 | The Candidates for the Bays |  |
1
THE CANDIDATES FOR THE BAYS.
A POEM.
Britannia
long since was the Muses Retreat,
As rich in her Commerce, in Learning as great:
Her Bards wrote divine, divine was their Praise,
Ben Johnson was worthily crown'd with the Bays.
As rich in her Commerce, in Learning as great:
Her Bards wrote divine, divine was their Praise,
Ben Johnson was worthily crown'd with the Bays.
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Tom Thumb and such Stuff alone tickle this Age,
Church Canons are few to the Rules of the Stage;
For in suiting the Plot to the Players good Grace,
They banish the Sense for Time, Action and Place.
Church Canons are few to the Rules of the Stage;
For in suiting the Plot to the Players good Grace,
They banish the Sense for Time, Action and Place.
Mayn't T---, D---, and C--- be said
T' have murder'd poor Shakespear, tho' long ago dead;
His Stile is in Fetters, his Sense in a Chain,
His Lines are dismember'd, his Heroes are slain:
While H---y of Bantam, and Doodle's respected,
Othello and Hamlet are wholly neglected.
The Laurel, that from antique Chaucer to Rowe
Had never been plac'd on a Scribler's dull Brow,
But gracefully on the Deserver's Head sat,
Whose Lines were majestick, whose Numbers were sweet,
Was given to E---, whilst P---, S--- and G---
Are kept by Sir R--- from Favour or Bay.
The last has been silenc'd for singing Lampoon,
Where he meant to expose but the Vice of the Town:
So the S--- we find can deter the Bard's Flight,
And only Tom Cunn-y permitted to write.
T' have murder'd poor Shakespear, tho' long ago dead;
His Stile is in Fetters, his Sense in a Chain,
His Lines are dismember'd, his Heroes are slain:
While H---y of Bantam, and Doodle's respected,
Othello and Hamlet are wholly neglected.
The Laurel, that from antique Chaucer to Rowe
Had never been plac'd on a Scribler's dull Brow,
But gracefully on the Deserver's Head sat,
Whose Lines were majestick, whose Numbers were sweet,
Was given to E---, whilst P---, S--- and G---
Are kept by Sir R--- from Favour or Bay.
The last has been silenc'd for singing Lampoon,
Where he meant to expose but the Vice of the Town:
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And only Tom Cunn-y permitted to write.
Now E--- is dead, and at distance the Bays
Is hung, for dull Block-heads and Scriblers to gaze,
Not one of 'em views it, but talks how he's read,
And swears it would gracefully look on his Head:
While Contentions are made betwixt Men of great Note,
And ev'ry one boasts how deserving h'as wrote,
From Garret, from Plowing, from Westminster-Hall,
From Taylors and Cordwainers Houses of Call;
Some come from the Court, and from Billinsgate some,
And others from Taverns and Alehouses come;
Such thrusting, such squeazing, such pushing is there,
While the Bays, like Jack Pudding at Barthol'mew Fair,
Is all they can wonder at, all they can see,
And Master of that is the most they can be:
Ev'ry one here gives a Bob to his Friend,
And bustles and jostles to serve his own End:
For would not a Man, with such Honours in View,
Bid Friends and the Title of Friendship adieu.
Is hung, for dull Block-heads and Scriblers to gaze,
Not one of 'em views it, but talks how he's read,
And swears it would gracefully look on his Head:
While Contentions are made betwixt Men of great Note,
And ev'ry one boasts how deserving h'as wrote,
From Garret, from Plowing, from Westminster-Hall,
From Taylors and Cordwainers Houses of Call;
Some come from the Court, and from Billinsgate some,
And others from Taverns and Alehouses come;
Such thrusting, such squeazing, such pushing is there,
While the Bays, like Jack Pudding at Barthol'mew Fair,
Is all they can wonder at, all they can see,
And Master of that is the most they can be:
Ev'ry one here gives a Bob to his Friend,
And bustles and jostles to serve his own End:
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Bid Friends and the Title of Friendship adieu.
The first from the County of
Wilts, with a Flail,
Competitors by Word and Blow to assail;
He brags how from nothing he nothing has done,
Yet been made much at Court, and the Talk of the Town.
Competitors by Word and Blow to assail;
He brags how from nothing he nothing has done,
Yet been made much at Court, and the Talk of the Town.
Next C--- appears, with an impudent Face,
Takes Snuff, and—“Gad demme—I'm fit for the Place,
For my Pastoral, join'd to my sweet Marrow-bone,
Has more than the Thresher or Shunamite done:
So bravely the Clowns give each other the Lye;
'Tis brave, and 'tis florid, 'tis good—let me die.
Philautus so wittily talks to the Fair,
Such Songs too he sings, with so pleasing an Air,
The best of Tom D'Urfey—can't with 'em compare.
