hand remains,
The pledge of peace, to recompence thy pains.—
In scrapes or 'scapes, pursuing or pursu'd,
'Tis all a type of life's vicissitude:
Then cheerly on and play your mimic parts;
Justice and candour dwell in worthy hearts;
To them appeal, make their applause your aim;
On Wisdom's basis rests the throne of fame;
84
Be goodness still and bliss unchang'd your own.—
Auspicious spirits! your assent declare,
And charm with dulcet notes the vocal air.
And charm with dulcet notes the vocal air.
[Witches vanish.
DUET,
SUNG BEHIND THE SCENES.
In youth's cheerful season, the morning of life,
Unclouded with care and untroubled with strife,
In dreams of amusement the night fleets away,
And pleasure's gay sunshine illumines the day.
Unclouded with care and untroubled with strife,
In dreams of amusement the night fleets away,
And pleasure's gay sunshine illumines the day.
Tho' frail are the notions of joys ever new,
The paths of discretion take heed to pursue;
So time's fruitful harvest shall ne'er know decrease,
And Virtue shall lead you to honour and peace.
The paths of discretion take heed to pursue;
So time's fruitful harvest shall ne'er know decrease,
And Virtue shall lead you to honour and peace.
It is not generally understood, that the character of Harlequin is conceived in the style of burlesque allegory, designed by the Italians in ridicule of Charles V. (Carlo Quinto) from whom it derives its name.—There is no particular authority for the appellation here assigned to his sword, &c. tho' perfectly conformable to the usage of the times of Chivalry and Romance.
85
[PIECES FOR THE] THEATRE-ROYAL, CROW-STREET.
PROLOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF OROONOKO,
ON THE APPEARANCE OF A NEW IMOINDA, MONDAY, NOVEMBER VIIITH, MDCCLXXXIV. SPOKEN BY MR. YOUNG.
When tight and trim the freighted bark appears,
And just a-port with wind and current steers,
Some adverse blast oft her due course defeats,
And on the shoals the founder'd vessel beats:
Vain is the pilot's skill, his courage vain,
He struggles—faints—is buried in the main.
So fares it on the stage! sad truths attest,
And recent some your memory may suggest.
And just a-port with wind and current steers,
Some adverse blast oft her due course defeats,
And on the shoals the founder'd vessel beats:
Vain is the pilot's skill, his courage vain,
He struggles—faints—is buried in the main.
So fares it on the stage! sad truths attest,
And recent some your memory may suggest.
Here, rest and peace to his respected shade!
Mossop his vast energic powers display'd;
But, shame to tell! consummate in his art,
Stung with neglect, it broke his noble heart.
Harmonious Barry, on whose silver tongue
Emotion glow'd, and charm'd attention hung,
Deserted, hence fair nature's standard bore,
While all the loves stood weeping on the shore!
And last came Ryder; many a hard campaign
He fought, ill-starr'd! his station to maintain;
Forc'd by dear-bought experience to confess,
“'Tis not in mortals to command success.”—
Upon this sea of troubles, tempest toss'd,
How oft too have the softer sex been lost!
Here, lur'd from far, in youth and beauty's pride,
Imperial Yates her dawning genius tried,
And here, even here, 'twas solemnly decreed,
Preposterous sentence! she could ne'er succeed.
Brent too, another damning proof to give,
As here 'twere doom'd no nightingales should live,
Driven by the frenzy of a Gothic age,
Long reign'd the idol of a juster stage.
But pass we these ungracious subjects o'er,
And look to brighter prospects now in store.
Mossop his vast energic powers display'd;
But, shame to tell! consummate in his art,
Stung with neglect, it broke his noble heart.
Harmonious Barry, on whose silver tongue
Emotion glow'd, and charm'd attention hung,
86
While all the loves stood weeping on the shore!
And last came Ryder; many a hard campaign
He fought, ill-starr'd! his station to maintain;
Forc'd by dear-bought experience to confess,
“'Tis not in mortals to command success.”—
Upon this sea of troubles, tempest toss'd,
How oft too have the softer sex been lost!
Here, lur'd from far, in youth and beauty's pride,
Imperial Yates her dawning genius tried,
And here, even here, 'twas solemnly decreed,
Preposterous sentence! she could ne'er succeed.
Brent too, another damning proof to give,
As here 'twere doom'd no nightingales should live,
Driven by the frenzy of a Gothic age,
Long reign'd the idol of a juster stage.
But pass we these ungracious subjects o'er,
And look to brighter prospects now in store.
Loudly 'tis rumour'd, and I fear too true,
Tho' prone to novelty, yet nothing new
Can make its way in this fastidious town,
Unless our neighbours first its merit crown;
But once it gains the imprimatur there,
We are sure to echo and applaud it here:
Hence we are aspers'd for poverty of taste,
Our judgment flouted, and our name disgrac'd.
'Tis yours the imputation to remove—
Think for yourselves, and for yourselves approve.
Too long inthrall'd, emancipated now,
No more to foreign influence meanly bow;
In arts as arms, let your traducers see
You are, and justly merit to be free.
Tho' prone to novelty, yet nothing new
Can make its way in this fastidious town,
Unless our neighbours first its merit crown;
But once it gains the imprimatur there,
We are sure to echo and applaud it here:
Hence we are aspers'd for poverty of taste,
Our judgment flouted, and our name disgrac'd.
87
Think for yourselves, and for yourselves approve.
Too long inthrall'd, emancipated now,
No more to foreign influence meanly bow;
In arts as arms, let your traducers see
You are, and justly merit to be free.
If youth and beauty can afford delight,
We trust you'll prove unanimous to-night;
For who, solicited by youth and beauty,
Would not declare for the protecting duty?
To doubt in such a case, were much to wrong ye,
Then cheer our Heroine, she was born among ye,
And with a firm patriotic association,
Support the spirit of non-importation.
Oppress'd, dismay'd, she views the awful scene,
Really her first attempt, and not eighteen,
Trembling to tread, and anxious for her fate,
Where towering genius plum'd her wings so late:
Yet while due tribute to desert is paid,
Shall native talents languish in the shade?
Forbid it, sirs! and you, ye matchless fair!
Candid as beauteous, take her to your care,
And for her youth her imperfections spare.
There she desponding stands, drooping and pale,
Like the pearl'd rose-bud shivering at the gale;
But in the beams of your auspicious eyes,
May bloom a Crawford, or a Siddons rise!
We trust you'll prove unanimous to-night;
For who, solicited by youth and beauty,
Would not declare for the protecting duty?
To doubt in such a case, were much to wrong ye,
Then cheer our Heroine, she was born among ye,
And with a firm patriotic association,
Support the spirit of non-importation.
Oppress'd, dismay'd, she views the awful scene,
Really her first attempt, and not eighteen,
Trembling to tread, and anxious for her fate,
Where towering genius plum'd her wings so late:
Yet while due tribute to desert is paid,
Shall native talents languish in the shade?
Forbid it, sirs! and you, ye matchless fair!
Candid as beauteous, take her to your care,
And for her youth her imperfections spare.
There she desponding stands, drooping and pale,
Like the pearl'd rose-bud shivering at the gale;
But in the beams of your auspicious eyes,
May bloom a Crawford, or a Siddons rise!
88
PROLOGUE, WRITTEN FOR A FIRST-APPEARANCE AT BELFAST, MDCCLXXXVI.
THE SUMMER AFTER MRS. SIDDONS PERFORMED THERE.
Her tender pinions when the nestling tries,
And quits her native spray, to range the skies,
The feather'd kind collecting from abroad,
Unite the little stranger to applaud;
With fond officious zeal her flights attend,
And press, who foremost shall assistance lend;
'Till gathering strength she emulously roves,
Shines out herself, and animates the groves.
Thus birds a lesson reasoning mortals teach;
Nay trees and shrubs oracularly preach;
Not even a flower that blows beneath your eye,
But, read aright, instruction will supply:
The infant sapling that so frail appears,
Duly supported and matur'd by years,
Secure of wound and shelter'd from the blast,
Returns, a thousand fold, your care at last;
Braves seas and storms its gratitude to show,
Extends your trade, and thunders on the foe.
The very staple of this favour'd soil,
Till train'd by culture, and enhanc'd by toil,
What is it but a weed?—yet from that weed
Your health, wealth, strength and consequence proceed.
What prodigies from small beginnings flow,
Encourag'd thrive, and to perfection grow!
Even she, the mistress of the human heart,
Was once a child and novice in her art:
O! never then with supercilious pride,
Rashly condemn or hastily decide.
And quits her native spray, to range the skies,
The feather'd kind collecting from abroad,
Unite the little stranger to applaud;
With fond officious zeal her flights attend,
And press, who foremost shall assistance lend;
'Till gathering strength she emulously roves,
Shines out herself, and animates the groves.
Thus birds a lesson reasoning mortals teach;
Nay trees and shrubs oracularly preach;
Not even a flower that blows beneath your eye,
But, read aright, instruction will supply:
The infant sapling that so frail appears,
Duly supported and matur'd by years,
Secure of wound and shelter'd from the blast,
Returns, a thousand fold, your care at last;
Braves seas and storms its gratitude to show,
Extends your trade, and thunders on the foe.
89
Till train'd by culture, and enhanc'd by toil,
What is it but a weed?—yet from that weed
Your health, wealth, strength and consequence proceed.
What prodigies from small beginnings flow,
Encourag'd thrive, and to perfection grow!
Even she, the mistress of the human heart,
Was once a child and novice in her art:
O! never then with supercilious pride,
Rashly condemn or hastily decide.
We now, Milesian born, produce to view
A child of nature to be nurs'd by you;
Will you with candour graciously receive her,
Or, at your mercy, to her fortune leave her?
Young and unharden'd to our northern gales,
Beset with anxious doubts, her spirit quails;
Tho' something known to fame, but that's not much,
Quite sensitive, she shrinks at every touch.
I told her, as with confidence I might,
Futile and groundless were her fears to night;
Here all the sons and daughters of the north,
Worthy themselves, were ever friends to worth;
Foes to oppression; steadfast to their trust;
To failings gentle and to merit just:
And tho' less genial beams our climes impart,
Here freedom reigns, the sunshine of the heart,
But what might more her drooping courage cheer,
Her passport sign'd, she came—a Volunteer;
That name, which could the sinking state protect,
To distant ages will ensure respect:
She bow'd unfeign'd assent—it rests with you,
To prove the portrait by your conduct true.
A child of nature to be nurs'd by you;
Will you with candour graciously receive her,
Or, at your mercy, to her fortune leave her?
Young and unharden'd to our northern gales,
Beset with anxious doubts, her spirit quails;
Tho' something known to fame, but that's not much,
Quite sensitive, she shrinks at every touch.
I told her, as with confidence I might,
Futile and groundless were her fears to night;
Here all the sons and daughters of the north,
Worthy themselves, were ever friends to worth;
Foes to oppression; steadfast to their trust;
To failings gentle and to merit just:
And tho' less genial beams our climes impart,
Here freedom reigns, the sunshine of the heart,
90
Her passport sign'd, she came—a Volunteer;
That name, which could the sinking state protect,
To distant ages will ensure respect:
She bow'd unfeign'd assent—it rests with you,
To prove the portrait by your conduct true.
93
MR. WILDER'S FAREWELL EPILOGUE
FRIDAY, MAY XVITH, MDCCLXXXVIII.
Twice sixteen winters,—yes, just twice sixteen,—
A faithful servant on your boards I have been;
Heroes and heroines, many in my time,
Some in their wane, but more before their prime,
I have seen to misery, nay, to death consign'd,
And of their worth no trace remains behind.
To-night, my turn to be forgotten near,
Concludes my fond theatrical career.
Yet ere I quit this tragi-comic walk,
Indulge your hoary veteran with a talk—
A moral may start forth, no doubt you'll catch it,
At least I promise not to fling the hatchet.—
So Nestor, small things to compare with great,
Unfit for combat, was reduced to prate;
Adventurous youth with cautions he supplies,
And, taught by his experience, they grow wise.
A faithful servant on your boards I have been;
Heroes and heroines, many in my time,
Some in their wane, but more before their prime,
I have seen to misery, nay, to death consign'd,
And of their worth no trace remains behind.
To-night, my turn to be forgotten near,
Concludes my fond theatrical career.
Yet ere I quit this tragi-comic walk,
Indulge your hoary veteran with a talk—
A moral may start forth, no doubt you'll catch it,
At least I promise not to fling the hatchet.—
So Nestor, small things to compare with great,
Unfit for combat, was reduced to prate;
Adventurous youth with cautions he supplies,
And, taught by his experience, they grow wise.
94
Despoil'd of rule in unauspicious hour,
When the first Thomas was restored to pow'r,
Who stemm'd the torrent of licentious rage,
Promoted order and reform'd the stage,
With him, oblig'd to call in foreign aid,
My first campaign on this lov'd soil I made:
Pitch'd battles twenty I successive fought,
And ample treasures to his coffers brought;
For years, encourag'd by your kind support,
I kept my post; the Captain was my forte.
Did e'er, what will not Time! Macheath show dull,
I reinforc'd him with the Cock-and-Bull.
Thus the old Bard, if fame record not wrong,
Revived the Spartan glory with a song;
And with, like him, the Oracle to arm her,
My other-self drew crowds, to see—her Charmer.
When the first Thomas was restored to pow'r,
Who stemm'd the torrent of licentious rage,
Promoted order and reform'd the stage,
With him, oblig'd to call in foreign aid,
My first campaign on this lov'd soil I made:
Pitch'd battles twenty I successive fought,
And ample treasures to his coffers brought;
For years, encourag'd by your kind support,
I kept my post; the Captain was my forte.
Did e'er, what will not Time! Macheath show dull,
I reinforc'd him with the Cock-and-Bull.
Thus the old Bard, if fame record not wrong,
Revived the Spartan glory with a song;
And with, like him, the Oracle to arm her,
My other-self drew crowds, to see—her Charmer.
What time impetuous Harry fill'd the throne,
The man I serv'd; his cause I made my own.
In the brief course of his successless reign,
I broke a limb; was twelve times prisoner ta'en;
And, tho' to honours and distinction us'd,
Like Belisarius, I the crown refus'd:
Secure in adverse gales—tho' weak my parts—
To find a safe asylum in your hearts.
Fir'd with that hope, these boards I dauntless trod,
Where glorious Spranger shone the leading God!
Nor when the second Thomas lost the field
Did I retreat; your favour was my shield.
Those days, Heaven knows! of toil and peril past,
Like a worn troop-horse, now you see me cast—
Yet Oldboy still and Benbow to the last.
The man I serv'd; his cause I made my own.
In the brief course of his successless reign,
I broke a limb; was twelve times prisoner ta'en;
And, tho' to honours and distinction us'd,
Like Belisarius, I the crown refus'd:
Secure in adverse gales—tho' weak my parts—
To find a safe asylum in your hearts.
Fir'd with that hope, these boards I dauntless trod,
Where glorious Spranger shone the leading God!
95
Did I retreat; your favour was my shield.
Those days, Heaven knows! of toil and peril past,
Like a worn troop-horse, now you see me cast—
Yet Oldboy still and Benbow to the last.
As great folks use, to rest I now retire,
My little garden and my cheerful fire;
No more a player—the only part I can,
I'll act till death, and be—the honest man;
Content to tread the calmer scenes of life,
Bless'd with good children and a virtuous wife:
To warm their hearts, I'll daily call to view
The gratitude I feel—I owe to you—
Still, as I may, disposed to your commands—
The curtain drops—dismiss me with your hands.
My little garden and my cheerful fire;
No more a player—the only part I can,
I'll act till death, and be—the honest man;
Content to tread the calmer scenes of life,
Bless'd with good children and a virtuous wife:
To warm their hearts, I'll daily call to view
The gratitude I feel—I owe to you—
Still, as I may, disposed to your commands—
The curtain drops—dismiss me with your hands.
96
OCCASIONAL ADDRESS. SPOKEN AFTER OTHELLO
MONDAY, AUGUST IIIRD, MDCCLXXXIX.
The giddy youth, with emulative pride,
Views the smooth surface of the frozen tide,
And, ah! unconscious of the perils near,
Arms his rash foot, and tempts the wild career:
But many a doubtful struggle, many a pain,
And many an anxious hour must he sustain,
Ere, haply so atchiev'd, the envied poise he gain.
Tho, friendly omens should his ardour bless,
And persevering toil induce success,
The slightest crosses startled hope confound,
And prone he falls, the sport of all around.
Views the smooth surface of the frozen tide,
And, ah! unconscious of the perils near,
Arms his rash foot, and tempts the wild career:
But many a doubtful struggle, many a pain,
And many an anxious hour must he sustain,
Ere, haply so atchiev'd, the envied poise he gain.
Tho, friendly omens should his ardour bless,
And persevering toil induce success,
The slightest crosses startled hope confound,
And prone he falls, the sport of all around.
New to the world, and panting for a name,
Such he who tries the slippery paths of fame,
And, like a desperate gamester, hazards all,
With none to pity, none to break his fall:
For oft, too oft, unripen'd to withstand
Envy's chill breath, or power's oppressive hand,
True genius droops beneath inclement skies,
Shrinks up its tender leaves, and, in oblivion, dies.
Such he who tries the slippery paths of fame,
And, like a desperate gamester, hazards all,
With none to pity, none to break his fall:
For oft, too oft, unripen'd to withstand
Envy's chill breath, or power's oppressive hand,
True genius droops beneath inclement skies,
Shrinks up its tender leaves, and, in oblivion, dies.
97
So the fond novice in a land unknown,—
My feelings speak, the picture is my own,—
Prompted by flattering dreams of bright renown,
Maugre the Cynic's sneer, the Critic's frown,
Plunges at once into the depths of fate,
And gains—experience—tho' full oft too late;
Nay oft success's syren charms he spurns,
And to his dear, dear native soil returns.—
Oh! with what extacies my bosom swell'd,
When these known mansions I once more beheld;
And, tho' a while I folly's course had run,
My honour'd parents bless'd once more their son;
When hoping still, and meeting your regard,
The generous welcome of your hands I heard;
Oh! on your patience let me not intrude,
'Twas joy extreme, 'twas heartfelt gratitude.
My feelings speak, the picture is my own,—
Prompted by flattering dreams of bright renown,
Maugre the Cynic's sneer, the Critic's frown,
Plunges at once into the depths of fate,
And gains—experience—tho' full oft too late;
Nay oft success's syren charms he spurns,
And to his dear, dear native soil returns.—
Oh! with what extacies my bosom swell'd,
When these known mansions I once more beheld;
And, tho' a while I folly's course had run,
My honour'd parents bless'd once more their son;
When hoping still, and meeting your regard,
The generous welcome of your hands I heard;
Oh! on your patience let me not intrude,
'Twas joy extreme, 'twas heartfelt gratitude.
If self-deceiv'd, or following nature's bent,
In this rough road I fail to give content,
With indiscretion comes its punishment.
But from these shores tho' I again depart,
No time shall raze your goodness from my heart;
And howsoe'er my destinies incline,
My country's glory always shall be mine;—
On your indulgence if I have trespass'd aught,
Impute it to misfortune, not my fault.
In this rough road I fail to give content,
With indiscretion comes its punishment.
But from these shores tho' I again depart,
No time shall raze your goodness from my heart;
And howsoe'er my destinies incline,
My country's glory always shall be mine;—
On your indulgence if I have trespass'd aught,
Impute it to misfortune, not my fault.
98
OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE, TO TANCRED AND SIGISMUNDA, FRIDAY, JUNE IIND, MDCCXCI. SPOKEN BY THE YOUNG HEROINE OF THE NIGHT, FOR HER OWN BENEFIT.
Custom, the tyrant of each servile fool,
Seems to have made it an establish'd rule,
That something flippant, jocular, and gay,
By way of Epilogue should grace the play.
Authors and actors, in or out of season,
Step forth in rhyme—no matter for the reason,
And oft, a practice which defies excuse,
With pertness treat you, sometimes with abuse:
Conceit for sense, scurrility for wit,
Pleas'd or not pleas'd, to hear you must submit,
And, what's yet worse, a woman must rehearse,
At decency's expence, the fulsome verse.
Seems to have made it an establish'd rule,
That something flippant, jocular, and gay,
By way of Epilogue should grace the play.
Authors and actors, in or out of season,
Step forth in rhyme—no matter for the reason,
And oft, a practice which defies excuse,
With pertness treat you, sometimes with abuse:
Conceit for sense, scurrility for wit,
Pleas'd or not pleas'd, to hear you must submit,
And, what's yet worse, a woman must rehearse,
At decency's expence, the fulsome verse.
Not with coarse jests to wound the modest ear
Your little Protegé presumes to appear;
She has been taught, and thinks it is a sin,
To sacrifice decorum for a grin.
Your present favours and your past review'd,
She fain would show, excite her gratitude,
Conscious the generous plaudits you bestow,
More to your kindness than myself I owe.
Your little Protegé presumes to appear;
She has been taught, and thinks it is a sin,
To sacrifice decorum for a grin.
99
She fain would show, excite her gratitude,
Conscious the generous plaudits you bestow,
More to your kindness than myself I owe.
Hard is the task, and oft essay'd in vain,
The approbation of the town to gain;
But by experience I may truly tell,
In candour and good-nature you excel.
You took me up, I glory in the hour,
Just budding into life, a tender flower;
And in the bosom of this warm parterre,
My place assign'd, you bade me flourish there.
