The Blunderful Blunder of Blunders Being an Answer to the Wonderful Wonder of Wonders. To which is added, A Prologue to Hyppolitus, spoken by a Boy of Six Years Old. By Dr. Sw*ft. Also Mr. Sheridan's Prologue, to the Greek Play of Phaedra and Hyppolitus; design'd to have been Spoken by a Boy of Six Years Old. The Second Edition [by Thomas Sheridan] |
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 | The Blunderful Blunder of Blunders |  |
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PROLOGUE TO Hyppolitus,
Spoken by a Boy of Six Years Old.
Ye Sons of Athens, Grant me one Request,
And I'll requite You with a pleasing Jest,
Protect me from my Masters cruel Rod,
Hide me, O hide me, from the Tyrant's Nod!
He Pen'd a Prologue which to me was shown,
I lik'd it not, and told him 'twould not Down,
He said it Humour had; and Wit enough,
But to my Thinking it was Scurvy Stuff,
Howe'er he made me get it all by Heart,
And thus Instructed me to Play my Part.
And I'll requite You with a pleasing Jest,
Protect me from my Masters cruel Rod,
Hide me, O hide me, from the Tyrant's Nod!
He Pen'd a Prologue which to me was shown,
I lik'd it not, and told him 'twould not Down,
He said it Humour had; and Wit enough,
But to my Thinking it was Scurvy Stuff,
Howe'er he made me get it all by Heart,
And thus Instructed me to Play my Part.
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“Dear Tommy, Child, Repeat the whole with Care
“Here you must raise your Voice, but sink it there,
“Then in due Order take your play Things up,
“Now whip your Gigg, now spin your Castle, Top,
‘Then take in hand your Virgil and your Kite,
“Throw Virgil on the Ground, set that to Flight,
“Then Speak these Lines, I'm sure they'll give delight.
“Here you must raise your Voice, but sink it there,
“Then in due Order take your play Things up,
“Now whip your Gigg, now spin your Castle, Top,
‘Then take in hand your Virgil and your Kite,
“Throw Virgil on the Ground, set that to Flight,
“Then Speak these Lines, I'm sure they'll give delight.
Thus he desir'd me to Speak and Act,
Believe me Sirs, what I relate is Fact;
And now he waits, expecting I should say,
That trifling Prologue to this serious Play,
But I must beg in that to be excus'd,
I would not have his Audience so abus'd;
Such Entertarnment is not fit for Men,
'Till they have reach'd their Childish Age again,
Not like that Reverend Sage, in whom appears,
New Force of Reason in advanced Years;
O could I Celebrate with equal Parts,
That Patron of Religion and of Arts:
The Stay of Right, the Church's chief Support,
His Country's Champion and her last Resort.
Believe me Sirs, what I relate is Fact;
And now he waits, expecting I should say,
That trifling Prologue to this serious Play,
But I must beg in that to be excus'd,
I would not have his Audience so abus'd;
Such Entertarnment is not fit for Men,
'Till they have reach'd their Childish Age again,
Not like that Reverend Sage, in whom appears,
New Force of Reason in advanced Years;
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That Patron of Religion and of Arts:
The Stay of Right, the Church's chief Support,
His Country's Champion and her last Resort.
But I forbear, and now I must provide,
For my own Safety, for I fear I've try'd,
My Master's Patience, and his Anger mov'd,
In speaking what he ne'er wou'd have approv'd,
I know my Danger but I can't repent,
For being Steady to a good Intent.
For my own Safety, for I fear I've try'd,
My Master's Patience, and his Anger mov'd,
In speaking what he ne'er wou'd have approv'd,
I know my Danger but I can't repent,
For being Steady to a good Intent.
Thus firmly did Hyppolitus pursue
The slipp'ry Paths of Virtue tho' he knew,
His Ruin thence would certainly ensue.
Since our Conditions are so near the same,
They both alike your kind Compassion claim;
Grant your Protection then, ye Sons of Wit,
To poor Hyppolitus, and poor Tom Tit.
The slipp'ry Paths of Virtue tho' he knew,
His Ruin thence would certainly ensue.
Since our Conditions are so near the same,
They both alike your kind Compassion claim;
Grant your Protection then, ye Sons of Wit,
To poor Hyppolitus, and poor Tom Tit.
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Mr. SHERIDAN's PROLOGUE,
To the Greek Play of Phædra and Hyppolitus;
design'd to have been Spoke by a Boy of Six Years Old.
Under the Notion of a Play you see
We're fairly coax'd to Act a Tragedy.
