 | Poems |  |
Mr. EDWIN.
See Edwin come forth with a confident air,
As the high priest of Momus, and spoiler of Care;
The dryness of Weston, and Shuter's droll whim,
By Nature were blended, and center'd in him:
Hark! the theatre rings, as the wight makes his entry,
For such men are not born above once in a cent'ry;
Like a watery tabby he sports with his fame,
Which oft changes hue, tho' the texture's the same.
If he errs now and then, and his faults meet detection,
It but proves that the best are not heirs of perfection.
To debauch Common Sense he takes many a shape,
But we laugh at the crime as a comical rape.
If at Reason's expence he attracts some applause,
Yet his blushes denote he's asham'd of the cause!
If he sometimes should wound the best props of the stage,
'Tis to tickle the lungs of a dissolute age;
But his name is a tower of strength that defies
All the storms which engender in critical skies;
For the interests of Comedy follow his beck,
And the Haymarket Theatre hangs round his neck.
As the high priest of Momus, and spoiler of Care;
The dryness of Weston, and Shuter's droll whim,
By Nature were blended, and center'd in him:
Hark! the theatre rings, as the wight makes his entry,
For such men are not born above once in a cent'ry;
Like a watery tabby he sports with his fame,
Which oft changes hue, tho' the texture's the same.
If he errs now and then, and his faults meet detection,
It but proves that the best are not heirs of perfection.
145
But we laugh at the crime as a comical rape.
If at Reason's expence he attracts some applause,
Yet his blushes denote he's asham'd of the cause!
If he sometimes should wound the best props of the stage,
'Tis to tickle the lungs of a dissolute age;
But his name is a tower of strength that defies
All the storms which engender in critical skies;
For the interests of Comedy follow his beck,
And the Haymarket Theatre hangs round his neck.
When he first shone in Midas the world was amaz'd,
Admiration pursu'd him, and Excellence gaz'd:
His rival comedians awak'd to explore,
And marvel at graces they ne'er saw before.
His Cambrio Sir Hugh is a true comic test,
Who, like Richard Hill, turns his pray'r to a jest;
With ditties and puns he holds Thought in detention,
With the magic of Mirth charms the public attention:
With nonsense in verse can elate and delight 'em,
And gives them variety ad infinitum:
Burlettas in future, when pregnant with whim,
The bard shall, with pride, dedicate but to him;
As the God of festivity, foe of Despair,
The beacon of Joy, and assassin of Care.
Admiration pursu'd him, and Excellence gaz'd:
His rival comedians awak'd to explore,
And marvel at graces they ne'er saw before.
His Cambrio Sir Hugh is a true comic test,
Who, like Richard Hill, turns his pray'r to a jest;
With ditties and puns he holds Thought in detention,
With the magic of Mirth charms the public attention:
With nonsense in verse can elate and delight 'em,
And gives them variety ad infinitum:
Burlettas in future, when pregnant with whim,
The bard shall, with pride, dedicate but to him;
146
The beacon of Joy, and assassin of Care.
The irregular movements that mark all his trials
To sing, just resemble the fam'd Seven Dials;
Tho' by various paths the blythe minstrel will enter,
He trips on to Truth which is plac'd in the center;
And none feel alarm'd lest he's out of his way,
As they know where he'll rest at the end of his lay:
Like the mountains of Mourne, though abrupt and alarming,
Their wild inequalities make them more charming.
Tho' he steers near the wind, in a literal sense,
He ne'er lets the helm touch the rocks of offence:
When Decency's drawing her lineaments down,
His wit charms her will, ere they sink to a frown.
Philosophy smiles at his well-manner'd joke,
And Wisdom applauds the exuberant stroke;
To the force of his muscles, and strength of his name,
O'Keefe is in debt for his pence and his fame!
Like chemical liquids creating a pother,
They beautify, strengthen, and brighten each other;
If diminish'd apart, when their bodies are blended,
Their value is seen, and their virtues are mended;
And a colour's produc'd by the well-temper'd union,
Which deludes, while it charms, like the paste at communion!
To sing, just resemble the fam'd Seven Dials;
Tho' by various paths the blythe minstrel will enter,
He trips on to Truth which is plac'd in the center;
And none feel alarm'd lest he's out of his way,
As they know where he'll rest at the end of his lay:
Like the mountains of Mourne, though abrupt and alarming,
Their wild inequalities make them more charming.
Tho' he steers near the wind, in a literal sense,
He ne'er lets the helm touch the rocks of offence:
When Decency's drawing her lineaments down,
His wit charms her will, ere they sink to a frown.
Philosophy smiles at his well-manner'd joke,
And Wisdom applauds the exuberant stroke;
To the force of his muscles, and strength of his name,
O'Keefe is in debt for his pence and his fame!
Like chemical liquids creating a pother,
They beautify, strengthen, and brighten each other;
147
Their value is seen, and their virtues are mended;
And a colour's produc'd by the well-temper'd union,
Which deludes, while it charms, like the paste at communion!
O'Keefe is a mortal who lives to o'erthrow
The threat'ning pile of each critical foe;
Like the Anthropophagi in each varied season,
He fattens, he seeds, on the bowels of Reason;
In terrible ruin she bleeds 'neath his knife,
A prey to his works, and abridg'd of her life;
By effect as they call it, by whim, and by pun,
Are our senses debauch'd, and, the drama undone:
Like the wond'rous asbestos his toils we admire,
Whose labours surmount e'en the critical fire:
As the furnace the fossil-fraught drapery whitens,
So public contempt his capacity brightens:
But Harris's pence keep his follies in tune,
And Colman protects the unletter'd buffoon.
He pilfers in cellars the food of his raillery,
And gives the coarse tune to the Gods in the Gallery;
Who, roaring, exhibit their hoarse approbation,
And shield the base bard from the stings of damnation.
The threat'ning pile of each critical foe;
Like the Anthropophagi in each varied season,
He fattens, he seeds, on the bowels of Reason;
In terrible ruin she bleeds 'neath his knife,
A prey to his works, and abridg'd of her life;
By effect as they call it, by whim, and by pun,
Are our senses debauch'd, and, the drama undone:
Like the wond'rous asbestos his toils we admire,
Whose labours surmount e'en the critical fire:
As the furnace the fossil-fraught drapery whitens,
So public contempt his capacity brightens:
But Harris's pence keep his follies in tune,
And Colman protects the unletter'd buffoon.
He pilfers in cellars the food of his raillery,
And gives the coarse tune to the Gods in the Gallery;
148
And shield the base bard from the stings of damnation.
| Poems | |