Whatever clouds alarm my pensive breast,
What doubts soe'er perplex or cares molest,
The evening's gladsome eye my spirit cheers,
And hope prompts rapture in a night of tears.—
Why should I fear my feelings to express,
When you protect me, and award success;
If in the end I answer not the toil,
All must condemn the culture, not the soil:
'Tis yours to call the sparks of genius forth,
To silence cavil, and conciliate worth;
My ardent hope is, if to fame I rise,
To blow beneath the sunshine of your eyes.
The approbation of the town to gain;
But by experience I may truly tell,
In candour and good-nature you excel.
You took me up, I glory in the hour,
Just budding into life, a tender flower;
And in the bosom of this warm parterre,
My place assign'd, you bade me flourish there.
Whatever clouds alarm my pensive breast,
What doubts soe'er perplex or cares molest,
The evening's gladsome eye my spirit cheers,
And hope prompts rapture in a night of tears.—
Why should I fear my feelings to express,
When you protect me, and award success;
If in the end I answer not the toil,
All must condemn the culture, not the soil:
'Tis yours to call the sparks of genius forth,
To silence cavil, and conciliate worth;
My ardent hope is, if to fame I rise,
To blow beneath the sunshine of your eyes.
100
PROLOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF EDWINA, THURSDAY, MARCH XXIX, MDCCXCII. SPOKEN BY MR. MIDDLETON.
At seasons meet, deck'd in obsequious rhyme,
Prologues have been, from immemorial time,
Brought out by all retainers to the Stage,
To palliate faults and stem the critic's rage;
An arduous task!—and to complete the bore
We are doom'd to glean where others reap'd before:
Yet to comply with custom, as all should,
With customs well establish'd, wise and good,
I for my client in this cause appearing,
Solicit now a favourable hearing.
Prologues have been, from immemorial time,
Brought out by all retainers to the Stage,
To palliate faults and stem the critic's rage;
An arduous task!—and to complete the bore
We are doom'd to glean where others reap'd before:
Yet to comply with custom, as all should,
With customs well establish'd, wise and good,
I for my client in this cause appearing,
Solicit now a favourable hearing.
To night—with deference to begin my story—
By me a suppliant Author comes before ye.
Shall I, low bending, in a bondman's key,
Thus, forma pauperis, put in my plea?
Or, vi et armis, in Theatric fury,
Brow-beat, as oft, the scheme is, judge and jury?
No—this were arrogant, and that were mean,
And, tho' well meant, more serious blots to screen,
Instead of soothing, might provoke your spleen.
A first attempt, our author bade me say,
To candid breasts may find a fitter way;
Little confiding in Dramatic power,
He but requests the indulgence of an hour;
So, with the sunshine of your favour grac'd,
Fresh fruits may grow and ripen to your taste.—
His is a tale of woe, tho' well he knows
All are not touch'd alike with other's woes;
The laughing Muse you with applause pursue,
On nobler grounds her elder sister's due.
There lives a charm in sympathetic grief,
To soften care and give the mind relief.
When from compassion's eye the dew-drops start,
Mild grows the temper and humane the heart;
The strong, the weak, the lowly and the high
Are born to suffer, as they're born to die;
And not the happiest individual here
But owes to martyr'd innocence a tear.
From poor Edwina's fate the unpractised maid,
May learn, whate'er her good intents persuade,
Virtue itself's an insufficient shield,
When passion sways, and prudence quits the field.
By me a suppliant Author comes before ye.
Shall I, low bending, in a bondman's key,
Thus, forma pauperis, put in my plea?
Or, vi et armis, in Theatric fury,
Brow-beat, as oft, the scheme is, judge and jury?
101
And, tho' well meant, more serious blots to screen,
Instead of soothing, might provoke your spleen.
A first attempt, our author bade me say,
To candid breasts may find a fitter way;
Little confiding in Dramatic power,
He but requests the indulgence of an hour;
So, with the sunshine of your favour grac'd,
Fresh fruits may grow and ripen to your taste.—
His is a tale of woe, tho' well he knows
All are not touch'd alike with other's woes;
The laughing Muse you with applause pursue,
On nobler grounds her elder sister's due.
There lives a charm in sympathetic grief,
To soften care and give the mind relief.
When from compassion's eye the dew-drops start,
Mild grows the temper and humane the heart;
The strong, the weak, the lowly and the high
Are born to suffer, as they're born to die;
And not the happiest individual here
But owes to martyr'd innocence a tear.
From poor Edwina's fate the unpractised maid,
May learn, whate'er her good intents persuade,
Virtue itself's an insufficient shield,
When passion sways, and prudence quits the field.
As to the merits of our venturous Bard,
Suspend your judgment 'till the cause you've heard:
A lover, husband, mistress and a wife,
In error's maze involved, he draws from life;
The dire delusions that their peace destroy'd,
Trac'd to their source, he wills you to avoid,
And trusts, from rigid rule shou'd he depart
To follow nature, you'll dispense with art.
Suspend your judgment 'till the cause you've heard:
102
In error's maze involved, he draws from life;
The dire delusions that their peace destroy'd,
Trac'd to their source, he wills you to avoid,
And trusts, from rigid rule shou'd he depart
To follow nature, you'll dispense with art.
Thus he relies on plain and simple truth;
Modest you'll own and promising in youth:
Yet by descent were merit to be tried,
Facts might appear to countenance some pride,
And evidence, allowing envy scope,
To curb detraction and encourage hope;
Better perhaps in other climates shown;
A prophet meets least honour in his own.
But all in all so little we presume,
Man but a rush you strike the trembler dumb;
O'erwhelm'd in dread suspense, the worst of states,
He patiently your high decision waits;—
There, in some nook belike, sequester'd stands;
Dispel his fears and cheer him with your hands.
Modest you'll own and promising in youth:
Yet by descent were merit to be tried,
Facts might appear to countenance some pride,
And evidence, allowing envy scope,
To curb detraction and encourage hope;
Better perhaps in other climates shown;
A prophet meets least honour in his own.
But all in all so little we presume,
Man but a rush you strike the trembler dumb;
O'erwhelm'd in dread suspense, the worst of states,
He patiently your high decision waits;—
There, in some nook belike, sequester'd stands;
Dispel his fears and cheer him with your hands.
103
EPILOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF EDWINA,
SPOKEN BY MRS. KENNEDY.
Deuce take these authors! what a set they are!
My part scarce over, I must straight prepare
To speak an Epilogue—and what's the end on't?
To stop your clamours;—no, not it, depend on't.—
Is it mere custom, or a point of right,
That men the prologues, we must these recite?
Or is it wise, and covertly intended,
That all is buzz, unless we come to mend it?
Confess you then, however you may flout us,
You can't effect your purposes without us.
You have all, who doubts it? budgets full of learning;
We boast our powers to please, and quick discerning:
Then, if to science you dispute our claim,
Ours, 'tis confess'd, the loss—be yours the shame,—
And yet those towering heads there in the pit,
Seem to proclaim our judgment, taste, and wit;
Or else I am sure 'twere mightily to wrong ye,
By crowding so unseasonably among ye.
My part scarce over, I must straight prepare
To speak an Epilogue—and what's the end on't?
To stop your clamours;—no, not it, depend on't.—
Is it mere custom, or a point of right,
That men the prologues, we must these recite?
Or is it wise, and covertly intended,
That all is buzz, unless we come to mend it?
Confess you then, however you may flout us,
You can't effect your purposes without us.
You have all, who doubts it? budgets full of learning;
We boast our powers to please, and quick discerning:
Then, if to science you dispute our claim,
Ours, 'tis confess'd, the loss—be yours the shame,—
And yet those towering heads there in the pit,
Seem to proclaim our judgment, taste, and wit;
Or else I am sure 'twere mightily to wrong ye,
By crowding so unseasonably among ye.
But, Ma'am! exclaims the Poet, to the question,
The town is nice, and queasy of digestion;
And if you must your rhetoric display,
Exert your talents now to save the play,
Three Court-days more at least; for, Ma'am! d'y'see?
Bards are all partial to the number three.
Move an arrest of judgment, now's the time,
Pray a rehearing, and demur in rhyme.
The town is nice, and queasy of digestion;
104
Exert your talents now to save the play,
Three Court-days more at least; for, Ma'am! d'y'see?
Bards are all partial to the number three.
Move an arrest of judgment, now's the time,
Pray a rehearing, and demur in rhyme.
Psha! stale device!—who can anticipate
What chance may govern, or avert his fate?
Unless, as wits oft proudly make relation,
They were indeed endued with inspiration.
For instance now, suppose the piece go down,
And full applause our sanguine hopes should crown;
To build on such a frail, foregone conclusion,
Might, ten to one, redound to our confusion:
For tho' by friends and flatterers promise cramm'd,
If by ill luck the bantling should be damn'd—
Weak and dispirited, on what pretence
Could I confront the visage of offence?
'Twas never yet our sex's part believ'd,
To boast of favours which they ne'er receiv'd;
And, tho' French fashions sometimes may betray 'em,
They, when they're vanquish'd, never sing Te Deum.
What chance may govern, or avert his fate?
Unless, as wits oft proudly make relation,
They were indeed endued with inspiration.
For instance now, suppose the piece go down,
And full applause our sanguine hopes should crown;
To build on such a frail, foregone conclusion,
Might, ten to one, redound to our confusion:
For tho' by friends and flatterers promise cramm'd,
If by ill luck the bantling should be damn'd—
Weak and dispirited, on what pretence
Could I confront the visage of offence?
'Twas never yet our sex's part believ'd,
To boast of favours which they ne'er receiv'd;
And, tho' French fashions sometimes may betray 'em,
They, when they're vanquish'd, never sing Te Deum.
These things premised, I to our Author said,
Who Author-like, look'd wise, and shook his head,
If after all you disapprove my plan,
Point out the path, I'll serve you if I can;
And if the bucks o'th' pit still make resistance,
I'll supplicate the Gods for their assistance;
Tied to no rules, impartial they bestow
Their hands or oranges on all below;
And, tho' sometimes intemperate in their zeal,
They still are just, and act—because they feel.—
Who Author-like, look'd wise, and shook his head,
If after all you disapprove my plan,
Point out the path, I'll serve you if I can;
105
I'll supplicate the Gods for their assistance;
Tied to no rules, impartial they bestow
Their hands or oranges on all below;
And, tho' sometimes intemperate in their zeal,
They still are just, and act—because they feel.—
Ye all decisive Powers! ye happy Crew!
The merits of our case now rests with you—
No haughty 'Squire, proud of superior parts,
Comes to o'erbear you with scholastic arts;
A simple sempstress to your worships bends,
And hopes, as most folks do, to gain her ends.
Were Ladies train'd to exercise the Pen,
They'd study day and night—to please the Men:
And should sour Critics female worth oppress,
You would, I'm sure, protect them and redress;
For 'tis the prime of nature's glorious laws
When beauty pleads to vindicate her cause—
I am a Woman, Sirs! my tremors show it,
Then for my sake deal kindly with the Poet;
We from your judgment to your hearts appeal,
Generous as brave, you are not hearts of steel:
Is there a Hector of your blustering tribe
A look won't soften, and a smile won't bribe?
Confirm my hopes then, lay your catcals by,
And bid me wish the anxious culprit joy.
The merits of our case now rests with you—
No haughty 'Squire, proud of superior parts,
Comes to o'erbear you with scholastic arts;
A simple sempstress to your worships bends,
And hopes, as most folks do, to gain her ends.
Were Ladies train'd to exercise the Pen,
They'd study day and night—to please the Men:
And should sour Critics female worth oppress,
You would, I'm sure, protect them and redress;
For 'tis the prime of nature's glorious laws
When beauty pleads to vindicate her cause—
I am a Woman, Sirs! my tremors show it,
Then for my sake deal kindly with the Poet;
We from your judgment to your hearts appeal,
Generous as brave, you are not hearts of steel:
Is there a Hector of your blustering tribe
A look won't soften, and a smile won't bribe?
Confirm my hopes then, lay your catcals by,
And bid me wish the anxious culprit joy.
106
SONG, SUNG BY MR. ------, AS APOLLO, IN THE COMIC OPERA OF MIDAS.
When love's sweet emotions first dawn in the mind,
How soothing the pain is! the bliss how refin'd!
In view dance the graces, the pleasures and smiles,
And hope's gay illusion the bosom beguiles.
Beguiles, beguiles, the bosom beguiles.
How soothing the pain is! the bliss how refin'd!
In view dance the graces, the pleasures and smiles,
And hope's gay illusion the bosom beguiles.
Beguiles, beguiles, the bosom beguiles.
But soon the scene changes, and all that before
Imparted soft transports, imparts them no more;
Secure of her conquest, the nymph quits her charms,
And leaves for possession a shade in your arms.
A shade, a shade, she leaves in your arms.
Imparted soft transports, imparts them no more;
Secure of her conquest, the nymph quits her charms,
And leaves for possession a shade in your arms.
A shade, a shade, she leaves in your arms.
Fond youth! then take warning, the precipice shun,
O! fly the fair syren or else you're undone:
Allur'd by her converse, ensnar'd by her eyes,
The heart that pursues her is slighted and dies.
And dies! and dies! is slighted and dies.
O! fly the fair syren or else you're undone:
Allur'd by her converse, ensnar'd by her eyes,
The heart that pursues her is slighted and dies.
And dies! and dies! is slighted and dies.
107
ELEGIES AND PIECES MISCELLANEOUS.
116
ELEGY III. ON THE INSTABILITY OF AFFECTION.
Friendship and love!—what more could heaven impart,
In two fond breasts when mutual ardours glow?
Hence every balm that soothes the feeling heart,
Hence all the joys of social union flow.
In two fond breasts when mutual ardours glow?
Hence every balm that soothes the feeling heart,
Hence all the joys of social union flow.
How oft the theme of speculation made!
How oft, alas! to futile form confin'd!
How oft prophan'd some sordid views to aid!
The fatal snare of many a generous mind!
How oft, alas! to futile form confin'd!
How oft prophan'd some sordid views to aid!
The fatal snare of many a generous mind!
O, where in native grace do you preside,
In what bless'd mansion keep your envied seat?
Swell you the train of luxury and pride,
Or to the cot and humble vale retreat?
In what bless'd mansion keep your envied seat?
Swell you the train of luxury and pride,
Or to the cot and humble vale retreat?
To every trite declaimer are you known,
And prompt you still the sentimental tongue?
Are you in labour'd systems justly shown,
Or faithfully in mystic legends sung?
And prompt you still the sentimental tongue?
Are you in labour'd systems justly shown,
Or faithfully in mystic legends sung?
117
Haply the offspring of a feverish brain,
Which but to folly and illusion tend;
Or why so fruitless is the task to gain
The constant mistress, or the steadfast friend?
Which but to folly and illusion tend;
Or why so fruitless is the task to gain
The constant mistress, or the steadfast friend?
Full many a curious descant have I heard
The storied flights of amity to prove,
And known it, O, my aching heart! averr'd
The female mind not mutable in love!
The storied flights of amity to prove,
And known it, O, my aching heart! averr'd
The female mind not mutable in love!
If e'er the female mind be constant found,
If love and friendship more than empty names,
If e'er sincerity success has crown'd,
How have I barr'd, how forfeited my claims?
If love and friendship more than empty names,
If e'er sincerity success has crown'd,
How have I barr'd, how forfeited my claims?
How! how beyond atonement have I err'd?
How could I so egregiously offend,
That all my vows are to the winds preferr'd,
And all my fairy dreams in anguish end?
How could I so egregiously offend,
That all my vows are to the winds preferr'd,
And all my fairy dreams in anguish end?
If vows of mine e'er virgin ear betray'd,
Or friendship's arduous task I sought to shun,
Come forth, wrong'd man! come forth, deluded maid!
Confront me now—'twere just I were undone.
Or friendship's arduous task I sought to shun,
Come forth, wrong'd man! come forth, deluded maid!
Confront me now—'twere just I were undone.
118
None comes there forth?—why is it then decreed
My dearest aims must still abortive prove?
Still my true heart with disappointment bleed,
The dupe of friendship, and the slave of love?
My dearest aims must still abortive prove?
Still my true heart with disappointment bleed,
The dupe of friendship, and the slave of love?
Oh! he gives nothing who gives all his store!
Poor thriftless bankrupt! thou may'st learn at last,
From sad experiment, instructive lore!
'Tis expectation binds attachment fast.
Poor thriftless bankrupt! thou may'st learn at last,
From sad experiment, instructive lore!
'Tis expectation binds attachment fast.
Suspense and doubt solicitude awake,
And specious craft not honesty is priz'd,
Weep, virtue, weep! none love for virtue's sake;
And modest merit is a thing despis'd.
And specious craft not honesty is priz'd,
Weep, virtue, weep! none love for virtue's sake;
And modest merit is a thing despis'd.
All truth and fondness friend and mistress both,
Bask in the sunshine and await your bliss;
A cloud in view! they shun you with an oath,
Or to the foe betray you with a kiss.
Bask in the sunshine and await your bliss;
A cloud in view! they shun you with an oath,
Or to the foe betray you with a kiss.
By no regards, no obligations tied,
When shorn the flock is, and the harvest's o'er,
The double mind can all respects deride,
And in the face of kindness shut the door.
When shorn the flock is, and the harvest's o'er,
The double mind can all respects deride,
And in the face of kindness shut the door.
119
Yet honour reigns the boast of every mouth,
On every tongue incessant fervors blaze;
The words indeed appear the words of truth,
But fickleness and falsehood mark their ways.
On every tongue incessant fervors blaze;
The words indeed appear the words of truth,
But fickleness and falsehood mark their ways.
Friendship to friendship, love to love succeeds,
Quick as the shootings of the northern ray;
And, as his printless predecessor speeds,
Each to the next yields momentary sway.—
Quick as the shootings of the northern ray;
And, as his printless predecessor speeds,
Each to the next yields momentary sway.—
One friend, one chosen friend, I once possess'd,
And did I in the hour of trial fail?
Still be his virtues, his desert confess'd,
But o'er his lapses memory drop the veil.
And did I in the hour of trial fail?
Still be his virtues, his desert confess'd,
But o'er his lapses memory drop the veil.
And thou, sweet peerless maid! for whom I live,
For whom in vain I breathe the tender sigh,
My only treasure was a heart to give,
My only consolation now—to die.
For whom in vain I breathe the tender sigh,
My only treasure was a heart to give,
My only consolation now—to die.
Depress'd beneath accumulating grief,
Thou dear, sole object of my anxious care!
Life of my life!—I see there's no relief;
Yet love will hope, tho' reason must despair.
Thou dear, sole object of my anxious care!
Life of my life!—I see there's no relief;
Yet love will hope, tho' reason must despair.
120
O, be thou bless'd! still that distinguish'd brow
With wreaths of ever-blooming roses bound!
Nor that pure bosom's animated snow
E'er feel the thorns my tortur'd bosom wound—
With wreaths of ever-blooming roses bound!
Nor that pure bosom's animated snow
E'er feel the thorns my tortur'd bosom wound—
Had I some lowly villager been bred,
With rustic notions and of manners rude;
Unschool'd in principles which ill bestead,
Nor with vague theories my mind imbu'd,
With rustic notions and of manners rude;
Unschool'd in principles which ill bestead,
Nor with vague theories my mind imbu'd,
To misery I had not been consign'd:
Such is the boasted privilege to know!
And all the advantage of a cultur'd mind,
To point distress and give an edge to woe.
Such is the boasted privilege to know!
And all the advantage of a cultur'd mind,
To point distress and give an edge to woe.
The lustre of thy charms at distance view'd,
Struck, not enthrall'd, I then had safe admir'd;
Thy worth unknown had ne'er my soul subdu'd,
Thy angel smiles with no delusion fir'd.
Struck, not enthrall'd, I then had safe admir'd;
Thy worth unknown had ne'er my soul subdu'd,
Thy angel smiles with no delusion fir'd.
Some truer maid, the Charlotte of the plains,
With torpid preference I might regard;
For sensibility small favour gains,
And pure affection seldom meets reward.
With torpid preference I might regard;
For sensibility small favour gains,
And pure affection seldom meets reward.
121
The chill of waning love's averted eye,
The port assum'd, the faint abstracted air,
The formal welcome, speech constrain'd and shy,
Bless'd state of apathy! are stingless there.
The port assum'd, the faint abstracted air,
The formal welcome, speech constrain'd and shy,
Bless'd state of apathy! are stingless there.
There faith supplanted finds a sure resource,
And slighted services as sure redress;
'Tis not for common minds to feel their force,
Or pine thro' life in exquisite distress.
And slighted services as sure redress;
'Tis not for common minds to feel their force,
Or pine thro' life in exquisite distress.
O, bless'd in ignorance! thrice happy clown!
Well may'st thou pipe and frisk it o'er the plain,
Well may he sing who never felt a frown,
Well may he smile who never met disdain.
Well may'st thou pipe and frisk it o'er the plain,
Well may he sing who never felt a frown,
Well may he smile who never met disdain.
For pity's sake the cruel kindness spare,
You who the soul are studious to refine;
Too much of sorrow man is doom'd to bear,
Ah! why expose him to a fate like mine?
You who the soul are studious to refine;
Too much of sorrow man is doom'd to bear,
Ah! why expose him to a fate like mine?
122
ELEGY IV. EXPOSTULATION; TO AN UNFAITHFUL MISTRESS.
And is there then no generous pity left!
No truth! no justice! in the female breast?
Is that frail sex of honour quite bereft?
Their vows of love and constancy a jest?
No truth! no justice! in the female breast?
Is that frail sex of honour quite bereft?
Their vows of love and constancy a jest?
And generous pity can they ever claim,
Who truth and justice show they disregard?
Dare they appeal to honour's sacred name,
Who with base falshood constancy reward?
Who truth and justice show they disregard?
