 | Poems, Fables, and Plays |  |
24
ODE TO GARRICK,
UPON The Talk of the Town.
When I said I would die a batchelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.
Much Ado about Nothing.
Much Ado about Nothing.
I
No, no; the left-hand box, in blue;There! don't you see her?—See her! Who?
Nay, hang me if I tell.
There's Garrick in the music-box!
Watch but his eyes; see there!—O, pox!
Your servant, Ma'moiselle!
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II
But tell me, David, is it true?Lord help us! what will some folks do?
How will they curse this stranger!
What! fairly taken in for life!
A sober, serious, wedded wife!
O fie upon you, Ranger!
III
The clergy too have join'd the chat;“A papist—Has he thought of that?
“Or means he to convert her?”
Troth, boy, unless your zeal be stout,
The nymph may turn Your faith about,
By arguments experter.
IV
The ladies, pale and out of breath,Wild as the witches in Macbeth,
Ask if the deed be done?
O, David! listen to my lay!
I'll prophecy the things they'll say;
For tongues, you know, will run.
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V
“And pray, what other news d'ye hear?“Marry'd!—But don't you think, my dear,
“He's growing out of fashion?
“People may fancy what they will,
“But Quin's the only actor still,
“To touch the tender passion.
VI
“Nay, madam, did you mind, last night,“His Archer? Not a line on't right!
“I thought I heard some hisses.
“Good God! if Billy Mills, thought I,
“Or Billy Havard would but try,
“They'd beat him all to pieces.
VII
“'Twas prudent though to drop his Bayes—“And (entre nous) the Laureat says,
“He hopes he'll give up Richard.
“But then, it tickles me to see,
“In Hastings, such a shrimp as he
“Attempt to ravish Pritchard.
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VIII
“The fellow pleas'd me well enough“In—what d'ye call it? Hoadley's stuff;
“There's something there like nature:
“Just so, in life, he runs about,
“Plays at bo-peep, now in, now out,
“But hurts no mortal creature.
IX
“And then there's Belmont to be sure—“O ho! my gentle Neddy Moore!
“How does my good lord mayor?
“And have you left Cheapside, my dear?
“And will you write again next year,
“To shew your fav'rite player?
X
“But Merope, we own, is fine,“Eumenes charms in every line;
“How prettily he vapours!
“So gay his dress, so young his look,
“One would have sworn 'twas Mr. Cook,
“Or Mathews, cutting capers.”
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XI
Thus, David, will the ladies flout,And councils hold at every rout,
To alter all your plays;
Yates shall be Benedict next year,
Macklin be Richard, Taswell Lear,
And Kitty Clive be Bayes.
XII
Two parts they readily allowAre yours; but not one more, they vow;
And thus they close their spite:
You will be Sir John Brute, they say,
A very Sir John Brute all day,
And Fribble all the night.
XIII
But tell me, fair ones, is it so?You all did love him once, we know;
What then provokes your gall?
Forbear to rail—I'll tell you why;
Quarrels may come, or madam die,
And then there's hope for all.
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XIV
And now a word or two remains,Sweet Davy, and I close my strains;
Think well ere you engage;
Vapours and ague-fits may come,
And matrimonial claims at home,
Un-nerve you for the stage.
XV
But if you find your spirits right,Your mind at ease, and body tight,
Take her; you can't do better:
A pox upon the tattling town!
The fops that join to cry her down
Would give their ears to get her.
XVI
Then if her heart be good and kind,(And sure that face bespeaks a mind
As soft as woman's can be)
You'll grow as constant as a dove,
And taste the purer sweets of love,
Unvisited by Ranby.
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