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] |
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OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF JANE SHORE,
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 | A collection of poems on various subjects |  |
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;
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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.
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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!
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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,
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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.
| A collection of poems on various subjects | |