Dare they appeal to honour's sacred name,
Who with base falshood constancy reward?
Oh, memory! memory! why wilt thou obtrude
Thy cheerless records on my grief-worn soul?
Oh, give me peace! Oh, teach me to exclude
My bitter wrongs! and my wild thoughts controul!
Thy cheerless records on my grief-worn soul?
Oh, give me peace! Oh, teach me to exclude
My bitter wrongs! and my wild thoughts controul!
Was't not enough?—good gods! my heart will break!
What could so fell a destiny provoke?
Must she a part in my destruction take,
She, so ador'd! must she too aid the stroke?
What could so fell a destiny provoke?
Must she a part in my destruction take,
She, so ador'd! must she too aid the stroke?
123
Has she not listen'd to my tender tale,
And drank the music of my love-tun'd lyre?
Has she not met me smiling in the vale,
And now—Oh, can she with my foes conspire?
And drank the music of my love-tun'd lyre?
Has she not met me smiling in the vale,
And now—Oh, can she with my foes conspire?
A common lot I could with patience bear,
And grievous ills have suffer'd unsubdu'd;
But when a bosom'd traitor stabs—Oh, there!
There pierce the thorns of foul ingratitude.
And grievous ills have suffer'd unsubdu'd;
But when a bosom'd traitor stabs—Oh, there!
There pierce the thorns of foul ingratitude.
See here, ill counsel'd, dear, obdurate maid!
And read unblushing, if thou can'st, the strain
Writ by that hand; by that fair hand convey'd—
What needed this? too strong before the chain.
And read unblushing, if thou can'st, the strain
Writ by that hand; by that fair hand convey'd—
What needed this? too strong before the chain.
‘Oft my dear friend has sought my heart to move,
‘And if I lov'd him urg'd me to declare;
‘Not to suppose it would injurious prove,
‘And now my pen shall dissipate his care.
‘And if I lov'd him urg'd me to declare;
‘Not to suppose it would injurious prove,
‘And now my pen shall dissipate his care.
‘With gentle smiles I favour'd your request,
‘Well weigh'd its meaning and observ'd its scope;
‘Full well my conscious looks my soul express'd,
‘And conscious looks full well encourage hope.
‘Well weigh'd its meaning and observ'd its scope;
‘Full well my conscious looks my soul express'd,
‘And conscious looks full well encourage hope.
124
‘But spare me words—you could not misconceive,
‘What my past conduct must have plainly shown,
‘Nor justly ought, nor can you disbelieve
‘My fix'd attachment, fix'd on you alone.
‘What my past conduct must have plainly shown,
‘Nor justly ought, nor can you disbelieve
‘My fix'd attachment, fix'd on you alone.
‘Your fond addresses have I not allow'd?
‘Your warm endearments have I not return'd?
‘The promis'd nuptials have I not avow'd,
‘And for your sake all other offers scorn'd?
‘Your warm endearments have I not return'd?
‘The promis'd nuptials have I not avow'd,
‘And for your sake all other offers scorn'd?
‘No mother's tears, no father's stern command,
‘Nay that might rather interdict your plea,
‘Forc'd me to yield a cold reluctant hand;
‘You were my choice, and my election free.
‘Nay that might rather interdict your plea,
‘Forc'd me to yield a cold reluctant hand;
‘You were my choice, and my election free.
‘If then your love be founded on esteem,
‘Affection's only true and solid base,
‘Mine you no longer can precarious deem,
‘And to conviction let your doubts give place.’
‘Affection's only true and solid base,
‘Mine you no longer can precarious deem,
‘And to conviction let your doubts give place.’
Such the frank purport of thy artless page;
Artless I thought it, and sincere believ'd.
Beats there a heart such words might not engage?
Claims he not pity whom such words deceiv'd?
Artless I thought it, and sincere believ'd.
Beats there a heart such words might not engage?
Claims he not pity whom such words deceiv'd?
125
Oh, truth! Oh, justice! honour! thrice rever'd!
Still may I cherish and your influence find!
Still may the maid, at your tribunal clear'd,
Prove as she's lovely, generous, good and kind.
Still may I cherish and your influence find!
Still may the maid, at your tribunal clear'd,
Prove as she's lovely, generous, good and kind.
133
ELEGY VIII. THE MOURNERS, A SKETCH FROM LIFE.
Rutland is gone! and free from toils
Of ill-requited sway;
No sycophants now court his smiles;
No tools his nod obey.
Of ill-requited sway;
No sycophants now court his smiles;
No tools his nod obey.
The flower of many a promis'd year
Snatch'd off in early bloom;
To candour, justice, honour dear,
He dropt into the tomb.
Snatch'd off in early bloom;
To candour, justice, honour dear,
He dropt into the tomb.
No weeping consort smooth'd his couch;
No anxious parent nigh;
No kindred friend his end to vouch,
Or close his asking eye.
No anxious parent nigh;
No kindred friend his end to vouch,
Or close his asking eye.
Silent is every venal bard;
Mute every fawning tongue;
No dirges in the streets are heard;
No solemn knell is rung.
Mute every fawning tongue;
No dirges in the streets are heard;
No solemn knell is rung.
134
Suppose them all but empty show,
Where is decorum fled?
Has custom nothing to bestow;
Not one forc'd tear to shed?
Where is decorum fled?
Has custom nothing to bestow;
Not one forc'd tear to shed?
Joy mark'd the dawning of his reign;
All hearts his presence fir'd;
But with him died the hope of gain,
And gratitude expir'd.
All hearts his presence fir'd;
But with him died the hope of gain,
And gratitude expir'd.
Envy, thro' mists that all things views,
His life presumes to scan;
And slander tells us, wondrous news!
He was, alas! but man.
His life presumes to scan;
And slander tells us, wondrous news!
He was, alas! but man.
Who?—Darkness hovering o'er the land
To polish'd arts averse—
Who first stretch'd out his fostering hand,
And bade the clouds disperse?
To polish'd arts averse—
Who first stretch'd out his fostering hand,
And bade the clouds disperse?
While here fair science holds a place,
Or learning bears a name,
Regret his memory shall trace,
And truth enhance his fame.
Or learning bears a name,
Regret his memory shall trace,
And truth enhance his fame.
135
'Tis Rutland's due, the great design
Our annals will attest:
May wreaths unfading grace his shrine,
In peace his ashes rest!
Our annals will attest:
May wreaths unfading grace his shrine,
In peace his ashes rest!
Oft kindnesses not understood
Foul enmity produce,
And schemes replete with public good
Are branded with abuse.
Foul enmity produce,
And schemes replete with public good
Are branded with abuse.
The general weal, by few conceiv'd,
Confess'd he there pursu'd;
But no respect, of life bereav'd,
Could obloquy preclude.
Confess'd he there pursu'd;
But no respect, of life bereav'd,
Could obloquy preclude.
When, lo! the royal mandate came,
To pour the mammon forth,
And down the foremost to defame
Fell prostrate to his worth.
To pour the mammon forth,
And down the foremost to defame
Fell prostrate to his worth.
Now arrogance and little pride
Obtrude their selfish claim;
But rites, by narrow souls denied,
Prove heralds of their shame.
Obtrude their selfish claim;
But rites, by narrow souls denied,
Prove heralds of their shame.
136
Slow mov'd the long procession on
In sad funereal guise;
And grief thro' tears conspicuous shone,
In youth and beauty's eyes.
In sad funereal guise;
And grief thro' tears conspicuous shone,
In youth and beauty's eyes.
Even age subdued, tho' rigid grown
To pity and remorse,
Not yet quite harden'd into stone,
Beholds the sabled horse.
To pity and remorse,
Not yet quite harden'd into stone,
Beholds the sabled horse.
The horse that wont to bear his lord,
His lord no more to bear,
Drooping in dumb affliction, stirr'd
Each kind sensation there.
His lord no more to bear,
Drooping in dumb affliction, stirr'd
Each kind sensation there.
The honest Swiss, for Minden's chief,
Who risk'd his vital breath,
With fortitude sustaining grief,
Felt thrice the stroke of death.
Who risk'd his vital breath,
With fortitude sustaining grief,
Felt thrice the stroke of death.
He too whose slack unnerved hand
Directs the doleful herse,
In other pomp was wont to drive,
And mourns the sad reverse.
Directs the doleful herse,
In other pomp was wont to drive,
And mourns the sad reverse.
137
One manly visage more appear'd,
Where deep distress was writ;
Who can forget, so long endear'd,
The honour'd name of Pitt?
Where deep distress was writ;
Who can forget, so long endear'd,
The honour'd name of Pitt?
Ye sons of levity and whim,
Whom paltry cares enslave;
See, how pure nature's priz'd in him!
How tears become the brave!
Whom paltry cares enslave;
See, how pure nature's priz'd in him!
How tears become the brave!
Many who join'd the pensive train,
Might act a mimic part;
There, strongly character'd, 'twas plain
Keen sorrow pierc'd the heart.
Might act a mimic part;
There, strongly character'd, 'twas plain
Keen sorrow pierc'd the heart.
Some kindless—stop the dues are paid;
The pageantry is done—
Go, parasites! pursue your trade,
And hail the rising sun!
The pageantry is done—
Go, parasites! pursue your trade,
And hail the rising sun!
Nor idly spent your incense dread,
Tho' fate your views retard;
Viceroys and Kings are powerless dead,
The living may reward.
Tho' fate your views retard;
Viceroys and Kings are powerless dead,
The living may reward.
140
STANZAS, ON THE RECOVERY OF DR. QUIN,
FROM A LATE DANGEROUS INDISPOSITION, IN THE YEAR MDCCLXXII.
As, late, at Quin's devoted head
The ruthless tyrant aim'd his dart,
Around a general horror spread,
And anguish seiz'd on every heart:
The ruthless tyrant aim'd his dart,
Around a general horror spread,
And anguish seiz'd on every heart:
When, bursting from a golden cloud,
Awake, alive to human woe,
A seraph voice was heard aloud—
‘Yet, monster! yet, suspend the blow—
Awake, alive to human woe,
A seraph voice was heard aloud—
‘Yet, monster! yet, suspend the blow—
‘Disease and pain demand his aid;
‘From him the orphan claims his sire;
‘Unnumber'd vows for him are paid;
‘With him unnumber'd hopes expire.
‘From him the orphan claims his sire;
‘Unnumber'd vows for him are paid;
‘With him unnumber'd hopes expire.
141
‘Though rare, alas! on earth to find
‘A heart so fitted for the skies,
‘Yet, heaven in pity to mankind,
‘His perfect bliss awhile denies.—
‘A heart so fitted for the skies,
‘Yet, heaven in pity to mankind,
‘His perfect bliss awhile denies.—
‘The fears of friendship to remove;
‘To wipe the tear from pity's eye;
‘To banish from the breast of love
‘The dread suspense, the anxious sigh;
‘To wipe the tear from pity's eye;
‘To banish from the breast of love
‘The dread suspense, the anxious sigh;
‘To spare the child to helpless age,
‘Just trembling on the verge of life;
‘To shield from fate's severest rage
‘The bleeding bosom of the wife;
‘Just trembling on the verge of life;
‘To shield from fate's severest rage
‘The bleeding bosom of the wife;
‘For this he lives—yet heaven pursues
‘To nobler ends it's vast designs;
‘Nor to weak man's contracted views
‘Supreme benevolence confines:
‘To nobler ends it's vast designs;
‘Nor to weak man's contracted views
‘Supreme benevolence confines:
‘On higher aims intent—to spare
‘Whom vice hath led from truth astray,
‘'Till holy penitence and prayer
‘To mercy's throne shall ope the way;
‘Whom vice hath led from truth astray,
‘'Till holy penitence and prayer
‘To mercy's throne shall ope the way;
142
‘To mark to man, the slave of sense,
‘Bewilder'd in the vale of strife,
‘('Till heaven shall, late, require him hence)
‘The bright example of his life—’
‘Bewilder'd in the vale of strife,
‘('Till heaven shall, late, require him hence)
‘The bright example of his life—’
The angel ended—from on high
Responsive warblings breath along;
The Pœan swells through earth and sky,
And nature joins the choral song.
Responsive warblings breath along;
The Pœan swells through earth and sky,
And nature joins the choral song.
EPITAPH, ON OLD JOHN, MR. NUGENT'S COACHMAN,
BURIED IN CLONLOST CHURCH-YARD.
Here lowly in the peaceful grave beneath
The relics of a faithful servant rest;
He liv'd approv'd, was honour'd at his death,
And in the end shall number with the bless'd.
The relics of a faithful servant rest;
He liv'd approv'd, was honour'd at his death,
And in the end shall number with the bless'd.
All you, his fellows! who his loss bemoan,
Would you, like him, be lov'd and honour'd too,
Bless the good pair, who rais'd this grateful stone,
And be, like him, obedient, just and true.
Would you, like him, be lov'd and honour'd too,
Bless the good pair, who rais'd this grateful stone,
And be, like him, obedient, just and true.
143
[Epistles]
EPISTLE I. THE REPLY CONTEMPTUOUS. TO T--- G---, A CLASS-FELLOW,
ON HIS PHILIPPIC, IN VERSE AND PROSE, AGAINST LUCAS.
SEPTEMBER VITH, MDCCL.
[_]
This is inserted merely as the first effort of the author's pen: it however proved the means of introducing him to the Doctor, and gave rise to a friendship, which subsisted, with mutual cordiality, uninterrupted till his death.
Not to extort from fools unjust applause,
Not in support of an inglorious cause,
For the jew-smiles of Alderman or Grace,
A paultry title, pension or a place;
Not for because my father, brother, friend
Were of that faction or this side commend,
Not thro' a whim of blind mistaken zeal,
A want of laurels, or perhaps—a meal;
No, not all these could influence me, in spite
Of nature and my envious stars to write:
Truth fires my mind, and urges me to engage
Thy slanderous pen, and tempt thy utmost rage;
Lucas, that injured patriot name, to screen
From foul aspersion and the attacks of spleen:
For this I first implore the tuneful Nine,
O! smile propitious on the fair design,
Nor thou, O Phoebus! needful aid refuse
To an untutor'd, unexperienc'd muse.
Not in support of an inglorious cause,
For the jew-smiles of Alderman or Grace,
A paultry title, pension or a place;
Not for because my father, brother, friend
Were of that faction or this side commend,
Not thro' a whim of blind mistaken zeal,
A want of laurels, or perhaps—a meal;
No, not all these could influence me, in spite
Of nature and my envious stars to write:
Truth fires my mind, and urges me to engage
Thy slanderous pen, and tempt thy utmost rage;
144
From foul aspersion and the attacks of spleen:
For this I first implore the tuneful Nine,
O! smile propitious on the fair design,
Nor thou, O Phoebus! needful aid refuse
To an untutor'd, unexperienc'd muse.
Honest, good natur'd, generous and brave,
To those in place respectful, not a slave,
Striving for power no more than what he should,
To do his king but first his country good:
Tho' wise not vain, tho' learned yet well bred,
The closest reasoner with the clearest head,
Where solid sense and sprightly wit unite,
The smooth-tongu'd Roman and the Stagyrite:
To error gentle, yet to vice severe,
A loving husband, and a friend sincere;
Unbigoted thro' principle or pride,
He acts with spirit yet by reason's guide;
To suffering merit gentle comfort gives,
Not with vain words but with his purse relieves;
Admires great actions whence soe'er they flow,
Nor eyes askaunt the virtues of a foe.
To those in place respectful, not a slave,
Striving for power no more than what he should,
To do his king but first his country good:
Tho' wise not vain, tho' learned yet well bred,
The closest reasoner with the clearest head,
Where solid sense and sprightly wit unite,
The smooth-tongu'd Roman and the Stagyrite:
To error gentle, yet to vice severe,
A loving husband, and a friend sincere;
Unbigoted thro' principle or pride,
He acts with spirit yet by reason's guide;
To suffering merit gentle comfort gives,
Not with vain words but with his purse relieves;
Admires great actions whence soe'er they flow,
Nor eyes askaunt the virtues of a foe.
This, the imperfect portrait of the man
Whose glorious conduct thou presum'st to scan;
His parts, his learning, morals vilify,
And all his labours impiously belie.
So Mævius erst, that Cloaca of wit,
Against the great immortal Maro writ;
Another coxcomb, to display his sense,
Arraign'd the prince of Roman eloquence;
They did it too, like thee, to get a name,
And have been damn'd two thousand years in fame.
Thus if some deathless quill thy name shall give
To future time and it so long shall live,
What vast eclat thy mention must attend!
And every Bavius will thy cause befriend;
For Grub-street authors all in this are one,
They hate a genius brighter than their own;
But, if like thine, one more profound should rise,
To raise themselves they lift it to the skies.
Fear not, thy first performance will command
Praise from all mouths, and bays from every hand;
A libel upon wisdom, honour, all
That heaven approves, or mortals heavenly call.
Whose glorious conduct thou presum'st to scan;
His parts, his learning, morals vilify,
And all his labours impiously belie.
145
Against the great immortal Maro writ;
Another coxcomb, to display his sense,
Arraign'd the prince of Roman eloquence;
They did it too, like thee, to get a name,
And have been damn'd two thousand years in fame.
Thus if some deathless quill thy name shall give
To future time and it so long shall live,
What vast eclat thy mention must attend!
And every Bavius will thy cause befriend;
For Grub-street authors all in this are one,
They hate a genius brighter than their own;
But, if like thine, one more profound should rise,
To raise themselves they lift it to the skies.
Fear not, thy first performance will command
Praise from all mouths, and bays from every hand;
A libel upon wisdom, honour, all
That heaven approves, or mortals heavenly call.
But not as poet only you appear,
With equal right you take the critic chair;
Object, condemn, approve, affirm, deny,
Now pleas'd, now angry, all you know not why;
Call Digges a blockhead, let Sir Samuel pass,
Huband's your friend, but Lucas a jack-ass;
How would that Lucas weep, nay smile, to see
Even either ap'd by animals like thee!
How must he pity and detest the clime
Where idiots judge and dunces scribble rhyme.
With equal right you take the critic chair;
Object, condemn, approve, affirm, deny,
Now pleas'd, now angry, all you know not why;
Call Digges a blockhead, let Sir Samuel pass,
Huband's your friend, but Lucas a jack-ass;
How would that Lucas weep, nay smile, to see
Even either ap'd by animals like thee!
146
Where idiots judge and dunces scribble rhyme.
Thy rough, bombastic, heavy manner shows
Thy pen unfit for metre or for prose;
Thy words ill-chosen, clownish, misapplied,
At once expose thy ignorance and pride;
Thy numbers are (how weak the epithet!
How short of justice!) shocking as thy wit.
Go purchase Bailey, on thy grammar pore,
Read day and night; but prithee write no more.
Yet proof to all, the more you get the whip,
Like master's top you but the sounder sleep:
Then, Muse! forbear, nor to reclaim pretend
This imp of Momus, he's too dull to mend.
Thy pen unfit for metre or for prose;
Thy words ill-chosen, clownish, misapplied,
At once expose thy ignorance and pride;
Thy numbers are (how weak the epithet!
How short of justice!) shocking as thy wit.
Go purchase Bailey, on thy grammar pore,
Read day and night; but prithee write no more.
Yet proof to all, the more you get the whip,
Like master's top you but the sounder sleep:
Then, Muse! forbear, nor to reclaim pretend
This imp of Momus, he's too dull to mend.
156
EPISTLE III. TO JOSEPH COOPER WALKER, ESQ.
MEMBER OF THE ROYAL IRISH ACADEMY, FELLOW OF THE LITERARY AND ANTIQUARIAN SOCIETY OF PERTH, AND HONORARY MEMBER OF THE ETRUSCAN ACADEMY OF CORTONA, ON READING HIS MEMOIRS OF THE IRISH BARDS.
FRIDAY, MARCH XXVIITH, MDCCLXXXIX.
With keen research, and penetrating eyes,
While you pervade the shades where science lies,
And, vers'd in ancient and historic lore,
The manly records of our sires explore;
Their customs, manners, habits, language trace,
To truth add lustre, and to wisdom grace;
The hidden treasures of times past unfold,
And even their very dross transmute to gold:
While thus, when crowds, at time and health's expence,
Provoke derision, you exalt your sense;
The veil of dark antiquity remove,
Our minds irradiate, and our taste improve,
And, fill'd with patriot zeal, the deeds rehearse
Of chieftains mighty and renown'd in verse;
I, to a bard's great name who can't aspire,
Smit with congenial feelings, touch the lyre;
Call'd forth by thee my voice impartial raise,
Less to record than testify thy praise.
Thy own rich page, from imperfection free,
Embalms thy fame and needs no aid from me.
While you pervade the shades where science lies,
And, vers'd in ancient and historic lore,
The manly records of our sires explore;
Their customs, manners, habits, language trace,
To truth add lustre, and to wisdom grace;
The hidden treasures of times past unfold,
And even their very dross transmute to gold:
While thus, when crowds, at time and health's expence,
Provoke derision, you exalt your sense;
The veil of dark antiquity remove,
Our minds irradiate, and our taste improve,
And, fill'd with patriot zeal, the deeds rehearse
Of chieftains mighty and renown'd in verse;
157
Smit with congenial feelings, touch the lyre;
Call'd forth by thee my voice impartial raise,
Less to record than testify thy praise.
Thy own rich page, from imperfection free,
Embalms thy fame and needs no aid from me.
O! had I leisure for the just design,
And talents ample as the theme were mine,
Not thy bright name alone, the charter'd band,
That bless with learning's beams their native land,
And gave her claim among the nations birth,
The last in effort though not least in worth,
Should all, if minstrelsy distinction give,
While truth with merit dwells applauded live.