In playing the Villain I've acted indeed,
My Pen has made murdering Richard to bleed;
I've ta'en out his Beauties—'tis flat—and 'tis dull;
I've shown him less Knave—and myself more a Fool.”
Takes Snuff, and—“Gad demme—I'm fit for the Place,
For my Pastoral, join'd to my sweet Marrow-bone,
Has more than the Thresher or Shunamite done:
So bravely the Clowns give each other the Lye;
'Tis brave, and 'tis florid, 'tis good—let me die.
Philautus so wittily talks to the Fair,
Such Songs too he sings, with so pleasing an Air,
The best of Tom D'Urfey—can't with 'em compare.
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My Pen has made murdering Richard to bleed;
I've ta'en out his Beauties—'tis flat—and 'tis dull;
I've shown him less Knave—and myself more a Fool.”
Next Harlequin L---, with a Mask and a Dance,
And a Horn-Puffer, newly come over from France;
He says, by Grimace and a Caper he shews
More Sense than all C---'s Heroicks or Prose:
That Foppington, Fashion, and plunder'd Tartuffe,
Xemena, or Cæsar, or any such Stuff,
His Wronghead, his Cimon, can none of 'em cope
With Harlequin ty'd by the Neck in a Rope:
'Tis a fine Patchwork Jacket alone that is witty;
'Tis a Dance of dumb Devils has ravish'd the City;
Affording sage Lawyers Diversion and Sport,
And goes down with nice palated Ladies at Court:
His Judgment is deep, as by
Silvia appears,
There's finest of Language, and florider Airs!
He laughs at the brazen Corinthian—poor Rogue!
His three dancing Cats yield to one singing Dog.
Therefore by dumb Motion, he wittily says,
That he is the only Man worthy the Bays.
And a Horn-Puffer, newly come over from France;
He says, by Grimace and a Caper he shews
More Sense than all C---'s Heroicks or Prose:
That Foppington, Fashion, and plunder'd Tartuffe,
Xemena, or Cæsar, or any such Stuff,
His Wronghead, his Cimon, can none of 'em cope
With Harlequin ty'd by the Neck in a Rope:
'Tis a fine Patchwork Jacket alone that is witty;
'Tis a Dance of dumb Devils has ravish'd the City;
Affording sage Lawyers Diversion and Sport,
And goes down with nice palated Ladies at Court:
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There's finest of Language, and florider Airs!
He laughs at the brazen Corinthian—poor Rogue!
His three dancing Cats yield to one singing Dog.
Therefore by dumb Motion, he wittily says,
That he is the only Man worthy the Bays.
Then
he that has pleas'd the fag End of the Town,
And made G---d with Damsels of Rag-Fair go down;
That St. Giles and St. Mary's has made his Resort,
In the midst of the Mob, by a Grant from the Court;
And like Thespis, the first that e'er follow'd his Trade,
Of a Dung-Cart a Stage and a Playhouse has made:
No Distinction he makes 'twixt December and June,
And sings both the Cobler and King in a Tune.
By's Patron and Smuglers, and such wretched Stuff,
Thinks he for the Place has wrote Nonsense enough.
And made G---d with Damsels of Rag-Fair go down;
That St. Giles and St. Mary's has made his Resort,
In the midst of the Mob, by a Grant from the Court;
And like Thespis, the first that e'er follow'd his Trade,
Of a Dung-Cart a Stage and a Playhouse has made:
No Distinction he makes 'twixt December and June,
And sings both the Cobler and King in a Tune.
By's Patron and Smuglers, and such wretched Stuff,
Thinks he for the Place has wrote Nonsense enough.
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Grave Roger, who weekly with Caleb disputes,
And thinks his Conundrums the C---n confutes;
That proves Roguery Honest, and constantly tries
(While he stiles himself C***r) to countenance Vice
Commending the Courtiers, whatever they do,
Has now this gay Garland the Bays in his View:
Then D' Anvers look to't, if the Laurel he gains,
He'll write you such Letters shall worry your rains!
Such Maxims so deep, and such sound Politicks!
Not Billy S--- Hands, nor his Counsellors Nick's,
Not all the Assistance, that ever they've got,
Of fam'd Philo-Patria, Rawleigh or Trot,
Will be able to answer what Manly will put.
And thinks his Conundrums the C---n confutes;
That proves Roguery Honest, and constantly tries
(While he stiles himself C***r) to countenance Vice
Commending the Courtiers, whatever they do,
Has now this gay Garland the Bays in his View:
Then D' Anvers look to't, if the Laurel he gains,
He'll write you such Letters shall worry your rains!
Such Maxims so deep, and such sound Politicks!
