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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 | A collection of poems on various subjects |  |
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;
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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.
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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.
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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;
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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,
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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.
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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—
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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;
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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.
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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.—
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—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!
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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;
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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—
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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;
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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.
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