But worn with toil and circumscrib'd in time,
Ill suits my lot the laurel'd haunts of rhyme;
Though fancy sometimes fluttering on the wing,
Tempts my rash hand the soothing harp to string,
In ceaseless tumults each vibration drown'd,
Emits, if any, but a feeble found:
Some happier genius hence, for song admir'd,
May catch the hint, and, as of old inspir'd,
To distant ages make the worthies known,
And, with his country's glory, fix his own.
Here all my hopes and my ambition end;
Suffice it me to be approv'd thy friend.
And talents ample as the theme were mine,
Not thy bright name alone, the charter'd band,
That bless with learning's beams their native land,
And gave her claim among the nations birth,
The last in effort though not least in worth,
Should all, if minstrelsy distinction give,
While truth with merit dwells applauded live.
But worn with toil and circumscrib'd in time,
Ill suits my lot the laurel'd haunts of rhyme;
Though fancy sometimes fluttering on the wing,
Tempts my rash hand the soothing harp to string,
In ceaseless tumults each vibration drown'd,
Emits, if any, but a feeble found:
Some happier genius hence, for song admir'd,
May catch the hint, and, as of old inspir'd,
To distant ages make the worthies known,
And, with his country's glory, fix his own.
Here all my hopes and my ambition end;
Suffice it me to be approv'd thy friend.
158
EPISTLE IV. TO A LADY SOLICITING SUBSCRIPTIONS TO HER POEMS,
IN ANSWER TO A COPY OF VERSES ON THE OCCASION.
OCTOBER XXIIID, MDCCXC.
Fair sufferer! charm'd, I read thy partial lines,
Where bright the ray of native genius shines,
And from thy lips delighted more have heard,
Which beggar praise, and soar beyond reward;
But tho' thy slowing strains my pen invite,
Why should'st thou 'tempt the press? ah! wherefore write?
If gilded laurels lure thy venturous muse,
A slippery path and dangerous she pursues.
From critic rancour and the fangs of spleen
Thy gentle spirit, what, alas! shall screen?
When Milton fail'd, what merit can engage
A loose, luxurious, vain and trifling age?
The muse for Andre, hapless victim! fir'd,
With affluence bless'd, even by the foe admir'd;
What could they less, when in such charming lays,
She wreathes his urn with never-fading bays?
Siward, whose various strains the age surprise,
And show her wit as piercing as her eyes,
But envy with desert admits no truce,
Where most applause was due incurr'd abuse,
And, as if taste were from the nation fled,
Barbauld and Moore lie in the shops unread.
Where bright the ray of native genius shines,
And from thy lips delighted more have heard,
Which beggar praise, and soar beyond reward;
But tho' thy slowing strains my pen invite,
Why should'st thou 'tempt the press? ah! wherefore write?
If gilded laurels lure thy venturous muse,
A slippery path and dangerous she pursues.
From critic rancour and the fangs of spleen
Thy gentle spirit, what, alas! shall screen?
When Milton fail'd, what merit can engage
A loose, luxurious, vain and trifling age?
The muse for Andre, hapless victim! fir'd,
With affluence bless'd, even by the foe admir'd;
What could they less, when in such charming lays,
She wreathes his urn with never-fading bays?
Siward, whose various strains the age surprise,
And show her wit as piercing as her eyes,
159
Where most applause was due incurr'd abuse,
And, as if taste were from the nation fled,
Barbauld and Moore lie in the shops unread.
Would'st thou, humane the wish, improve mankind,
Restrain the froward and direct the blind,
And bid the muse, her grateful lore of old,
Bright honour's paths and virtue's charms unfold;
Arduous the task is, and, the event will prove,
Secures not friendship, nor conciliates love.
And then the sex! ye Gods! on what pretence
Can they presume to knowlege, wit or sense?
Flat usurpation! such a stumbling block
Must all the lords of the creation shock:
Not greater was his crime, who durst aspire
To steal from Heaven great Jove's authentic fire.
Are there not calls more suited to their parts,
Domestic cares and culinary arts?
And if no boys and girls you have to teaze ye,
Will nothing, cry the Dons, but scribbling please ye?
Then your kind friends, the female tribe I mean,
O lud! an authoress! almost die with spleen.
In fly-traps to catch beaux your skill exert,
For fops knit purses, or with puppies flirt;
Shine at the ball, the opera, park and play,
Revel all night, and lie in bed all day;
Those precious sciences to women known,
And in your quarrel they'll defend their own.
Superior parts obtain but cold respect,
Excite detraction and provoke neglect;
Fear shuns their walk, and hate's a-kin to fear;
A common case adduced will make it clear.
Restrain the froward and direct the blind,
And bid the muse, her grateful lore of old,
Bright honour's paths and virtue's charms unfold;
Arduous the task is, and, the event will prove,
Secures not friendship, nor conciliates love.
And then the sex! ye Gods! on what pretence
Can they presume to knowlege, wit or sense?
Flat usurpation! such a stumbling block
Must all the lords of the creation shock:
Not greater was his crime, who durst aspire
To steal from Heaven great Jove's authentic fire.
Are there not calls more suited to their parts,
Domestic cares and culinary arts?
And if no boys and girls you have to teaze ye,
Will nothing, cry the Dons, but scribbling please ye?
Then your kind friends, the female tribe I mean,
O lud! an authoress! almost die with spleen.
In fly-traps to catch beaux your skill exert,
For fops knit purses, or with puppies flirt;
Shine at the ball, the opera, park and play,
Revel all night, and lie in bed all day;
160
And in your quarrel they'll defend their own.
Superior parts obtain but cold respect,
Excite detraction and provoke neglect;
Fear shuns their walk, and hate's a-kin to fear;
A common case adduced will make it clear.
An author once, it might be you or I,
Must needs the pulse of old acquaintance try;
They met, and, as is usual among friends,
His hand the bard,—a finger he extends;—
Perchance, a tribute to the taylor due,
He forc'd a civil grin and put forth two;
Nature, howe'er the lips may play their part,
Will somewhere out, and leave unveil'd the heart.
The bard his hand, I should say finger, took,
And blithely ask'd him, how he lik'd his book?
The book! and round a vacant stare he flings,—
O yes!—your book contains some pretty things;
But with new works such trouble one receives!
It took me a full hour to cut the leaves.
The humbled author startles at the sound,
And scarce articulates, 'twas neatly bound.
I, whose quick feelings more are on the stretch,
Had turn'd upon my heel and damn'd the wretch.
Thus dunces, their own consequence to feed,
Disparage works they have not sense to read.
Must needs the pulse of old acquaintance try;
They met, and, as is usual among friends,
His hand the bard,—a finger he extends;—
Perchance, a tribute to the taylor due,
He forc'd a civil grin and put forth two;
Nature, howe'er the lips may play their part,
Will somewhere out, and leave unveil'd the heart.
The bard his hand, I should say finger, took,
And blithely ask'd him, how he lik'd his book?
The book! and round a vacant stare he flings,—
O yes!—your book contains some pretty things;
But with new works such trouble one receives!
It took me a full hour to cut the leaves.
The humbled author startles at the sound,
And scarce articulates, 'twas neatly bound.
I, whose quick feelings more are on the stretch,
Had turn'd upon my heel and damn'd the wretch.
Thus dunces, their own consequence to feed,
Disparage works they have not sense to read.
161
If thou must write and would'st thy works disperse,
Write novels, sermons, any thing but verse;
Tho' beaten paths, there's chance thou may'st succeed;
For matrons sermons, misses novels read;
And those, when sermons tire, if decent print,
A novel take, so nought immoral's in't.
The curious virgin, blooming smart sixteen,
Obtains the treasure and attacks it keen;
Each page she turns some fertile scene displays,
To fan her hopes, her vanity to raise,
And when the heroine's thrown upon the shelf,
She gives a new edition in herself.
Proof after proof imagination warms;
Young Rakehell comes dress'd in ideal charms,
And half unask'd she leaps into his arms.
But, oh! the sad reverse—perhaps a wife—
Illusion's fled and she a wretch for life.
Yet, while corruption's tide I strive to stem,
Let me not rashly in the gross condemn.
Some claim regard, and I might name a few,
By Burney written, or suppose by you:
Scarcely a reader but with interest finds
Time well employ'd with Burrowes and with Hindes,
And would'st thou with the pleasing mingle pith,
Read the Recess and draw from Charlotte Smith.
The pay of authors, not on griefs to dwell,
Their staple friends, the booksellers can tell.
Thy Johnson early was their bounty taught,
His Abyssinia bare five guineas brought!
Write novels, sermons, any thing but verse;
Tho' beaten paths, there's chance thou may'st succeed;
For matrons sermons, misses novels read;
And those, when sermons tire, if decent print,
A novel take, so nought immoral's in't.
The curious virgin, blooming smart sixteen,
Obtains the treasure and attacks it keen;
Each page she turns some fertile scene displays,
To fan her hopes, her vanity to raise,
And when the heroine's thrown upon the shelf,
She gives a new edition in herself.
Proof after proof imagination warms;
Young Rakehell comes dress'd in ideal charms,
And half unask'd she leaps into his arms.
But, oh! the sad reverse—perhaps a wife—
Illusion's fled and she a wretch for life.
Yet, while corruption's tide I strive to stem,
Let me not rashly in the gross condemn.
Some claim regard, and I might name a few,
By Burney written, or suppose by you:
Scarcely a reader but with interest finds
Time well employ'd with Burrowes and with Hindes,
And would'st thou with the pleasing mingle pith,
Read the Recess and draw from Charlotte Smith.
The pay of authors, not on griefs to dwell,
Their staple friends, the booksellers can tell.
162
His Abyssinia bare five guineas brought!
Rhyme is at best an unproductive trade,
By speedier means are princely fortunes made.
Subscriptions mammon for his favourites meant,
No poem ever yet brought cent per cent:—
There is a kind of authorship, in which
Adepts start up and instantly grow rich.
To trim thy little lamp and furnish oil,
Make use of lottery ink and study Hoyle:
Whoever in that onward track aspires,
No fund of taste, no classic lore requires,
If well he know that two and three make five,
The less his genius the more sure to thrive.
Nor rests the truth on theory alone,
Examples numerous might with ease be shown;
Friend Pope, if living, would himself allow
For one Sir Balaam there's a hundred now.
Muckworm to base usurious arts inur'd,
Bilks his frail handmaid from reproach ensur'd;
And as new claims new consequence inspires,
The Isle of Saints is now the Isle of 'Squires.
Amid the glare should worth superior shine,
Peers rank with peers, that marks a strain divine.—
The great themselves, if thou to greatness look,
Encourage Hoyle and con the lottery book.
By speedier means are princely fortunes made.
Subscriptions mammon for his favourites meant,
No poem ever yet brought cent per cent:—
There is a kind of authorship, in which
Adepts start up and instantly grow rich.
To trim thy little lamp and furnish oil,
Make use of lottery ink and study Hoyle:
Whoever in that onward track aspires,
No fund of taste, no classic lore requires,
If well he know that two and three make five,
The less his genius the more sure to thrive.
Nor rests the truth on theory alone,
Examples numerous might with ease be shown;
Friend Pope, if living, would himself allow
For one Sir Balaam there's a hundred now.
Muckworm to base usurious arts inur'd,
Bilks his frail handmaid from reproach ensur'd;
And as new claims new consequence inspires,
The Isle of Saints is now the Isle of 'Squires.
Amid the glare should worth superior shine,
Peers rank with peers, that marks a strain divine.—
The great themselves, if thou to greatness look,
Encourage Hoyle and con the lottery book.
163
But if subscriptions still be thy resource,
Think not unruffl'd thou shalt run the course:
Try high and low, through court and country range,
Friendship with times, with fortunes manners change;
They, who thy warm prosperity would grace,
Touch but their purse, will curse thee to thy face.
Let those who would disarm reflection's sting
A writ of error in their conduct bring.
Think not unruffl'd thou shalt run the course:
Try high and low, through court and country range,
Friendship with times, with fortunes manners change;
They, who thy warm prosperity would grace,
Touch but their purse, will curse thee to thy face.
Let those who would disarm reflection's sting
A writ of error in their conduct bring.
Parnassus flowery haunts and Pindus' shades
Lie all deserted by the Aönian maids;
Along the banks of clear meandring stream
No favour'd poets of elysium dream;
The powers of song, that charm'd the world of yore,
Save by a few like thee, are felt no more;
Even love, inspirer of the tuneful breast,
Is lost in avarice and become a jest.
Lie all deserted by the Aönian maids;
Along the banks of clear meandring stream
No favour'd poets of elysium dream;
The powers of song, that charm'd the world of yore,
Save by a few like thee, are felt no more;
Even love, inspirer of the tuneful breast,
Is lost in avarice and become a jest.
Time was when wealth and honour crown'd the verse,
To rocks and deserts modern bards rehearse;
They might as well impress the bounding deer,
As gain attention from a modish ear.
These halcyon times Mæcenas sees more wit
In one fat haunch, than all e'er Virgil writ:
More to his gust, tho' it might task his skill,
To scan the heroics of a tavern bill;
Or quaint conceits, oft coin'd before, to coin,
A needless passport to the bumper'd wine,
Or snack a catch,—Oh! how divine they sing!
For Bourdeaux now's the Heliconian spring:
While wondering bards, who seldom get a taste,
See purse-proud vintners with their laurels grac'd.
To rocks and deserts modern bards rehearse;
They might as well impress the bounding deer,
As gain attention from a modish ear.
These halcyon times Mæcenas sees more wit
In one fat haunch, than all e'er Virgil writ:
More to his gust, tho' it might task his skill,
To scan the heroics of a tavern bill;
Or quaint conceits, oft coin'd before, to coin,
A needless passport to the bumper'd wine,
164
For Bourdeaux now's the Heliconian spring:
While wondering bards, who seldom get a taste,
See purse-proud vintners with their laurels grac'd.
Wide is the difference, to experience plain,
'Twixt talents in the pocket and the brain,
And those profusely with the first supplied
Their slender quota of the latter hide.
Full thirty suns, heaven knows! with ceaseless toil,
I have cultivated an ungrateful soil,
And my best pains to fill a leaky pate
Have been for worship oft repaid with hate:
So are the master's care and wholesome rule
Spelt and misconstru'd by the golden fool.
'Twixt talents in the pocket and the brain,
And those profusely with the first supplied
Their slender quota of the latter hide.
Full thirty suns, heaven knows! with ceaseless toil,
I have cultivated an ungrateful soil,
And my best pains to fill a leaky pate
Have been for worship oft repaid with hate:
So are the master's care and wholesome rule
Spelt and misconstru'd by the golden fool.
The muse I courted answered every end
To sooth a vacant hour and please a friend;
No interest expectation did inflame,
I lost in labour what I gain'd in fame.
My lot allows for few amusements time,
Perhaps the most excusable is rhyme.
In Bacchus orgies I can bear no part,
Nor scarcely know a diamond from a heart,
And if ambition aught on earth can raise,
'Tis to be prais'd by those deserving praise.
Hope's brightest prospects realiz'd be thine,
As every wish for thy success is mine.
To sooth a vacant hour and please a friend;
No interest expectation did inflame,
I lost in labour what I gain'd in fame.
My lot allows for few amusements time,
Perhaps the most excusable is rhyme.
In Bacchus orgies I can bear no part,
Nor scarcely know a diamond from a heart,
And if ambition aught on earth can raise,
'Tis to be prais'd by those deserving praise.
Hope's brightest prospects realiz'd be thine,
As every wish for thy success is mine.
165
[MISCELLANEOUS PIECES]
170
THE ANNIVERSARY.
TO ARPASIA, ON ENTERING HER TWENTIETH YEAR.
While others, lavish in exalted lays,
Proclaim thy triumphs and record thy praise,
Whence comes it I, the tuneful tribe among,
Alone, withhold the tribute of my song?
Nor, while admiring crowds their offerings bring,
Even on thy birth-day, say one civil thing?
So much applauded, honour'd and endear'd,
Child of my care! has it not strange appear'd?
Proclaim thy triumphs and record thy praise,
Whence comes it I, the tuneful tribe among,
Alone, withhold the tribute of my song?
Nor, while admiring crowds their offerings bring,
Even on thy birth-day, say one civil thing?
So much applauded, honour'd and endear'd,
Child of my care! has it not strange appear'd?
I might, 'tis true, have gardens rang'd and fields,
And cull'd the choicest treasures Flora yields;
The breathing violet and the blushing rose,
With every opening sweet the spring bestows,
Thy lovely bosom might conspire to grace,
Yet faintly match the wonders of thy face.
To trace the lustre of thy speaking eyes,
I might have roam'd, like brother bards, the skies;
And when I thro' the angelic choir had run,
Have tipp'd their beams with radiance from the sun.
With equal ease, propriety and truth,
I might to Hebe's have compar'd thy youth;
And brought each nymph of old and modern times,
Renown'd for charms, to decorate my rhymes;
And if, to image thy enchanting form,
A kindred soul could polish'd marble warm,
The all-perfect Medicean Venus might,
With thy resemblance dazzle human sight:
While gaily round, alluding to the day,
The officious nereïds dance and tritons play,
And in cool grot or amaranthine bowers,
Commit thee to the loves and festive hours.
The soft-ey'd graces with their charge elate,
To deck their smiling queen might ready wait,
And with ambrosial dews imbue the lips,
Where cupid revels and enraptur'd sips.
And cull'd the choicest treasures Flora yields;
The breathing violet and the blushing rose,
With every opening sweet the spring bestows,
Thy lovely bosom might conspire to grace,
Yet faintly match the wonders of thy face.
To trace the lustre of thy speaking eyes,
I might have roam'd, like brother bards, the skies;
And when I thro' the angelic choir had run,
Have tipp'd their beams with radiance from the sun.
With equal ease, propriety and truth,
I might to Hebe's have compar'd thy youth;
171
Renown'd for charms, to decorate my rhymes;
And if, to image thy enchanting form,
A kindred soul could polish'd marble warm,
The all-perfect Medicean Venus might,
With thy resemblance dazzle human sight:
While gaily round, alluding to the day,
The officious nereïds dance and tritons play,
And in cool grot or amaranthine bowers,
Commit thee to the loves and festive hours.
The soft-ey'd graces with their charge elate,
To deck their smiling queen might ready wait,
And with ambrosial dews imbue the lips,
Where cupid revels and enraptur'd sips.
Such the conceits, when beauty is the theme,
On which full oft our fancy-mongers dream;
But, hunting wit, tho' nature they disguise,
Applied to thee, it proves at least they have eyes.
To pen thy praise were but a waste of parts;
All who behold thee feel it in their hearts.
On which full oft our fancy-mongers dream;
But, hunting wit, tho' nature they disguise,
Applied to thee, it proves at least they have eyes.
To pen thy praise were but a waste of parts;
All who behold thee feel it in their hearts.
To me the more important care's assign'd,
To form thy judgment and improve thy mind;
To call the native powers of genius forth,
And on the public ear impress thy worth.
Scorning inferior arts, be thine the scheme
To gain the plaudit of deserv'd esteem,
Whate'er illusive prospects court thy view,
The onward paths of excellence pursue;
Nor too securely loiter in the chace,
A trifle lost the Grecian maid the race;
And, whatsoe'er the colour or pretence,
Let not good nature supersede good sense.
Envy may carp and calumny invade;
No power can conscious rectitude degrade.
To form thy judgment and improve thy mind;
To call the native powers of genius forth,
And on the public ear impress thy worth.
Scorning inferior arts, be thine the scheme
To gain the plaudit of deserv'd esteem,
172
The onward paths of excellence pursue;
Nor too securely loiter in the chace,
A trifle lost the Grecian maid the race;
And, whatsoe'er the colour or pretence,
Let not good nature supersede good sense.
Envy may carp and calumny invade;
No power can conscious rectitude degrade.
The time arrives, how flattering to my hope!
When thy consummate talents shall have scope,
And all the virtues latent in thy breast
Break into day, conspicuous and confess'd.
And, if the page of fate I truly read,
Illum'd with laurel'd gold, it stands decreed,
In future story when thy name shall shine,
Her rosy finger fame shall point to mine,
And, emulous thy merits to display,
Succeeding poets sing the twelfth of May.
When thy consummate talents shall have scope,
And all the virtues latent in thy breast
Break into day, conspicuous and confess'd.
And, if the page of fate I truly read,
Illum'd with laurel'd gold, it stands decreed,
In future story when thy name shall shine,
Her rosy finger fame shall point to mine,
And, emulous thy merits to display,
Succeeding poets sing the twelfth of May.
178
THE REMONSTRANCE. TO THREE YOUNG LADIES, Miss J. P. Trench, Miss Ann Trench, and Miss Nugent,
WHO DECLARED THEMSELVES DYING, FROM THE FATIGUE OF A BALL, AND INSISTED UPON SOME VERSES TO THEIR MEMORY.
MDCCLXXI.
For mercy's sake, ladies!—how can you impose
A task of this nature on me?
'Tis clear past a doubt, and what every one knows,
I hold not the Muses in fee.
A task of this nature on me?
'Tis clear past a doubt, and what every one knows,
I hold not the Muses in fee.
I have courted them sometimes, 'tis true, but in vain,
They ne'er would indulge my request;
They mock'd my addresses, derided my pain,
And turn'd all my prayers to a jest.
They ne'er would indulge my request;
They mock'd my addresses, derided my pain,
And turn'd all my prayers to a jest.
The subject too, truly! supposing you dead
An elegy I must indite!
The town would all swear, I was turn'd in my head;
The town, at least, once would be right.
An elegy I must indite!
