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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| [PIECES FOR THE] THEATRE-ROYAL, CROW-STREET. |
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 | A collection of poems on various subjects |  |
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.
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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.
| A collection of poems on various subjects | |