Lord! How can any Man of Reason say,
That so much Labour should be call'd a Play?
Should any one be so absurd a Fool,
I'd be the first would kick him out of School:
For I am sure it cost Us aking Hearts,
And aking Heads — before we got our Parts.
Not all the Learning of the Year behind,
Laid half so great a Stress upon our Mind.
As for my Part, I wish our School was burn'd,
And all our Books were into Ashes turn'd.
Greek after Greek, Book after Book, no doubt
Will wear our strongest Constitutions out.
My Mother told me in these Words last Night,
“Dear Tommy, Child, Books will destroy you quite;
“That you should read at all, I'm very loath;
“My Life, my Dear, I fear they'll spoil your Growth.
And she says right, they cost me so much Pains,
I wish ten thousand times I had no Brains,
Nor had a Breech to whip; why then I'd Play,
But not in Greek, I'd find a better way.
Now Gentlemen, 'tis worth your while to look,
You see this Gigg I have—You see this Book,
The Gigg can spin, and frisk and hop and toult,
The Book's a lazy, sluggish, heavy Doult.
See how much Life is in this bouncing Ball,
Now Smoak the Book, it cannot bounce at all.
This Top, I carry to Play Mug and Gloss,
This Bone, I have it to Play Pitch and Toss.
But this is neither fit for Gloss or Mug,
A Lifeless Drone, it is a perfect Slugg;
I swear, the very Sight on't makes me Sick;
I'm sure it is a cursed Bone to pick.
Next Figure I present you, is my Kite,
Had any Poet e'er so fine a Flight?
See how it skims and soars along the Sky,
Come Friend Euripides; lets see you Fly,
Down, down he comes, — in vain aloft he springs,
A perfect lifeless Batt with Leathern Wings.
Behold my Bag of Marbles; — here's a Treasure!
A World of Joy! a World of real Pleasure!
What is this Poet good for? Come lets see,
O yes, 'tis Good — to put beneath my Knee.
We're fairly coax'd to Act a Tragedy.
Lord! How can any Man of Reason say,
That so much Labour should be call'd a Play?
Should any one be so absurd a Fool,
I'd be the first would kick him out of School:
For I am sure it cost Us aking Hearts,
And aking Heads — before we got our Parts.
Not all the Learning of the Year behind,
Laid half so great a Stress upon our Mind.
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And all our Books were into Ashes turn'd.
Greek after Greek, Book after Book, no doubt
Will wear our strongest Constitutions out.
My Mother told me in these Words last Night,
“Dear Tommy, Child, Books will destroy you quite;
“That you should read at all, I'm very loath;
“My Life, my Dear, I fear they'll spoil your Growth.
And she says right, they cost me so much Pains,
I wish ten thousand times I had no Brains,
Nor had a Breech to whip; why then I'd Play,
But not in Greek, I'd find a better way.
Now Gentlemen, 'tis worth your while to look,
You see this Gigg I have—You see this Book,
The Gigg can spin, and frisk and hop and toult,
The Book's a lazy, sluggish, heavy Doult.
See how much Life is in this bouncing Ball,
Now Smoak the Book, it cannot bounce at all.
This Top, I carry to Play Mug and Gloss,
This Bone, I have it to Play Pitch and Toss.
But this is neither fit for Gloss or Mug,
A Lifeless Drone, it is a perfect Slugg;
I swear, the very Sight on't makes me Sick;
I'm sure it is a cursed Bone to pick.
Next Figure I present you, is my Kite,
Had any Poet e'er so fine a Flight?
See how it skims and soars along the Sky,
Come Friend Euripides; lets see you Fly,
20
A perfect lifeless Batt with Leathern Wings.
Behold my Bag of Marbles; — here's a Treasure!
A World of Joy! a World of real Pleasure!
What is this Poet good for? Come lets see,
O yes, 'tis Good — to put beneath my Knee.
While thus I Play regardless of all Care,
And wisely act within my proper Sphere;
O! could I thus in Happiness and Ease,
Pass the remainder of my well spent Days,
Secure from Birch, regardless of its Pain,
I'd never, never see a Book again;
Rather than ever Play a Play in Greek,
Grant us, ye Fates, to play at Hide and Seek.
And wisely act within my proper Sphere;
O! could I thus in Happiness and Ease,
Pass the remainder of my well spent Days,
Secure from Birch, regardless of its Pain,
I'd never, never see a Book again;
Rather than ever Play a Play in Greek,
Grant us, ye Fates, to play at Hide and Seek.
FINIS.
| The Blunderful Blunder of Blunders | |