The town would all swear, I was turn'd in my head;
The town, at least, once would be right.
179
But grant me dispos'd with your wish to agree,
I deal not in fiction nor art;
How then could I furnish description for three,
Where each is supreme in desert?
I deal not in fiction nor art;
How then could I furnish description for three,
Where each is supreme in desert?
Of goddesses, graces, and many such more
Trite fancies 'twere easy to speak;
And roses, and lilies, and dimples good store,
And Cupid's bedecking each cheek.
Trite fancies 'twere easy to speak;
And roses, and lilies, and dimples good store,
And Cupid's bedecking each cheek.
The sex, tho' I stripp'd, as most sonneteers do,
And all in your persons combin'd,
Tho' I, and some others, might feel it full true,
Yet you would continue still blind.
And all in your persons combin'd,
Tho' I, and some others, might feel it full true,
Yet you would continue still blind.
Admit now sweet Nancy's perfections I sung,
What more could for Fanny be writ?
And, Jenny! thy praises must die on my tongue,
Unless I could borrow thy wit.
What more could for Fanny be writ?
And, Jenny! thy praises must die on my tongue,
Unless I could borrow thy wit.
'Mongst brothers and beauties, affection is rare,
All ages and nations attest;
But concord and friendship, this let me declare,
Here mutually glow in each breast.
All ages and nations attest;
But concord and friendship, this let me declare,
Here mutually glow in each breast.
180
Long blessing and bless'd then, O! may you survive,
Still greater enjoyments to prove;
New pleasures from yours, my fond heart shall derive,
Then take me a fourth in your love.
Still greater enjoyments to prove;
New pleasures from yours, my fond heart shall derive,
Then take me a fourth in your love.
181
INVOCATION;
OR, CLIO SUPPLANTED.
TO MISS NUGENT, THE LATE HONOURABLE MRS. ROCHFORT.
Come, Madam Clio! no resistance,
Come quickly, lend your best assistance;
Since many with no better claim on't
Assume, I find, and vaunt the name on't.
Come, lowly bending down before ye,
As custom wills it, I implore ye;
Come, shed your choicest influences
Profusely o'er my scatter'd senses,
And smile propitious on your poet,
Who feels perfection and would show it:
Poet?—ah! no; that proud addition
Had found no place in my petition;
But, that in rhyme a little scanted,
'Twas an auxiliary wanted;
Then seeing, Clio! help's so needful,
I prithee of my prayers be heedful;
And since, like fancy-mongers noted,
That might by dozens here be quoted,
Staunch pious christians, laurels courting,
Instead of church, your fanes resorting,
Since then, I say, in imitation
Of wits attach'd to invocation,
I pay thee homage in the proem,
Inspire, as thou wert wont, my poem.
Tho' after all their solemn straining,
And sweet inanity of meaning,
With many a pompous nothing blended,
Their cause, I ween, but little mended;
Yet, I'll be judg'd by Dan Apollo,
If you assist I'll beat them hollow.
This, as they list, they may deride as
A sample for the ear of Midas;
We might in turn, to quit their kindness,
Enchafe their spleen and show their blindness;
For, to retort on their heroics,
They'd prove no greater wits than stoics:
My rhymes I deem not tho' so clever,
To live, 'tis a long time, for ever,
Like some, who, for charade or rebus,
Claim their descent from Father Phoebus;
But if that Phoebus ne'er existed,
Meseems they have a little miss'd it.
Then, Clio! 'tis not to be wonder'd
That I expect of years some hundred;
There are my notions who have flouted;
But your good will I never doubted,
And yet your aid I don't much care for;
Now, with your leave, I'll tell you wherefore.
Come quickly, lend your best assistance;
Since many with no better claim on't
Assume, I find, and vaunt the name on't.
Come, lowly bending down before ye,
As custom wills it, I implore ye;
Come, shed your choicest influences
Profusely o'er my scatter'd senses,
And smile propitious on your poet,
Who feels perfection and would show it:
Poet?—ah! no; that proud addition
Had found no place in my petition;
But, that in rhyme a little scanted,
'Twas an auxiliary wanted;
Then seeing, Clio! help's so needful,
I prithee of my prayers be heedful;
And since, like fancy-mongers noted,
That might by dozens here be quoted,
182
Instead of church, your fanes resorting,
Since then, I say, in imitation
Of wits attach'd to invocation,
I pay thee homage in the proem,
Inspire, as thou wert wont, my poem.
Tho' after all their solemn straining,
And sweet inanity of meaning,
With many a pompous nothing blended,
Their cause, I ween, but little mended;
Yet, I'll be judg'd by Dan Apollo,
If you assist I'll beat them hollow.
This, as they list, they may deride as
A sample for the ear of Midas;
We might in turn, to quit their kindness,
Enchafe their spleen and show their blindness;
For, to retort on their heroics,
They'd prove no greater wits than stoics:
My rhymes I deem not tho' so clever,
To live, 'tis a long time, for ever,
Like some, who, for charade or rebus,
Claim their descent from Father Phoebus;
But if that Phoebus ne'er existed,
Meseems they have a little miss'd it.
Then, Clio! 'tis not to be wonder'd
That I expect of years some hundred;
183
But your good will I never doubted,
And yet your aid I don't much care for;
Now, with your leave, I'll tell you wherefore.
It is my pride, some say, my failing,
To cherish candour and plain dealing,
And, prompting generous emulation,
Desert to honour more than station:
Your votaries, Clio! bouncing fellows,
Most mickle strange romances tell us;
Mad blades, whose trade confess'd is fiction,
And forging names to grace their diction;
Yet, after all your influence boasted,
I no where find you e'er were toasted;
Nor e'er did your whole choir inherit
A tythe of Fanny's sterling merit,
And if a muse I needs must fly to,
What fairer name could I apply to?
None other will I, madam Clio!—
But why that pert invidious heigho?
Hope you to match her? range your forces,
Ransack your stores, try all resources,
Allusions, similies and fable,
And vouch the finest things your able;
Convene your goddesses and graces
Renown'd for shapes, extoll'd for faces;
Your Hebe, Juno and Minerva,
With all the Olympical Caterva;
Diana, Venus, Ceres, Flora,
And that Chef-d'Oeuvre clep'd Pandora;
Then look on Fanny, you'll allow her,
As none but must, superior power;
In every movement, limb and feature,
A blameless, unaffected creature,
With every mental gift to charm us,
And not a single thought to harm us.
An angel! no; though not a jot less,
Pure flesh and blood, refin'd and spotless!
To cherish candour and plain dealing,
And, prompting generous emulation,
Desert to honour more than station:
Your votaries, Clio! bouncing fellows,
Most mickle strange romances tell us;
Mad blades, whose trade confess'd is fiction,
And forging names to grace their diction;
Yet, after all your influence boasted,
I no where find you e'er were toasted;
Nor e'er did your whole choir inherit
A tythe of Fanny's sterling merit,
And if a muse I needs must fly to,
What fairer name could I apply to?
None other will I, madam Clio!—
But why that pert invidious heigho?
Hope you to match her? range your forces,
Ransack your stores, try all resources,
Allusions, similies and fable,
And vouch the finest things your able;
Convene your goddesses and graces
Renown'd for shapes, extoll'd for faces;
184
With all the Olympical Caterva;
Diana, Venus, Ceres, Flora,
And that Chef-d'Oeuvre clep'd Pandora;
Then look on Fanny, you'll allow her,
As none but must, superior power;
In every movement, limb and feature,
A blameless, unaffected creature,
With every mental gift to charm us,
And not a single thought to harm us.
An angel! no; though not a jot less,
Pure flesh and blood, refin'd and spotless!
Roses and lilies all adorning,
Each nymph be sure outshines the morning!
And not a scribbler but's a dreaming
Of deaths, from fair one's optics streaming!
All idle rants of purblind fancy,
Trump'd up when nothing else they can say;
But those whom nature moves and justice,
In phrase direct and plain their trust is.
Thus, truth to speak, as bound in duty,
Fanny's the quintessence of beauty.
Each nymph be sure outshines the morning!
And not a scribbler but's a dreaming
Of deaths, from fair one's optics streaming!
All idle rants of purblind fancy,
Trump'd up when nothing else they can say;
But those whom nature moves and justice,
In phrase direct and plain their trust is.
Thus, truth to speak, as bound in duty,
Fanny's the quintessence of beauty.
185
BELVIDERE.
WRITTEN IN THE ABSENCE OF SOME LADIES, ON A PARTY THERE,
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER VTH, MDCCLXXII.
Here every view, hill, vale and grove,
With various wonders grac'd,
The noble owner's judgment prove,
His genius, and his taste.
With various wonders grac'd,
The noble owner's judgment prove,
His genius, and his taste.
Ierne! can thy favour'd race,
Such scenes as these survey,
Yet quit, abandon, scorn, disgrace,
And on thy ruin prey?
Such scenes as these survey,
Yet quit, abandon, scorn, disgrace,
And on thy ruin prey?
Fell paricides! you ought to know,
Tho' deaf to every tie,
'Tis yours to heal your country's woe,
And all defects supply.
Tho' deaf to every tie,
'Tis yours to heal your country's woe,
And all defects supply.
Bright precedents!—first, sweet retreat!
That airy crescent stands,
And shielding off the noontide heat,
The region round commands.
That airy crescent stands,
And shielding off the noontide heat,
The region round commands.
186
Thence, deck'd in nature's birth-day green,
Wide stretch the slopy dales;
High o'er the side-long copse between,
The stately lodge prevails.
Wide stretch the slopy dales;
High o'er the side-long copse between,
The stately lodge prevails.
There blithesome swains in russet weed,
Attend their fleecy care,
And all we of Arcadia read,
And Tempè, centers there.
Attend their fleecy care,
And all we of Arcadia read,
And Tempè, centers there.
The lake beyond, capacious lies,
In prospect unconfin'd,
And emblematic to our eyes
Presents his lordship's mind.
In prospect unconfin'd,
And emblematic to our eyes
Presents his lordship's mind.
That pillar'd dome, in rustic style
And Sylvan pomp profuse,
How rich to sight! a cavern'd pile,
For ornament and use.
And Sylvan pomp profuse,
How rich to sight! a cavern'd pile,
For ornament and use.
In the brown umbrage of the wood
If lonely you retire,
There unexpected beauties crowd,
And force you to admire.
If lonely you retire,
There unexpected beauties crowd,
And force you to admire.
187
Sequester'd arbours, structures wild,
Root seats and ivy'd cells,
Where poetry, rapt fancy's child,
And contemplation dwells.
Root seats and ivy'd cells,
Where poetry, rapt fancy's child,
And contemplation dwells.
In vain the muse exerts her art
To paint each charming scene;
Grand, copious, just, in every part,
Even Fisher strives in vain.
To paint each charming scene;
Grand, copious, just, in every part,
Even Fisher strives in vain.
Stretch'd on the margin of the brook
That babbles idly by,
With pipe, and scrip, and dog, and crook,
How bless'd might Colin lie!
That babbles idly by,
With pipe, and scrip, and dog, and crook,
How bless'd might Colin lie!
Or on the borders of the lake,
With softly pensive tread,
His Phoebe arm in arm might take,
And woo the blushing maid.
With softly pensive tread,
His Phoebe arm in arm might take,
And woo the blushing maid.
Haply in this o'erhanging bow'r
Deceive the live long day;
Oft steal a kiss, her looks devour,
And breathe his soul away.—
Deceive the live long day;
Oft steal a kiss, her looks devour,
And breathe his soul away.—
188
But great and wondrous, Belvidere!
Tho' all thy beauties grant;
Tho' art and nature triumph here;
Yet still we something want.
Tho' all thy beauties grant;
Tho' art and nature triumph here;
Yet still we something want.
We something want!—what can you mean
Where such perfection's shown?
'Tis plain; no female gilds the scene;
Man should not be alone.
Where such perfection's shown?
'Tis plain; no female gilds the scene;
Man should not be alone.
In Paradise, we thus conceive,
Unbless'd was Adam found,
'Till, N---t like, accomplish'd Eve
His social ardour crown'd.
Unbless'd was Adam found,
'Till, N---t like, accomplish'd Eve
His social ardour crown'd.
IMPROMPTU.
WRITTEN ON THE BACK OF A TRENCHER, IN THE COTTAGE AT THE CROOKED WOOD,
AUGUST MDCCLXXIII.
Let wealth regale itself on costly plate,
Cares will intrude and happiness prevent;
But peasants, who off humble trenchers eat,
With rosy health enjoy supreme content.
189
STANZAS, TO MISS LATOUCHE, THE LATE COUNTESS OF LANESBOROUGH, WITH A VOLUME OF POEMS,
SELECTED FROM OUR BEST WRITERS, BY THE AUTHOR, HER PRECEPTOR ON HER BIRTH-DAY, TUESDAY, JANUARY XVIITH, MDCCLXXV.
Hail! dear Eliza!—hail! the auspicious day,
Sacred to innocence and smiling mirth;—
Strike up the instruments, all hearts be gay,
And with due honours grace Eliza's Birth.
While all around in just applause combine,
Can I, who best should know thee, niggard mine?
Sacred to innocence and smiling mirth;—
Strike up the instruments, all hearts be gay,
And with due honours grace Eliza's Birth.
While all around in just applause combine,
Can I, who best should know thee, niggard mine?
That matchless elegance and winning grace,
Which mark thy movements thro' the mazy dance;
That perfect symmetry of mien and face,
Are merely foils thy merits to enhance:
In the rich temple of thy ample mind
Are all the virtues with good sense inshrin'd.
Which mark thy movements thro' the mazy dance;
That perfect symmetry of mien and face,
Are merely foils thy merits to enhance:
In the rich temple of thy ample mind
Are all the virtues with good sense inshrin'd.
190
Even on the festal hour, lo! I encroach;
Sure proof how well the truth I may attest;
For, truth to thee at all times shall approach,
Not as a stranger, but a welcome guest;
So by hereditary worth inspir'd,
In affluence blest, unenvied and admir'd.
Sure proof how well the truth I may attest;
For, truth to thee at all times shall approach,
Not as a stranger, but a welcome guest;
So by hereditary worth inspir'd,
In affluence blest, unenvied and admir'd.
Could words the dictates of the soul impart,
On such a theme the muse might 'raptur'd dwell;
But, like thyself, Eliza! void of art,
These simple lines my warm affection tell;
While, thy felicity my aim and end,
To thee this votive garland they commend.
On such a theme the muse might 'raptur'd dwell;
But, like thyself, Eliza! void of art,
These simple lines my warm affection tell;
While, thy felicity my aim and end,
To thee this votive garland they commend.
To raise the genius poets wrote of old,
To mend the heart, and generous views inspire:
Their happiest portraits here display'd behold,
And let thy soul bright emulation fire.
One virtuous action, one well-natur'd deed,
Does all address in polish'd arts exceed.
To mend the heart, and generous views inspire:
Their happiest portraits here display'd behold,
And let thy soul bright emulation fire.
One virtuous action, one well-natur'd deed,
Does all address in polish'd arts exceed.
191
ADVICE TO A YOUNG LADY,
ON THE DANGER OF INDISCRIMINATE ACQUAINTANCE.
To nature much, yet art declares,
As much to her thou ow'st,
And pointing out thy air and mien,
By that confirms her boast.
As much to her thou ow'st,
And pointing out thy air and mien,
By that confirms her boast.
She says to fashion and improve
She largely did impart,
And modesty and candour join
To regulate thy heart.
She largely did impart,
And modesty and candour join
To regulate thy heart.
Dear favourite of contending powers!
Thus all thy charms assert,
And wit and judgment eager rise,
To publish thy desert.
Thus all thy charms assert,
And wit and judgment eager rise,
To publish thy desert.
Then, loveliest blossom of the spring!
Should folly dare aspire,
Let not the fluttering insect nip
That worth which all admire.
Should folly dare aspire,
Let not the fluttering insect nip
That worth which all admire.
192
Thy heart, still conscious of itself,
Suspects no latent snare;
But where the sun intensely shines,
The lurking adder's there.
Suspects no latent snare;
But where the sun intensely shines,
The lurking adder's there.
And envy, like the canker worm,
The fairest fruit assails;
Is still assiduous to destroy,
And oft, too oft, prevails.
The fairest fruit assails;
Is still assiduous to destroy,
And oft, too oft, prevails.
Even things most rare, familiar made,
No longer are explor'd,
Which treasur'd right might lustre gain;
Might be like thee ador'd.
No longer are explor'd,
Which treasur'd right might lustre gain;
Might be like thee ador'd.
Thy soul, where all perfections meet,
All pure sensations warm,
Can the insipid dangler please?
His trite suggestions charm?
All pure sensations warm,
Can the insipid dangler please?
His trite suggestions charm?
Admitting such, howe'er in sport,
All will not so explain,
And sense and honour 'twill deter,
That ne'er give virtue pain.
All will not so explain,
And sense and honour 'twill deter,
That ne'er give virtue pain.
193
The flimsy tribe may suit the scope
Of slight unfinish'd girls;
In thee 'twere waste of time at best
To strew before them pearls.
Of slight unfinish'd girls;
In thee 'twere waste of time at best
To strew before them pearls.
If praise delight, 'tis merit's due,
And none can bar thy claim;
But those, who most deserve themselves,
Contribute most to fame.
And none can bar thy claim;
But those, who most deserve themselves,
Contribute most to fame.
Mark you those mantling shrubs, how fair!
What sweets those flowers disclose!
Comes the bleak east, parch'd is the tree,
And sickening droops the rose.
What sweets those flowers disclose!
Comes the bleak east, parch'd is the tree,
And sickening droops the rose.
The mantling shrub, the opening flower,
Thy sweetness fall beneath;
More noxious than the eastern blast
The officious coxcomb's breath.
Thy sweetness fall beneath;
More noxious than the eastern blast
The officious coxcomb's breath.
It ranges far, it pierces deep,
It spreads contagion round,
And chief the baleful influence aims,
Where charms like thine abound.
It spreads contagion round,
And chief the baleful influence aims,
Where charms like thine abound.
194
Such affable engaging ease,
Such artless innocence,
In situation so expos'd,
Need such consummate sense.
Such artless innocence,
In situation so expos'd,
Need such consummate sense.
The first approach 'twere best to guard;
If there repuls'd they fail,
No wrong can vanity presume,
Perchance would blush to rail.
If there repuls'd they fail,
No wrong can vanity presume,
Perchance would blush to rail.
Thus the weak shaft at random sped
Discretion may despise;—
Oh! may experience dearly bought,
Ne'er dim those beauteous eyes.
Discretion may despise;—
Oh! may experience dearly bought,
Ne'er dim those beauteous eyes.
EPIGRAM.
Jack talks of honour, truth, and heart
And kindness in event;
Show it, says Time—Jack skulks apart—
O! damn your sentiment.
And kindness in event;
Show it, says Time—Jack skulks apart—
O! damn your sentiment.
195
THE BALLOON.
TO RICHARD CROSBIE, ESQ. ON HIS ATTEMPTING A SECOND AERIAL EXCURSION,
TUESDAY MAY THE XIITH, MDCCLXXXV.
Tho' envy, Crosbie! vilify thy name,
And strive to blast the harvest of thy fame,
'Tis virtue's common lot; nor thou repine,
The tribute due to great attempts is thine.
Deep tho' the barbed shaft of rancour pierce,
The sentence past, time only can reverse;
To time, the impartial arbiter, submit,
And let dark calumny her venom spit.
You, of Hibernia's sons, none can deny,
A Dedalus, first launch'd into the sky,
And with the flame of patriot glory fir'd,
To the third region of the air aspir'd;
Untutor'd and alone pursu'd your slight
Thro' untried space impervious to the sight.
So in the fiery car the prophet caught,
Majestic rising pierc'd the azure vault;
Towards earth from high his awful presence bow'd,
Look'd up, and vanish'd thro' the impending cloud.
Eyes! take your last—thy soul's soft partner cried,
Her trembling infants clinging to her side,
As down her woe-wan cheeks the silent torrents glide.
What must the husband, what the father prove,
Leaving the weeping pledges of his love!
And, in his fate involv'd, where's the relief
To sooth the orphans' cries, the widow's grief?
Nature knock'd at his heart, but knock'd in vain;
His noble daring nothing can restrain;
Thro' hope's prospective, scenes remote he view'd,
Nor dreamt how near him lurk'd ingratitude.
Generous as brave the Irish are renown'd,
In that presumption all his cares are drown'd,
And what his soul superior had conceiv'd,
He plann'd, constructed, gloriously atchiev'd;
His country's fame among the nations rais'd,
Prov'd his desert, and liberally was—prais'd.
But in the zenith of his triumph crost,
Chang'd is the scene, his occupation lost:
On frail foundations all his castles rear'd,
In one capricious moment disappear'd!—
The multitudes that gaz'd with straining eyes,
The tongues that rent with pealing shouts the skies,
The knees that suppliant for thy safety bent,
The astonish'd crowds that witness'd thy descent,
The hearts that even with adoration glow'd,
The hands that flowers beneath thy footsteps strew'd,
Crosbie! more sickle than the inconstant wind,
Mere weather-cocks to every gust you find;
And tho' exalted to the lunar sphere,
Foul-mouth'd detraction would pursue thee there;
The hard-earn'd laurel from thy temples wrest,
And plant with thorns thy unoffending breast.
And strive to blast the harvest of thy fame,
'Tis virtue's common lot; nor thou repine,
The tribute due to great attempts is thine.
Deep tho' the barbed shaft of rancour pierce,
The sentence past, time only can reverse;
To time, the impartial arbiter, submit,
And let dark calumny her venom spit.
