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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EPILOGUE SPOKEN BY MRS. GARDINER, AFTER THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH,
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 | A collection of poems on various subjects |  |
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?
| A collection of poems on various subjects | |