You, of Hibernia's sons, none can deny,
A Dedalus, first launch'd into the sky,
And with the flame of patriot glory fir'd,
To the third region of the air aspir'd;
Untutor'd and alone pursu'd your slight
Thro' untried space impervious to the sight.
So in the fiery car the prophet caught,
Majestic rising pierc'd the azure vault;
Towards earth from high his awful presence bow'd,
Look'd up, and vanish'd thro' the impending cloud.
196
Her trembling infants clinging to her side,
As down her woe-wan cheeks the silent torrents glide.
What must the husband, what the father prove,
Leaving the weeping pledges of his love!
And, in his fate involv'd, where's the relief
To sooth the orphans' cries, the widow's grief?
Nature knock'd at his heart, but knock'd in vain;
His noble daring nothing can restrain;
Thro' hope's prospective, scenes remote he view'd,
Nor dreamt how near him lurk'd ingratitude.
Generous as brave the Irish are renown'd,
In that presumption all his cares are drown'd,
And what his soul superior had conceiv'd,
He plann'd, constructed, gloriously atchiev'd;
His country's fame among the nations rais'd,
Prov'd his desert, and liberally was—prais'd.
But in the zenith of his triumph crost,
Chang'd is the scene, his occupation lost:
On frail foundations all his castles rear'd,
In one capricious moment disappear'd!—
The multitudes that gaz'd with straining eyes,
The tongues that rent with pealing shouts the skies,
The knees that suppliant for thy safety bent,
The astonish'd crowds that witness'd thy descent,
197
The hands that flowers beneath thy footsteps strew'd,
Crosbie! more sickle than the inconstant wind,
Mere weather-cocks to every gust you find;
And tho' exalted to the lunar sphere,
Foul-mouth'd detraction would pursue thee there;
The hard-earn'd laurel from thy temples wrest,
And plant with thorns thy unoffending breast.
No wonder babblers swell the daily lie,
When better judgments follow in the cry;
Injurious clamours raise on vague report,
And with the miseries of nature sport.
Lives there from human casualties exempt?
His crime imputed, What? His last attempt—
He fail'd—yet firmly to his purpose stood,
And all perform'd that art and nature could;
But still he fail'd—and nothing can atone
For disappointments—tho' the worst his own;
His fame, his fortunes, what had'st thou? at stake;
Blush, censure! blush, and retribution make.
When better judgments follow in the cry;
Injurious clamours raise on vague report,
And with the miseries of nature sport.
Lives there from human casualties exempt?
His crime imputed, What? His last attempt—
He fail'd—yet firmly to his purpose stood,
And all perform'd that art and nature could;
But still he fail'd—and nothing can atone
For disappointments—tho' the worst his own;
His fame, his fortunes, what had'st thou? at stake;
Blush, censure! blush, and retribution make.
Columbus thus his daring sails unfurl'd,
Stemm'd seas unknown and gain'd another world;
But found at last, to recompence his pains,
His throne a dungeon, and his trophies chains.
Stemm'd seas unknown and gain'd another world;
But found at last, to recompence his pains,
His throne a dungeon, and his trophies chains.
From wisdom merit consolation draws,
Not from the breath of popular applause.
Not from the breath of popular applause.
198
THE EGG,
A PICTURE OF THE TIMES, BY WAY OF APOLOGUE.
MAY XXIST, MDCCLXXXV.
With flimsy petulance and captious pride,
Nearly, I ween, to ignorance allied,
How cavalierly some folks will decide!
And with a specious temporizing spirit,
On fortune lavish what they strip from merit.
Patterns of taste, and prodigies of learning,
On every subject equally discerning,
They talk at large about it and about it,
Clear as the light; 'twere heresy to doubt it;
And as the ignis fatuus, fashion, burns,
Are this and that, and every thing by turns.
But as extremes are seldom lasting found,
One folly's quickly in another drown'd;
And what this minute is so flush and current,
The next supplanted proves to all abhorrent.
Nearly, I ween, to ignorance allied,
How cavalierly some folks will decide!
And with a specious temporizing spirit,
On fortune lavish what they strip from merit.
Patterns of taste, and prodigies of learning,
On every subject equally discerning,
They talk at large about it and about it,
Clear as the light; 'twere heresy to doubt it;
And as the ignis fatuus, fashion, burns,
Are this and that, and every thing by turns.
But as extremes are seldom lasting found,
One folly's quickly in another drown'd;
And what this minute is so flush and current,
The next supplanted proves to all abhorrent.
The topic now that every tongue engages,
The foil of past and theme of future ages,
Art's proudest boast, and crown of speculation,
Is that phenomenon clep'd Aërostation.
Each feeble amateur, believe his tale,
Can ride the welkin and elude the gale;
And like the finny tribes that range the ocean,
Direct or retrogade, impel his motion.
But why so long the experiment delay?
Perhaps, by compact, Crosbie show'd the way.
The enterprize procured him many a shout,
But soon the storm of favour veer'd about;
He thought 'twould last, oh! simple and absurd!
Even in the breath of praise he blame incurr'd.
Would it not make a very stoic fret,
The world should benefits so soon forget?—
Let them snarl on, or they with envy burst;
Tho' hardly treated, thou art not the first.
Scarcely an hour without example passes,
Those who rely on public fame are asses;
Fate unprovok'd our dearest aims may frustrate,
A case in point the axiom may illustrate.
The foil of past and theme of future ages,
Art's proudest boast, and crown of speculation,
Is that phenomenon clep'd Aërostation.
199
Can ride the welkin and elude the gale;
And like the finny tribes that range the ocean,
Direct or retrogade, impel his motion.
But why so long the experiment delay?
Perhaps, by compact, Crosbie show'd the way.
The enterprize procured him many a shout,
But soon the storm of favour veer'd about;
He thought 'twould last, oh! simple and absurd!
Even in the breath of praise he blame incurr'd.
Would it not make a very stoic fret,
The world should benefits so soon forget?—
Let them snarl on, or they with envy burst;
Tho' hardly treated, thou art not the first.
Scarcely an hour without example passes,
Those who rely on public fame are asses;
Fate unprovok'd our dearest aims may frustrate,
A case in point the axiom may illustrate.
Some centuries ago, a genius rose,
His name on record every school-boy knows,
A navigator from his cradle bred,
Who took a strange vagary in his head
To search for worlds, and of his skill persuaded,
With much remonstrance, Spain his project aided.
The slights, obstructions, vain delays surmounted,
Need not, as things are managed, be recounted.
Consign'd to heaven, the destin'd bark he enter'd,
And shap'd a course none e'er before adventur'd.
The Celtic shores receding far behind,
With swelling sails he scuds before the wind;
His stout-ribb'd keels untravers'd billows plow,
Hope at the helm, and courage at the bow;
The voyage long, and great was his distress,
But perseverance crown'd him with success.
A world obtain'd, now trim in glory ride
His argosies safe on their native tide.
Fame, almost breathless, flew with the report,
And soon in person he arrives at court;
Was graciously receiv'd—the people stare!
To see plain dealing so respected there.
He show'd his charts, describ'd the courses run,
The realms discover'd, and the trophies won;
The battles, sieges, hair-breadth scapes narrated;
But little in his own behalf dilated;
And to repay a tyrant's scanty aid,
Crowns at his feet, and mighty empires laid;
Nor was the homage scorn'd; for at that time
Princes were sometimes just, and worth no crime.
But genuine worth, conspicuous near a crown,
Tho' rarely seen, is quickly jostled down.
Had he been read in men and manners more,
He might have kept some snug douceurs in store.
Thro' all degrees, in every age and nation,
Smiles dwell on hope, and friends on expectation;
But signal services themselves defeat,
And prove, tho' good, the agent indiscreet.
In triple ratio as the debt encreases,
Expectance grows and obligation ceases;
Assert your claims, 'tis plain to every dunce,
That damns your fame and cancels them at once:
And not unfrequently among the great,
The path of honour is the road to hate;
This he experienced, but was wise too late.
His name on record every school-boy knows,
A navigator from his cradle bred,
Who took a strange vagary in his head
To search for worlds, and of his skill persuaded,
With much remonstrance, Spain his project aided.
The slights, obstructions, vain delays surmounted,
Need not, as things are managed, be recounted.
200
And shap'd a course none e'er before adventur'd.
The Celtic shores receding far behind,
With swelling sails he scuds before the wind;
His stout-ribb'd keels untravers'd billows plow,
Hope at the helm, and courage at the bow;
The voyage long, and great was his distress,
But perseverance crown'd him with success.
A world obtain'd, now trim in glory ride
His argosies safe on their native tide.
Fame, almost breathless, flew with the report,
And soon in person he arrives at court;
Was graciously receiv'd—the people stare!
To see plain dealing so respected there.
He show'd his charts, describ'd the courses run,
The realms discover'd, and the trophies won;
The battles, sieges, hair-breadth scapes narrated;
But little in his own behalf dilated;
And to repay a tyrant's scanty aid,
Crowns at his feet, and mighty empires laid;
Nor was the homage scorn'd; for at that time
Princes were sometimes just, and worth no crime.
But genuine worth, conspicuous near a crown,
Tho' rarely seen, is quickly jostled down.
Had he been read in men and manners more,
He might have kept some snug douceurs in store.
201
Smiles dwell on hope, and friends on expectation;
But signal services themselves defeat,
And prove, tho' good, the agent indiscreet.
In triple ratio as the debt encreases,
Expectance grows and obligation ceases;
Assert your claims, 'tis plain to every dunce,
That damns your fame and cancels them at once:
And not unfrequently among the great,
The path of honour is the road to hate;
This he experienced, but was wise too late.
'Twas now the work of enmity began,
And for his merit all detest the man;
Some thought he might speak true, and others doubted;
Some gave the lie direct, and numbers flouted;
Some construed it a personal affront,
And swore, if not prevented, they had don't;
The thing was plain; they knew it to a peg—
On this the man, prepar'd, produc'd an egg;
He had of envy and detraction heard,
And opportunely stood upon his guard.
‘My lords! great latitude of self-defence
‘Appears not in the log-book of my sense;
‘How should an uncouth tar, bred up in storms,
‘Frame his rude speech by your scholastic forms?
‘Exposed to shoals, from which no craft's exempt,
‘I soon should founder in the vain attempt;
‘Suppose then, serious business we suspend,
‘And set the egg, a far-fetch'd game, on end.’
At his request each took it into hand,
But not a Don of them could make it stand;
Oft and again alternately they toil'd,
Tried every way, and every way were foil'd;
Then in a peevish, supercilious tone
Declare unanimous, 'twas not to be done:—
He smil'd, and taking it, the end he crack'd,
And so to their confusion prov'd the fact.
And for his merit all detest the man;
Some thought he might speak true, and others doubted;
Some gave the lie direct, and numbers flouted;
Some construed it a personal affront,
And swore, if not prevented, they had don't;
The thing was plain; they knew it to a peg—
On this the man, prepar'd, produc'd an egg;
He had of envy and detraction heard,
And opportunely stood upon his guard.
‘My lords! great latitude of self-defence
‘Appears not in the log-book of my sense;
‘How should an uncouth tar, bred up in storms,
‘Frame his rude speech by your scholastic forms?
202
‘I soon should founder in the vain attempt;
‘Suppose then, serious business we suspend,
‘And set the egg, a far-fetch'd game, on end.’
At his request each took it into hand,
But not a Don of them could make it stand;
Oft and again alternately they toil'd,
Tried every way, and every way were foil'd;
Then in a peevish, supercilious tone
Declare unanimous, 'twas not to be done:—
He smil'd, and taking it, the end he crack'd,
And so to their confusion prov'd the fact.
Shrewd was the bait, and credit thus maintain'd;
But secret malice is not so restrain'd:
His destiny to work his fall conspires,
And for his foes accomplish'd their desires.
A rival started in the great design,
Of same ambitious, born a Florentine;
The way prepar'd, with happier omens fraught,
He stemm'd the flood, and proud advantage caught.
The king in honour's seat the minion plac'd,
And sovereign beauty with her favour grac'd;
His recent deeds obscur'd the other's fame,
And one keen hit immortaliz'd his name.
But hard indeed the first adventurer's lot,
Rack'd with the wounds of man remembering not.
But secret malice is not so restrain'd:
His destiny to work his fall conspires,
And for his foes accomplish'd their desires.
A rival started in the great design,
Of same ambitious, born a Florentine;
The way prepar'd, with happier omens fraught,
He stemm'd the flood, and proud advantage caught.
The king in honour's seat the minion plac'd,
And sovereign beauty with her favour grac'd;
His recent deeds obscur'd the other's fame,
And one keen hit immortaliz'd his name.
But hard indeed the first adventurer's lot,
Rack'd with the wounds of man remembering not.
203
Ye connoiseurs! who boast mechanic skill,
Artists! or amateurs! or what you will!
Who furnish fuel just to feed contention,
And, lacking genius, thrive by circumvention;
You! who, all talents but your own decrying,
Are such adepts, in theory, at flying!
No doubt, if fortune favour, a balloon
Constructed properly might scale the moon;
The journey certes would enhance your glory,
Maugre friend Wilkins who went there before ye:
Yet, in the name of justice, let me beg,
Since you've been told the secret of the egg,
With modesty your high pretensions veil,
And, ere you rashly judge, apply the tale;
To merit ever give the credit due,
And honour truth, lest truth dishonour you.
Artists! or amateurs! or what you will!
Who furnish fuel just to feed contention,
And, lacking genius, thrive by circumvention;
You! who, all talents but your own decrying,
Are such adepts, in theory, at flying!
No doubt, if fortune favour, a balloon
Constructed properly might scale the moon;
The journey certes would enhance your glory,
Maugre friend Wilkins who went there before ye:
Yet, in the name of justice, let me beg,
Since you've been told the secret of the egg,
With modesty your high pretensions veil,
And, ere you rashly judge, apply the tale;
To merit ever give the credit due,
And honour truth, lest truth dishonour you.
EPIGRAM.
Dick! hold thy vain protesting tongue!I'm not so raw a gull—
'Tis but the flourish of a drum,
Great cry and little wool.
204
THE NEW-FERRY
ADDRESSED TO THE MAYOR OF LIVERPOOL,
SUNDAY, JULY XXIXTH, MDCCLXXXVII.
In early youth o'er Mersey's tide
By wayward fortune trick'd,
While sleep my weary eyelids clos'd,
I got my pockets pick'd.
By wayward fortune trick'd,
While sleep my weary eyelids clos'd,
I got my pockets pick'd.
Twice fifteen years elaps'd, again
The skippers mock'd my care;
For tho' I kept a good look-out,
They robb'd me in the fare.
The skippers mock'd my care;
For tho' I kept a good look-out,
They robb'd me in the fare.
The ferry much improv'd I found,
The port, the docks, the streets;
But, O! curst thirst of lucre! still
Disgrac'd with rogues and cheats.
The port, the docks, the streets;
But, O! curst thirst of lucre! still
Disgrac'd with rogues and cheats.
Yet partial to this goodly town,
It flatters native pride,
That though I suffer'd and was vex'd,
'Twas from the farther side.
It flatters native pride,
That though I suffer'd and was vex'd,
'Twas from the farther side.
205
Nor mean I all should wear the cap
Full well befitting one,
By fellow swabbers Henry hight,
An imp of Chatterton.
Full well befitting one,
By fellow swabbers Henry hight,
An imp of Chatterton.
Hard is his visage, hard his heart,
Uncouth his speech and chuff;
The squalid waterman of Styx
Had scarce a mien so gruff.
Uncouth his speech and chuff;
The squalid waterman of Styx
Had scarce a mien so gruff.
Did he, the souls to ferry o'er,
For Charon man the helm,
Not one, tho' of Elysium sure,
Would visit Pluto's realm.—
For Charon man the helm,
Not one, tho' of Elysium sure,
Would visit Pluto's realm.—
Tho' born in storms, to objects loath'd,
And storms in life inur'd,
Even at his aspect I recoil'd,
And scarce his sight endur'd.—
And storms in life inur'd,
Even at his aspect I recoil'd,
And scarce his sight endur'd.—
I tread the ground, where, blithe and free
In thoughtless years I stray'd,
And trace the haunts, to memory dear,
Where oft my childhood play'd.
In thoughtless years I stray'd,
And trace the haunts, to memory dear,
Where oft my childhood play'd.
206
Around the place fond, anxious looks
At every turn I threw,
In hopes, nor vain my hopes at last,
To meet some face I knew.
At every turn I threw,
In hopes, nor vain my hopes at last,
To meet some face I knew.
I stop at each remembered spot,
And on the prospect dwell;
Then of some boyish incident
My sweet companions tell.
And on the prospect dwell;
Then of some boyish incident
My sweet companions tell.
Here, the prompt champion of my friend,
I check'd his saucy foes;
And here a hardy conquest gain'd,
And here a bloody nose.
I check'd his saucy foes;
And here a hardy conquest gain'd,
And here a bloody nose.
Here Leadbetter kept school—here Hughes,
By death long since remov'd;
A tear, affection's tribute, shows
Their pains not thankless prov'd.
By death long since remov'd;
A tear, affection's tribute, shows
Their pains not thankless prov'd.
As recollection livelier grew,
From place to place I rang'd;
See palaces where oxen grazed,
And huts to churches chang'd.
From place to place I rang'd;
See palaces where oxen grazed,
And huts to churches chang'd.
207
St. Peter's, George's, Nicholas' too,
The seaman's ancient trust;
Each object with delight I view;
Yet still intrudes disgust.
The seaman's ancient trust;
Each object with delight I view;
Yet still intrudes disgust.
Why should a foul, imposing elf
My soul's serene o'er-cast?
Keep clear your wharfs, ye sons of trade!
For first impressions last.
My soul's serene o'er-cast?
Keep clear your wharfs, ye sons of trade!
For first impressions last.
'Tis meet the labourer to reward,
And 'tis as strictly true,
Integrity's the safest plan,
And wisest to pursue.
And 'tis as strictly true,
Integrity's the safest plan,
And wisest to pursue.
Frenchman or Dutch, or friend or foe,
By name whatever call'd,
He'll scarce the mooring recommend,
Who has his hawser gall'd.
By name whatever call'd,
He'll scarce the mooring recommend,
Who has his hawser gall'd.
To see this town, their father's boast,
Oft would my children crave,
And, lo! the poor young travellers greet
A rude designing knave.
Oft would my children crave,
And, lo! the poor young travellers greet
A rude designing knave.
208
Weeds are produc'd in every soil;
But that's a lame excuse,
And justly censure they incur
Who tolerate abuse.
But that's a lame excuse,
And justly censure they incur
Who tolerate abuse.
Are there no laws, no magistrates,
Extortion to correct,
That strangers who your wealth admire,
Your justice may respect?
Extortion to correct,
That strangers who your wealth admire,
Your justice may respect?
209
SONNETS ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS.
211
SONNET III. TO GORGES EDMOND HOWARD, ESQ.
ON READING SOME ILLIBERAL STRICTURES ON HIS WRITINGS AND CHARACTER.
MDCCLXXII.
Howard! whose eagle-genius soars above
The weak enervate flight of modern rhymes;
Whose bosom, glowing with thy country's love,
Curbs the wild phrenzy of distemper'd times.
The weak enervate flight of modern rhymes;
Whose bosom, glowing with thy country's love,
Curbs the wild phrenzy of distemper'd times.
Whether those sacred heights thy fancy climbs,
Where memory's maids round Shakspeare's temple rove,
Or, deeply shuddering at a nation's crimes,
Her sluggard sons you waken and reprove.
Where memory's maids round Shakspeare's temple rove,
Or, deeply shuddering at a nation's crimes,
Her sluggard sons you waken and reprove.
Complete thy generous toil—lo! fame pursues,
Her golden trump, her laurel wreath she brings,
To crown with deathless praise thy various worth;
Though rancorous envy the fair palm refuse,
'Tis virtue's tax; for true the poet sings,
“It is the bright day brings the adder forth.”
Her golden trump, her laurel wreath she brings,
To crown with deathless praise thy various worth;
Though rancorous envy the fair palm refuse,
'Tis virtue's tax; for true the poet sings,
“It is the bright day brings the adder forth.”
212
SONNET IV. ON SEEING MISS POPE IN VARIOUS CHARACTERS.
WRITTEN ON THE BACK OF A PLAY-BILL,
MDCCLXXXV.
To copy nature is no easy part,
A thousand failures daily prove it true;
The test and pride of imitative art;
The poet's, painter's, and the player's too.
A thousand failures daily prove it true;
The test and pride of imitative art;
The poet's, painter's, and the player's too.
But art consummate vests her offspring ease
With prompt address her beauties to unfold;
She waves her wand, when 'tis her cue to please,
And every thing she touches turns to gold.
With prompt address her beauties to unfold;
She waves her wand, when 'tis her cue to please,
And every thing she touches turns to gold.
Thus, nature's mirrour, Avon's druid shone,
Educ'd each charm and to advantage dress'd;
Thus long has Reynolds, art's creative son,
Perfection felt, and what he felt express'd;
And, tho' an age may but one phœnix hope,
Thus Garrick shines and his fair pupil Pope.
Educ'd each charm and to advantage dress'd;
Thus long has Reynolds, art's creative son,
Perfection felt, and what he felt express'd;
And, tho' an age may but one phœnix hope,
Thus Garrick shines and his fair pupil Pope.
213
SONNET V. ON READING MRS. DOBSON'S LIFE OF PETRARCH, IN THE COTTAGE AT FURNACE,
THE SEAT OF RICHARD NEVILL, ESQ.
JANUARY VITH, MDCCLXXVI.
Cease then, illiberal, vain, short-sighted tribe!
Cease to depreciate and degrade the fair;
Know ye, when wisdom's lore you there prescribe,
What bootless self-delusion marks your care?
Cease to depreciate and degrade the fair;
Know ye, when wisdom's lore you there prescribe,
What bootless self-delusion marks your care?
On Mersey's laurel'd banks, abash'd you'll find
That worth you envy and affect to scorn,
Imbuing Laura's unelated mind,
Pure as the dewy spangles of the morn.
That worth you envy and affect to scorn,
Imbuing Laura's unelated mind,
Pure as the dewy spangles of the morn.
Away! your social feelings all debas'd,
You scan their beauties with a jaundic'd eye,
By culture deck'd, and elegance of taste—
On leaves of brass your penitence enrol,
Nor quit, to wallow in a sensual stye,
“The feast of reason and the flow of soul.”
You scan their beauties with a jaundic'd eye,
By culture deck'd, and elegance of taste—
On leaves of brass your penitence enrol,
Nor quit, to wallow in a sensual stye,
“The feast of reason and the flow of soul.”
215
[PIECES COMPLEMENTARY]
LITCHFIELD. TO MISS SEWARD,
LEFT IN FARQUHAR'S PARLOUR AT THE GEORGE INN,
THURSDAY AUGUST IIND, MDCCLXXXVII.
Thrice favour'd Litchfield! fair, illustrious town!
High in fame's brightest page stands thy renown.
From thee, whatever sage or poet knew
Of wisdom's endless volume, Johnson drew;
In thy rich glebe, pendent with golden fruit,
Production rare! did Garrick's laurels shoot;
But what should flatter as it honours most,
A Seward's genius is thy living boast:
Whether in virtue's cause her bosom glow,
Or the sad strain to friendship sacred flow,
Or meditating yet a nobler song,
With wonted aid the muses round her throng,
In wit a phoenix, and in heart a dove,
Her sex's pride, our wonder and our love.
Hither, elate with hope, I came from far
To view insphered the famed poetic star,
Which oft in song, tho' a reflected blaze,
Had rapt my fancy and outshone my praise;
But from this seat of excellence depart
With lingering step and disappointed heart;
For still to me, with deep regret I own,
She shines unseen and captivates unknown.
216
IMPROMPTU,
ON SEEING MRS. BARRY IN THE CHARACTER OF ZENOBIA.
MDCCLXXIII.
To crown the fame of this dramatic age,
Three heroines lately have adorn'd the stage;
First, great and glorious, with consummate pow'r
The sock and buskin graceful Pritchard wore;
Next plaintive Cibber topp'd the tender part,
Drew tears from brutes, and cleft the flinty heart:—
To full perfection none durst e'er aspire,
With Cibber's softness tempering Pritchard's fire;
What then could nature for her Barry do?
“To make a third, she join'd the former two.”
THE GRECIAN DAUGHTER,
ON SEEING A VERY YOUNG PERFORMER IN THAT DIFFICULT AND TRYING PART,
MARCH XXIII, MDCCXCI.
Monimia's rising talents, heaven-acquir'd,
I have oft remark'd, applauded and admir'd:
Prov'd in a complicated round of parts,
She gains all hands and captivates all hearts.
Her youth, her beauty, modesty and sense
O'er all she does a nameless charm dispense;
216
Her skill I fear, her inexperience dread—
‘How should a perfect novice hope to draw,
‘With taste and judgment what she never saw?’
Thus closely question'd, not untruth to say,
On specious grounds, I went to see the play;
When, lo!—the sex how fertile in device!—
Copying her faithful glass, and in a trice
Collecting all her powers, the cunning elf
Gives us a striking portrait of herself.
Her tones, looks, actions, suited to the word,
Like strings in perfect unison accord,
And filial virtue with enchanting grace
Pervades her form and brightens in her face.
Others from stage finesse applauses seek,
What nature dictates her exertions speak,
And up to each incitement of her part,
Attest the genuine feelings of her heart;
We see, allowing for dramatic strife,
The very character she acts in life;
And not a movement of her lovely frame,
But gives an earnest of her future fame.
Envy may snarl and jealousy repine,
'Tis hers with honour unimpeach'd to shine;
New to the stage, unpatroniz'd, unknown,
Her merit's glorious and 'tis all her own.
218
TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS.
220
EPIGRAM, ON A CHILD AND HIS MOTHER, BOTH EXTREMELY HANDSOME AND BLIND OF AN EYE: FROM THE LATIN.
To your sweet mother, lovely boy!The eye you have resign;
You'll then another Cupid prove,
And she a Venus shine.
ANOTHER.
To your fair mother, lovely child!That sparkling eye resign,
You'll justly then be Cupid stil'd,
And she a Venus shine.
A PICTURE OF RELIGION,
FROM THE FRENCH OF MR. J. BERNE.
Why does my breast with sudden transports glow?
My ravish'd soul what new-felt ardors fire?
What mystic visions down the welkin flow,
Charm fancy's eye and my rapt thoughts inspire?
My ravish'd soul what new-felt ardors fire?
What mystic visions down the welkin flow,
Charm fancy's eye and my rapt thoughts inspire?
221
Behold Religion's heavenly form appears!
And lo! she grasps no thunders in her hand!
No priestly fury on her brow she wears!
Nor scatters strife and terror thro' the land!
And lo! she grasps no thunders in her hand!
No priestly fury on her brow she wears!
Nor scatters strife and terror thro' the land!
Before her steps, see! superstition flies,
And bigot fury mourns her power o'erthrown;
Chain'd at her feet oppression prostrate lies,
And persecution blasted by her frown.
And bigot fury mourns her power o'erthrown;
Chain'd at her feet oppression prostrate lies,
And persecution blasted by her frown.
Mild to command, and gentle to persuade,
Peace in her looks, and blessings in her hands,
Sweet charity attends, in smiles array'd,
And calm benevolence before her stands.
Peace in her looks, and blessings in her hands,
Sweet charity attends, in smiles array'd,
And calm benevolence before her stands.
Gay hope, soft pity from the skies descend;
With lively faith her influence to maintain;
Reason and justice at each side attend,
With every social virtue in their train.
With lively faith her influence to maintain;
Reason and justice at each side attend,
With every social virtue in their train.
Such is her form!—all gentleness and joy,
She claims her fair dominion o'er the mind;
No flames to burn, no dungeons to destroy,
No whips to torture and enslave mankind.
She claims her fair dominion o'er the mind;
No flames to burn, no dungeons to destroy,
No whips to torture and enslave mankind.
222
May heaven her presence thro' the world extend,
And to her precepts every heart incline;
I ask no more, if she her succour lend,
Wealth, fame and honour gladly I resign.
And to her precepts every heart incline;
I ask no more, if she her succour lend,
Wealth, fame and honour gladly I resign.
A PARAPHRASE, ON CRASHAW'S CELEBRATED EPIGRAM, ON OUR SAVIOUR'S TURNING WATER INTO WINE,
AT THE MARRIAGE IN CANA OF GALILEE. ST. JOHN, CHAP. ii.
WRITTEN AS A SCHOOL EXERCISE, BY A LAD NOT FIFTEEN.
Once to a marriage feast, among the rest,
The Lord of Life went, an invited guest:
Three cheerful suns had set; but now a doubt
Perplex'd the governor—the wine was out.
The holy mother, likewise present there,
With prudent purpose interpos'd her care,
And to her son's celestial aid applied,
Which never fails who in his name confide;
But tho' untimely the request was made,
He, what a lesson! filial reverence paid.
The menial train, obedience strictly taught,
From the next fountain, as directed, brought
A copious freight, and, as 'twas meet there should,
Arrang'd in view the festal vases stood,
Those, with the limpid stream, the ready band
Fill to the brim by the divine command;
The attentive crowd stood in his presence hush'd,
The conscious water saw her God and blush'd;—
Hence, of the simple element procur'd,
Into their goblets at his bidding pour'd,
Straight to the governor the servants bore;
But, who can heaven's mysterious ways explore?
'Tis wine—and all with admiration mov'd,
The fresh supply beyond the first approv'd.
Thus manifest his glory was made known,
And the great honour due to parents shown.
The Lord of Life went, an invited guest:
Three cheerful suns had set; but now a doubt
Perplex'd the governor—the wine was out.
The holy mother, likewise present there,
With prudent purpose interpos'd her care,
And to her son's celestial aid applied,
Which never fails who in his name confide;
But tho' untimely the request was made,
He, what a lesson! filial reverence paid.
223
From the next fountain, as directed, brought
A copious freight, and, as 'twas meet there should,
Arrang'd in view the festal vases stood,
Those, with the limpid stream, the ready band
Fill to the brim by the divine command;
The attentive crowd stood in his presence hush'd,
The conscious water saw her God and blush'd;—
Hence, of the simple element procur'd,
Into their goblets at his bidding pour'd,
Straight to the governor the servants bore;
But, who can heaven's mysterious ways explore?
'Tis wine—and all with admiration mov'd,
The fresh supply beyond the first approv'd.
Thus manifest his glory was made known,
And the great honour due to parents shown.
MARRIAGE IN CANA.
EPIGRAMMA.
Unde rubor vestris et non sua purpura lymphis?Quæ rosa mirantes tam nova mutat aquas?
Numen, convivæ! præsens agnoscite numen,
Vidit et erubuit Nympha pudica Deum.
[_]
The following lines on our Saviour's turning water into wine were written by Crashaw, a Latin poet of the last century, not by Dryden, to whom they have been attributed.
224
A PARAPHRASE ON THE REV. DR. WATTS'S CELEBRATED DISTICH, ON THE STUDY OF LANGUAGES.
ADDRESSED TO THE YOUNG GENTLEMEN OF THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR SCHOOL,
BY ONE OF THEIR SCHOOL-FELLOWS.
“Let every foreign tongue alone
“Till you can spell and read your own.”
“Till you can spell and read your own.”
With equal justice, sense and truth,
So says the guide and friend of youth:
For ignorant in that, 'tis plain,
Your boast of literature is vain;
But make your own your first concern,
All others you may quickly learn;
And thus with minds prepar'd and free,
Their beauties taste, their idioms see.
So says the guide and friend of youth:
For ignorant in that, 'tis plain,
Your boast of literature is vain;
But make your own your first concern,
All others you may quickly learn;
And thus with minds prepar'd and free,
Their beauties taste, their idioms see.
Pedants may flout and keep a pother
About this language, and the other,
And swear that none can write or speak,
Who have not Latin learn'd and Greek:
‘He of all judgment is depriv'd,
‘Who knows not whence a word's deriv'd,
‘And every Briton willy nilly,
‘Must dig good English out of Lily.’
These are vague notions foster'd long,
Crude in their birth, in practice wrong;
Like many more of ancient date,
Wisely reformed or obsolete.
About this language, and the other,
And swear that none can write or speak,
Who have not Latin learn'd and Greek:
225
‘Who knows not whence a word's deriv'd,
‘And every Briton willy nilly,
‘Must dig good English out of Lily.’
These are vague notions foster'd long,
Crude in their birth, in practice wrong;
Like many more of ancient date,
Wisely reformed or obsolete.
Thousands, 'tis true, the course have run,
Which reason would have bid them shun:
'Tis common sense and good in law,
To furnish brick we should have straw;
But by the mystic code of schools
There's neither straw allow'd nor tools;
And years of pain, and learning's stock,
Begin and end in—Hic, hæc, hoc!!!
What charms are there, in sense or sound,
Of such intrinsic merit found,
That, not thro' prejudice to err,
Terms of our own we mayn't prefer?
And just as well the purport fit,
With Oxford writing,—He, she, it?
Or do they more in church or state
Improve discourse, or point debate?
Which reason would have bid them shun:
'Tis common sense and good in law,
To furnish brick we should have straw;
But by the mystic code of schools
There's neither straw allow'd nor tools;
And years of pain, and learning's stock,
Begin and end in—Hic, hæc, hoc!!!
What charms are there, in sense or sound,
Of such intrinsic merit found,
That, not thro' prejudice to err,
Terms of our own we mayn't prefer?
And just as well the purport fit,
With Oxford writing,—He, she, it?
Or do they more in church or state
Improve discourse, or point debate?
Poor boys in training, it appears,
Condemn'd to waste their tender years
On exercises, which conduce
To little or no real use,
Seem to perpetuate Britain's doom,
To groan beneath the yoke of Rome.
Rome that abandon'd us in need,
Still o'er our judgment takes the lead;
We scout her eagles with disdain;
The fasces still usurp domain;
Still, of court influence tho' bereft,
In schools the badge of slavery's left,
And interest still, or affectation,
Warps the free spirit of the nation;
Tho' richer prospects grace our view,
Than ever Greek or Roman knew.—
All must be through the classics led,
Before the horn-book well they've read;
A more oppressive task in fact
Than Ægypt's tyrant could exact,
Which genius in the cradle cramps,
And all her generous efforts damps;
But in your native language skill'd,
You on a sure foundation build;
The edifice will rise sublime,
In perfect order, place and time.
Condemn'd to waste their tender years
226
To little or no real use,
Seem to perpetuate Britain's doom,
To groan beneath the yoke of Rome.
Rome that abandon'd us in need,
Still o'er our judgment takes the lead;
We scout her eagles with disdain;
The fasces still usurp domain;
Still, of court influence tho' bereft,
In schools the badge of slavery's left,
And interest still, or affectation,
Warps the free spirit of the nation;
Tho' richer prospects grace our view,
Than ever Greek or Roman knew.—
All must be through the classics led,
Before the horn-book well they've read;
A more oppressive task in fact
Than Ægypt's tyrant could exact,
Which genius in the cradle cramps,
And all her generous efforts damps;
But in your native language skill'd,
You on a sure foundation build;
The edifice will rise sublime,
In perfect order, place and time.
There, and there only should commence
The path to knowlege, wit and sense;
For there the young ingenious mind,
The road to excellence will find,
And in the flowery walks of science,
May bid disgraceful birch defiance;
But who, a novice there, aspires,
Must work his way through thorns and briars,
And when the craggy steeps are past,
May skulk a useless drone at last;
Nay, tho' he get A. B. at College,
Be stopt of his degree in knowlege.
The path to knowlege, wit and sense;
227
The road to excellence will find,
And in the flowery walks of science,
May bid disgraceful birch defiance;
But who, a novice there, aspires,
Must work his way through thorns and briars,
And when the craggy steeps are past,
May skulk a useless drone at last;
Nay, tho' he get A. B. at College,
Be stopt of his degree in knowlege.
Then cultivate your native soil,
The harvest will repay your toil;
And be it every Parent's care,
To plant the seeds of goodness there.
The harvest will repay your toil;
And be it every Parent's care,
To plant the seeds of goodness there.
The petty ambition of pretending to superior skill, in other languages, seems pleasantly and aptly ridiculed in the following anecdote.
One of our modern modishly-bred ladies, boasting of her proficiency in the French tongue, asserted she understood and spoke it better than she did English; and, for the truth, appealed to a French lady in company. The adroit Parisian very candidly and sensibly replied, ‘I am not, my dear madam! sufficiently acquainted with the English to determine; but I should be ashamed and sorry to say, I spoke any language half so well as my own.’
228
JUVENAL'S STATE OF THE LEARNED, SATIRE VII.
ALTERED FROM DRYDEN.
Vexations numberless, thro' every state,
All learned professions, all bright talents wait.
But, Oh! what stock of patience wants the fool,
Who wastes his time and lungs in teaching school?
To hear the babbling of untoward boys,
Conning trite forms, on mischief bent and noise!
Sitting, or standing, still confin'd to roar
In one dull round the same thing o'er and o'er;
Prelecting still, enforcing and expounding;
Their unsusceptive ears still all confounding;
What part of speech, declension, number, case,
Mood, tense, voice, person, government and place?—
Themes to discuss, epistles to indite,
Accounts to shine in, and with grace to write;
The world's extensive volume, old and new,
With Scientific mastery to view;
Historic lore, and chronologic too;
Then to pronounce the various works of wit,
With sound discretion, and with action fit;
All aim at these: but at the quarter-day,
The parent grumbles, and is loath to pay.
‘Pay, Sir! for what? The boy knows nothing more,
‘The six months past, than what he knew before:’—
Taught or untaught, dunces are still the same;
Yet still the master undergoes the blame;
Without exception, though each single boy
In open school his utmost care employ;
Tho' hours on hours, day after day, he has tried
With shame to check, or stimulate with pride;
Encourag'd, threaten'd, reason'd, sooth'd, caress'd,
To rouse the latent spark within his breast,
Defeated and perplex'd, 'till his parch'd tongue
With sheer fatigue has to his palate clung.
The murder'd master cries, would parent's hear
But half the stuff that I am doom'd to bear,
For that revenge I'd quit the whole arrear—
But, if my friendly counsel might be us'd,
In purse and fame egregiously abus'd,
Such barren soil let not the learned try,
But to more grateful occupations fly:
The meanest trade, the spade and pick-ax take,
Rather the sweltering hod your option make.
More to be envied, easier and more sure,
The drudge's dole, who plies from door to door,
Than his, who, counting on his hard-earn'd gains,
Reaps such a sorry harvest for his pains.
Music and dancing lavishly are bought;
Those youth are long and sedulously taught;
But sense and learning deem'd not worth a groat
All learned professions, all bright talents wait.
But, Oh! what stock of patience wants the fool,
Who wastes his time and lungs in teaching school?
To hear the babbling of untoward boys,
Conning trite forms, on mischief bent and noise!
Sitting, or standing, still confin'd to roar
In one dull round the same thing o'er and o'er;
Prelecting still, enforcing and expounding;
Their unsusceptive ears still all confounding;
What part of speech, declension, number, case,
Mood, tense, voice, person, government and place?—
Themes to discuss, epistles to indite,
Accounts to shine in, and with grace to write;
The world's extensive volume, old and new,
With Scientific mastery to view;
Historic lore, and chronologic too;
Then to pronounce the various works of wit,
With sound discretion, and with action fit;
229
The parent grumbles, and is loath to pay.
‘Pay, Sir! for what? The boy knows nothing more,
‘The six months past, than what he knew before:’—
Taught or untaught, dunces are still the same;
Yet still the master undergoes the blame;
Without exception, though each single boy
In open school his utmost care employ;
Tho' hours on hours, day after day, he has tried
With shame to check, or stimulate with pride;
Encourag'd, threaten'd, reason'd, sooth'd, caress'd,
To rouse the latent spark within his breast,
Defeated and perplex'd, 'till his parch'd tongue
With sheer fatigue has to his palate clung.
The murder'd master cries, would parent's hear
But half the stuff that I am doom'd to bear,
For that revenge I'd quit the whole arrear—
But, if my friendly counsel might be us'd,
In purse and fame egregiously abus'd,
Such barren soil let not the learned try,
But to more grateful occupations fly:
The meanest trade, the spade and pick-ax take,
Rather the sweltering hod your option make.
More to be envied, easier and more sure,
The drudge's dole, who plies from door to door,
Than his, who, counting on his hard-earn'd gains,
Reaps such a sorry harvest for his pains.
230
Those youth are long and sedulously taught;
But sense and learning deem'd not worth a groat
Whate'er connects with luxury and show,
Largely our prodigals on that bestow.
Capacious palaces and villas, grac'd
With all the wild extravagance of taste;
Exotics nurs'd with counterfeited sun,
And whole estates to pleasure gardens run;
Coursers of blood, and matchless in the race,
Train'd to the turf, or destin'd to the chace;
Expensive services of curious plate;
Suites of domestics, carriages of state,
And troops of duns announce them wise and great.
But, tho' superb the mansion be or not,
The cook and cellar never are forgot;
And, nought to risk in serious matters, here
Talents and breeding must be made appear:
In scorn of character, of time and health,
The table groans with the parade of wealth;
Here rich and poor, of high and low degree,
Strain all alike, and scorn oeconomy.
Claudius, to fashion and his taste a dupe,
Rags half an ox in a turrene of soup;
But more, if possible, profusion shines
In wild variety of costly wines:
Yet, 'midst this wasteful riot, there accrues
A thrifty pittance for Quintilian's dues;
For, to breed up the heir to common sense,
Is evermore the parents least expence.
‘From whence then, comes Quintilian's vast estate?’
Because he was the darling son of fate;
And, out of mere caprice, luck made him great.
Urge not in precedent one single man,
As rare as a white crow or sable swan;
Some friendly stars exerted all their power,
And smiled propitious on his natal hour;
To them, not merit his success was due;
For fortune never was to merit true;
And they who draw from fortune's ample source,
Are good and wise, and all things else of course:
'Tis she that flings the die; and, as she flings,
Of kings makes pedants, and of pedants, kings.
Largely our prodigals on that bestow.
Capacious palaces and villas, grac'd
With all the wild extravagance of taste;
Exotics nurs'd with counterfeited sun,
And whole estates to pleasure gardens run;
Coursers of blood, and matchless in the race,
Train'd to the turf, or destin'd to the chace;
Expensive services of curious plate;
Suites of domestics, carriages of state,
And troops of duns announce them wise and great.
But, tho' superb the mansion be or not,
The cook and cellar never are forgot;
And, nought to risk in serious matters, here
Talents and breeding must be made appear:
In scorn of character, of time and health,
The table groans with the parade of wealth;
Here rich and poor, of high and low degree,
Strain all alike, and scorn oeconomy.
Claudius, to fashion and his taste a dupe,
Rags half an ox in a turrene of soup;
But more, if possible, profusion shines
In wild variety of costly wines:
231
A thrifty pittance for Quintilian's dues;
For, to breed up the heir to common sense,
Is evermore the parents least expence.
‘From whence then, comes Quintilian's vast estate?’
Because he was the darling son of fate;
And, out of mere caprice, luck made him great.
Urge not in precedent one single man,
As rare as a white crow or sable swan;
Some friendly stars exerted all their power,
And smiled propitious on his natal hour;
To them, not merit his success was due;
For fortune never was to merit true;
And they who draw from fortune's ample source,
Are good and wise, and all things else of course:
'Tis she that flings the die; and, as she flings,
Of kings makes pedants, and of pedants, kings.
Most masters execrate the barren chair;
Like him who hang'd himself through mere despair
And poverty; or him, whom Caius sent,
For liberty of speech, to banishment.
Even Socrates, ungrateful Athens sees
In want, and sentenced by unjust decrees.
Like him who hang'd himself through mere despair
And poverty; or him, whom Caius sent,
For liberty of speech, to banishment.
Even Socrates, ungrateful Athens sees
In want, and sentenced by unjust decrees.
In peace, ye shades of our forefathers! rest;
No heavy earth your sacred bones molest:
Eternal spring, and rising flowers adorn
The relics of each venerable urn,
Who pious reverence their preceptors paid,
As parents honour'd, and as gods obey'd.
Achilles, grown in stature, feared the rod,
And stood corrected at the Centaur's nod;
In useful learning did his years employ,
And promised all the hero in the boy.
No heavy earth your sacred bones molest:
Eternal spring, and rising flowers adorn
The relics of each venerable urn,
232
As parents honour'd, and as gods obey'd.
Achilles, grown in stature, feared the rod,
And stood corrected at the Centaur's nod;
In useful learning did his years employ,
And promised all the hero in the boy.
The scene's much alter'd in our modern schools;
For, blind the parent, every Tony rules;
And masters but mere cyphers prove and tools.
Young Sulky, by his tutor once reprov'd,
Swell'd with revenge, and swore he'd be remov'd;
And, lo! a miracle, to make it good,
A bottle of red ink is turn'd to blood;
He smears his shirt, and Abigail, his friend,
Alarms mama, and so he gains his end;
And every tattling gossip thro' the nation
Brands the fell tyrant's name, and blasts his reputation.
For, blind the parent, every Tony rules;
And masters but mere cyphers prove and tools.
Young Sulky, by his tutor once reprov'd,
Swell'd with revenge, and swore he'd be remov'd;
And, lo! a miracle, to make it good,
A bottle of red ink is turn'd to blood;
He smears his shirt, and Abigail, his friend,
Alarms mama, and so he gains his end;
And every tattling gossip thro' the nation
Brands the fell tyrant's name, and blasts his reputation.
Go ask what fruit Palemon's pains produce,
And how he's paid? Why amply—in abuse:
And, tho' approv'd his care, confess'd his toil,
They hardly claim one supercilious smile:
Some ten days over, or perchance a score,
He's pass'd unnotic'd, and is known no more.
As to his profits, tho' confin'd and bare,
Yet even of those the ushers must have share:
Besides, the rents and servants must be paid;
And thus of little still a less is made.
Yet, in the bargain, every sly device
Is tried, to screw out something of the stated price:
And, after chaffering as with porters, still,
Dear generous souls! they tax the quarter's bill:
If not contented, take your bill away;
Commence your suit, and try the law's delay;
Or, acquiescing to avoid the suit,
They bleed your purse and character to boot.
But who the dues curtail, and thus protract,
Most from the abject pedagogue exact.
‘Be sure you perfect him in grammar rules,
‘And all the best historians read in schools;
‘The authors; every poet to a hair;
‘I, as your own, commit him to your care;
‘Your daily pains, 'beseech you, to employ,
‘To form the future conduct of my boy,
‘And work him, like a waxen babe, with art,
‘To perfect symmetry in every part;
‘His principles and morals strictly guide;
‘Spare no expence, but all his wants provide:
‘He always show'd a generous, docile spirit;
‘Is tender, gentle, and you'll find has merit.
‘Be, Sir! his better parent; and beware
‘No improprieties his health impair.
‘This be your task’—and literally pursu'd,
The great reward is—Black Ingratitude.
And how he's paid? Why amply—in abuse:
And, tho' approv'd his care, confess'd his toil,
They hardly claim one supercilious smile:
Some ten days over, or perchance a score,
He's pass'd unnotic'd, and is known no more.
As to his profits, tho' confin'd and bare,
Yet even of those the ushers must have share:
Besides, the rents and servants must be paid;
And thus of little still a less is made.
233
Is tried, to screw out something of the stated price:
And, after chaffering as with porters, still,
Dear generous souls! they tax the quarter's bill:
If not contented, take your bill away;
Commence your suit, and try the law's delay;
Or, acquiescing to avoid the suit,
They bleed your purse and character to boot.
But who the dues curtail, and thus protract,
Most from the abject pedagogue exact.
‘Be sure you perfect him in grammar rules,
‘And all the best historians read in schools;
‘The authors; every poet to a hair;
‘I, as your own, commit him to your care;
‘Your daily pains, 'beseech you, to employ,
‘To form the future conduct of my boy,
‘And work him, like a waxen babe, with art,
‘To perfect symmetry in every part;
‘His principles and morals strictly guide;
‘Spare no expence, but all his wants provide:
‘He always show'd a generous, docile spirit;
‘Is tender, gentle, and you'll find has merit.
‘Be, Sir! his better parent; and beware
‘No improprieties his health impair.
‘This be your task’—and literally pursu'd,
The great reward is—Black Ingratitude.
234
THE APPLE, AN IMITATION, FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO,
AS PRESERVED BY DIOGENES LAERTIUS, IN HIS THIRD BOOK, FROM WHICH WALLER TOOK THE IDEA OF HIS BEAUTIFUL POEM, GO LOVELY ROSE!
To Delia, thee, Hesperian fruit! I send,Where autumn's hues with vernal colours blend;
A rich return my Delia can impart,
The secret treasures of a virgin heart;
But if no secret treasures thou can'st gain,
And Delia's rose blooms but to give us pain,
Tell her the withering breath of swift decay,
That wastes thy sweets, will waft her bloom away;
Bid her with yielding blushes meet desire,
Nor with untasted charms unblest expire;
Show her how soon thy glowing beauties fade,
And by thy fate instruct the lovely maid.
235
EPIGRAM.
[Cælia, a friend in speculation]
Fructu, non foliis, arborem æstima.
Cælia, a friend in speculation,
Was hurt by some abuse;
She did not want an explanation—
She wanted an excuse!!!
238
SENTIMENTAL ACQUITTANCE;
OR, AN EASY WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS: CONVENIENTLY ADOPTED BY CERTAIN PLAUSIBLE DECLAIMERS, ACCORDING TO A FAVOURITE MORAL MAXIM EXHIBITED IN PRIOR'S EPIGRAM.
I owed to John great obligation;
But John, unhappily, thought fit
To publish it to all the nation;
Sure John and I are more than quit.
But John, unhappily, thought fit
To publish it to all the nation;
Sure John and I are more than quit.
THE ANSWER.
Mat with my purse bought food and raiment;But Mat, my claim to quash,
Tenders a scrap of wit in payment;
I wish it had been cash.
ANOTHER, BY R. N. ESQ.
With gratitude no longer glow,Since friendship's laws I so forget;
Yet sure the equivalent you owe,
Renounce the friend—but pay the debt.
242
THE MERCHANT;
OR, THE RECREANT KNIGHTS DISCOMFITED, A LESSON TO ARROGANCE. AN HEROIC-SERIO-COMIC BALLAD, CONTAINING A FAITHFUL RELATION OF A STRANGE AND TERRIBLE ENCOUNTER BETWEEN NINE GREAT OFFICERS AND A PEACEFUL CITIZEN.
BY AN EYE-WITNESS.
God prosper long our noble king,
Our lives and safeties all!
A woeful skirmish late there did
In Spranger's booth befall.
Our lives and safeties all!
A woeful skirmish late there did
In Spranger's booth befall.
Tho' strange it should be sung or said,
Impeach my lays who can,
How nine dubb'd errants, dight in red,
From one small merchant ran.
Impeach my lays who can,
How nine dubb'd errants, dight in red,
From one small merchant ran.
To lounge the tedious hours they went
At Hexham's mimic fight;
But dearly shall they all repent
The pastime of that night.
At Hexham's mimic fight;
But dearly shall they all repent
The pastime of that night.
234
Alert they to the boxes crowd,
Of gaudy trappings vain,
And look, full crusty, glum and proud,
On little folks disdain.
Of gaudy trappings vain,
And look, full crusty, glum and proud,
On little folks disdain.
They gabble loud, damn all they saw,
And all the house disturb;
For 'gainst ill-breeding there's no law,
And on their tongues no curb.
And all the house disturb;
For 'gainst ill-breeding there's no law,
And on their tongues no curb.
A youth beside them took his place,
Of small account to see,
And, sooth to say, 'twas great disgrace,
He should so near them be.
Of small account to see,
And, sooth to say, 'twas great disgrace,
He should so near them be.
Him first in guarded speech they taunt,
Which courteous he repell'd;
Thence gathering heart they huff and vaunt,
By him with smiles beheld.
Which courteous he repell'd;
Thence gathering heart they huff and vaunt,
By him with smiles beheld.
For prowess high in Plymouth streets
Recorded stands their fame,
And eke their thrice renowned seats,
Dee's frighted shores proclaim.
Recorded stands their fame,
And eke their thrice renowned seats,
Dee's frighted shores proclaim.
244
Nor shall thy meed in Ostmen's-Town,
Slieve-Gorget be forgot,
When George, the hatter, knock'd thee down;
Cork-Hill, the fatal spot.
Slieve-Gorget be forgot,
When George, the hatter, knock'd thee down;
Cork-Hill, the fatal spot.
Presuming like a lordly brave,
Thou didst thy venom spit;
But that could not thy bacon save,
Which might have, taught thee wit.
Thou didst thy venom spit;
But that could not thy bacon save,
Which might have, taught thee wit.
Fitz-Minion too may rue the day
With Volunteer at strife,
Who kick'd and cuff'd him on the quay,
For tampering with his wife.
With Volunteer at strife,
Who kick'd and cuff'd him on the quay,
For tampering with his wife.
The deeds erewhile of their compeers
I could alike unveil;
But now in pity spare their fears;
The time supplies my tale.—
I could alike unveil;
But now in pity spare their fears;
The time supplies my tale.—
The prompter rang, the curtain rose,
The actors plied their parts;
But nothing could content the beaux,
For rancour fill'd their hearts.
The actors plied their parts;
But nothing could content the beaux,
For rancour fill'd their hearts.
245
Eftsoons they heard the beaten drum,
And wonderful to say!
Anon they felt their courage come;
But mischief mark'd its way.
And wonderful to say!
Anon they felt their courage come;
But mischief mark'd its way.
Slieve-Gorget sightly, large and strong,
Belanna's dear delight,
And Cruskeen-borb of froward tongue,
But stomach small for fight:
Belanna's dear delight,
And Cruskeen-borb of froward tongue,
But stomach small for fight:
With seven more, robust and tall,
Train'd warriors from their birth,
Because a stranger to them all,
Conspire to murder Worth.
Train'd warriors from their birth,
Because a stranger to them all,
Conspire to murder Worth.
For Worth was the young merchant's name,
And doubly 'twas his right;
Those recreants prov'd it to their shame,
When they provok'd his might.
And doubly 'twas his right;
Those recreants prov'd it to their shame,
When they provok'd his might.
In vengeful dudgeon forth they stroll'd,
And rak'd the box-room fire,
Lest haply should their wrath catch cold,
Their valour might expire.
And rak'd the box-room fire,
Lest haply should their wrath catch cold,
Their valour might expire.
246
With direful threatenings high in oath,
Each chieftain seiz'd his post,
And, as becomes the martial cloth,
Each seems himself a host.
Each chieftain seiz'd his post,
And, as becomes the martial cloth,
Each seems himself a host.
Away, away, thou reckless 'squire!
Away, devoted groom!
Who dares oppose them in their ire,
Too surely tempts his doom.
Away, devoted groom!
Who dares oppose them in their ire,
Too surely tempts his doom.
Soon Worth appear'd, the hostile crew,
A desperate band, I trow,
With naked swords all at him flew,
Resolv'd to lay him low.
A desperate band, I trow,
With naked swords all at him flew,
Resolv'd to lay him low.
Slieve-Gorget, like a frantic scold
Amidst her brawling crones,
First on his collar laid fast hold,
And swore he'd break his bones.
Amidst her brawling crones,
First on his collar laid fast hold,
And swore he'd break his bones.
To give his stern bravado weight,
He stoutly stamp'd the board,
And in his face he bolted straight
The pummel of his sword.
He stoutly stamp'd the board,
And in his face he bolted straight
The pummel of his sword.
247
This was by concert signal made
The onset to begin,
Which on the instant all obey'd,
And closely hemm'd him in.
The onset to begin,
Which on the instant all obey'd,
And closely hemm'd him in.
Ah! woe is me! there's no resource,
And here thy days must end!
For sure 'gainst such united force,
'Twere bootless to contend.
And here thy days must end!
For sure 'gainst such united force,
'Twere bootless to contend.
With oaken stick, scarce worth a groat,
He kept them all at bay,
And quickly to confusion brought
The authors of the fray.
He kept them all at bay,
And quickly to confusion brought
The authors of the fray.
Slieve-Gorget earn'd a fractur'd head,
In doleful plight was he!
Poor Cruskeen-borb roar'd out, he's dead!
And crouch'd upon his knee.
In doleful plight was he!
Poor Cruskeen-borb roar'd out, he's dead!
And crouch'd upon his knee.
'Twas then his heart string honour pinch'd,
A cord she seldom touch'd;
His trusty whinyard never flinch'd,
And firm the hilt he clutch'd.
A cord she seldom touch'd;
His trusty whinyard never flinch'd,
And firm the hilt he clutch'd.
248
Yield thee, vile caitiff! fierce he cries,
Or this decides thy fate;
Vain hope!—a chop betwixt his eyes
Consign'd him to the grate.
Or this decides thy fate;
Vain hope!—a chop betwixt his eyes
Consign'd him to the grate.
His harder hap I needs must tell,
Ye courtly blades beware!
The ruthless embers on him fell,
And burnt his well-dress'd hair!
Ye courtly blades beware!
The ruthless embers on him fell,
And burnt his well-dress'd hair!
There lies he as presumption should;
Revenge O'Brougus vow'd,
As near his smouldring curls he stood,
Wrapt in a savoury cloud.
Revenge O'Brougus vow'd,
As near his smouldring curls he stood,
Wrapt in a savoury cloud.
Soon He, pot-valiant now no more,
Recoils with streaming snout;
As tho' the bumpers quaff'd before
Deserted that way out.
Recoils with streaming snout;
As tho' the bumpers quaff'd before
Deserted that way out.
Beneath a lady's arm entrench'd,
His colleague tilts a poke;
But from his gripe the cheese-fork wrench'd,
Worth with his sapling broke.
His colleague tilts a poke;
But from his gripe the cheese-fork wrench'd,
Worth with his sapling broke.
249
Behind him one, all blanch'd with fear,
Prepares a mortal thrust;
His left hand timely gain'd his ear,
And fell'd him him to the dust.
Prepares a mortal thrust;
His left hand timely gain'd his ear,
And fell'd him him to the dust.
With brandish'd faulchion, gleaming bright,
Another brav'd the list;
Plumb in the mark, as swift as light,
He darts his manly fist.
Another brav'd the list;
Plumb in the mark, as swift as light,
He darts his manly fist.
Like the chaf'd surge he storms his trunk;
Down dropt the guiltless steel,
And sickening sore, like gin-swill'd punk,
He to and fro did reel.
Down dropt the guiltless steel,
And sickening sore, like gin-swill'd punk,
He to and fro did reel.
On all around, stand or retreat,
He dealt with peerless skill,
And down he laid them at his feet,
Like sacks upon the mill.
He dealt with peerless skill,
And down he laid them at his feet,
Like sacks upon the mill.
O stain to arms! Fitz-Minion then,
Shock'd at the sight, did scream;
Assert your place in beauty's ken,
And your lost fame redeem.
Shock'd at the sight, did scream;
Assert your place in beauty's ken,
And your lost fame redeem.
250
Had Buckingham not quit the land,
Or Westmoreland appear'd,
Accounts against you so to stand,
You must be all cashir'd.
Or Westmoreland appear'd,
Accounts against you so to stand,
You must be all cashir'd.
The words had scarce a passage found
From out his trembling lips,
When Worth, to face him wheeling round,
The musky major trips.
From out his trembling lips,
When Worth, to face him wheeling round,
The musky major trips.
Oh! I am hurt! he piteous cried!
My friends! be witness all!
But what more deeply hurts my pride,
The merchant sees me fall.
My friends! be witness all!
But what more deeply hurts my pride,
The merchant sees me fall.
And many were the lookers on,
Who well his drift could read;
But to redress him ran not one,
For all approv'd the deed.
Who well his drift could read;
But to redress him ran not one,
For all approv'd the deed.
The vanquish'd knights, if 'twould avail
I could by name record;
But that would little grace my tale:
They had their just reward.
I could by name record;
But that would little grace my tale:
They had their just reward.
251
Their foul defeat, of all the corps,
Escap'd there none to tell;
Save one, who sculk'd behind the door,
Discover'd by the smell.
Escap'd there none to tell;
Save one, who sculk'd behind the door,
Discover'd by the smell.
The strife near twenty minutes cost,
Ere Worth got time to breathe,
And now in generous pity lost,
He looks on those beneath.
Ere Worth got time to breathe,
And now in generous pity lost,
He looks on those beneath.
Tho' match'd against such fearful odds,
His life and fame at stake,
To see them like a heap of clods,
His very heart did ake.
His life and fame at stake,
To see them like a heap of clods,
His very heart did ake.
Why would you so, with grief he cried,
Expose a soldier's name?
I almost rather would have died,
Than tarnish you with shame.
Expose a soldier's name?
I almost rather would have died,
Than tarnish you with shame.
The Girls on red-coats wont to doat,
Perceiving how they err'd,
Struck with amazement! chang'd their note,
And Worth, sweet souls! preferr'd.
Perceiving how they err'd,
Struck with amazement! chang'd their note,
And Worth, sweet souls! preferr'd.
252
So home he went with laurels deck'd;
His foes bestrew'd the field:
Thus virtue's sons obtain respect,
And courage is their shield.
His foes bestrew'd the field:
Thus virtue's sons obtain respect,
And courage is their shield.
The Nine, repriev'd for future fate,
'Gainst Worth sneak'd off to swear,
And each display'd his reeking pate,
Which made the justice stare!!!
'Gainst Worth sneak'd off to swear,
And each display'd his reeking pate,
Which made the justice stare!!!
Good lack! good lack! his worship cried,
Thus pride must have a fall!
Can honour be to Worth denied.
That singly fac'd you all?
Thus pride must have a fall!
Can honour be to Worth denied.
That singly fac'd you all?
I'll not distress the brave young man
With warrants, and so forth;
Go home, and do the best you can
To make it up with Worth.
With warrants, and so forth;
Go home, and do the best you can
To make it up with Worth.
God save the King and Justice too,
And let good sense increase,
That dress'd in scarlet, green or blue,
We may see shows in peace.
And let good sense increase,
That dress'd in scarlet, green or blue,
We may see shows in peace.
A fine patronymic termination! which luckily characterises this complicated hero, at once the Ajax and Thersites of the poem; it means in English, fierce.
This singular circumstance, however extraordinary, is a fact, modestly omitted by Mr. Worth in his narrative prefixed, and with equal modesty and reserve he touches upon other particulars, detailed in this ballad as they really happened. He was next morning apprized of their application to the justice, and by advice of his friends, as a matter of self-defence, tendered his examinations, which were admitted, and the affair is at the present writing sub judice. —The matter has been since determined in the Court of King's Bench, with exemplary damages in favour of Worth.
254
EPIGRAM.
[Cynthia, this morning clasp'd her friend]
Cavete, Amici!
Cynthia, this morning clasp'd her friend,
A chosen, tried and true one;
But see how Cynthia's friendships end;
To night she sports a new one!
DEFENCE.
In nova fert animus.------
—Ovid.
—Ovid.
Why are you with poor Cynthia vex'd?
In spite of art and fashion,
Is she not constant to her text?
Variety's her passion.
262
MY OWN EPITAPH.
Born premature, such the all-wise decreeLoud shriek'd the storm, and mountains ran the sea;—
Ah! what, sweet Voyager! in that dreadful hour,
Avail'd thy blooming youth; thy beauty's pow'r
She died!—her breast with double anguish torn,
And, her sole care, I first drew breath forlorn.
Her nurse, when female aid was most requir'd,
Faithful to death, kiss'd, bless'd her and expir'd;
The stout ship braved the elemental strife,
And the good crew preserv'd my little life.
Lerpool receiv'd and foster'd me a while,—
Call'd, thrice repuls'd, thence to Hibernia's isle,
With letter'd aid she taught me ills to bear,
And long, not unesteem'd, I sojourn'd there.
Erewhile the state was of my Sire bereft,
And I, hard fate! a helpless orphan left:
Nor, as if mark'd for persecution's spite,
Did one parental smile e'er cheer my sight.
My arms two Sons and one dear Daughter bless'd;
Heaven be their refuge!—here at last I rest.
Faults too I had, and failings not a few;
But yet a heart, I trust, humane and true:
If more the curious reader ask to know,
The final Sentence all in all will show.
JAMQUE OPUS EXEGI.—
| A collection of poems on various subjects | |