Not Billy S--- Hands, nor his Counsellors Nick's,
Not all the Assistance, that ever they've got,
Of fam'd Philo-Patria, Rawleigh or Trot,
Will be able to answer what Manly will put.
The next is N*** W****, as famously known
For pleasing with Verse, as with Liquor the Town;
If his Poetry's rough, he can bring it in play;
What sticks in the Stomach when Ale smooths the Way?
No Int'rest has he, but the Pipe and the Pot;
But Drunkards can compass the Devil knows what:
Then if his weak Merit at Writing should fail,
He'll finish his Work by the Strength of his Ale
Therefore the City is humbly to strive
The Bays may be given to keep him alive:
If by Chance he should fail, 'tis said my L**** M****
Will take him into his Protection and Care
To make Panegyricks on him and his Beer.
For pleasing with Verse, as with Liquor the Town;
If his Poetry's rough, he can bring it in play;
What sticks in the Stomach when Ale smooths the Way?
No Int'rest has he, but the Pipe and the Pot;
But Drunkards can compass the Devil knows what:
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He'll finish his Work by the Strength of his Ale
Therefore the City is humbly to strive
The Bays may be given to keep him alive:
If by Chance he should fail, 'tis said my L**** M****
Will take him into his Protection and Care
To make Panegyricks on him and his Beer.
Next
L*** who was heretofore of the Law,
(But Apollo found in his Proceedings a Flaw)
His Error appear'd, for he jump'd like a Fool,
From a dull Attorney t'a Poet more dull:
He set up a Pharoh-Bank; that was put down;
But still he resolv'd he would shark on the Town,
And vend Poems and Plays that were none of his own.
He has father'd on Shakespear, and Shakespear's has father'd;
From the Watch-Maker's Play all the Profits he gather'd.
In casting Accounts once he blotted his Page,
And had weekly Allowance for sweeping the Stage:
But now wanting Money, and scanty of Praise,
Has Hopes that his Labour'll be crown'd with the Bays.
(But Apollo found in his Proceedings a Flaw)
His Error appear'd, for he jump'd like a Fool,
From a dull Attorney t'a Poet more dull:
He set up a Pharoh-Bank; that was put down;
But still he resolv'd he would shark on the Town,
And vend Poems and Plays that were none of his own.
He has father'd on Shakespear, and Shakespear's has father'd;
From the Watch-Maker's Play all the Profits he gather'd.
In casting Accounts once he blotted his Page,
And had weekly Allowance for sweeping the Stage:
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Has Hopes that his Labour'll be crown'd with the Bays.
The
yearly Play-Writer, of Buttons the best,
(Or in his Conceit he excells all the rest)
Commending his Namesake's known Wit to the Town,
Believ'd his own Writings would better go down:
For the Poem's ill hap he the Author does scoff,
But Gay in his turn has a reason to laugh:
His Polly has got what his Townly has lost:
And how can the Village or Chamber-Maid boast;
Unable to drudge, he's for changing his Road
From an annual Play to an annual Ode.
(Or in his Conceit he excells all the rest)
Commending his Namesake's known Wit to the Town,
Believ'd his own Writings would better go down:
For the Poem's ill hap he the Author does scoff,
But Gay in his turn has a reason to laugh:
His Polly has got what his Townly has lost:
And how can the Village or Chamber-Maid boast;
Unable to drudge, he's for changing his Road
From an annual Play to an annual Ode.
Bedaub'd o'er with Snuff, and as drunk as a Drum,
And mad as a March Hare Beau F--- does come;
He staggers, and swears he will never submit
To Correction of Friends, or the Censure of Pit;
He says what is flat shall for ever be so,
Who tells him a Fault he esteems as a Foe;
He begs that Apollo'll his Labours compleat,
And give him the Bays, or the Wearer's Estate:
He instances each little Thing he has wrote,
And makes a new Item of every Thought;
Commending himself as he passes along,
From R--- upon R--- to Belinda a Song:
He vamps upon wretched heroick Bombast,
And sings the Success that attended the last:
He'll shew both himself and Assistants are no Wits,
By valiant T*** T**** and his Battle of Poets:
He steals all his Beauties when they're in their Fulness,
As by Luckless appears, and the Goddess of Dulness.
And mad as a March Hare Beau F--- does come;
He staggers, and swears he will never submit
To Correction of Friends, or the Censure of Pit;
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Who tells him a Fault he esteems as a Foe;
He begs that Apollo'll his Labours compleat,
And give him the Bays, or the Wearer's Estate:
He instances each little Thing he has wrote,
And makes a new Item of every Thought;
Commending himself as he passes along,
From R--- upon R--- to Belinda a Song:
He vamps upon wretched heroick Bombast,
And sings the Success that attended the last:
He'll shew both himself and Assistants are no Wits,
By valiant T*** T**** and his Battle of Poets:
He steals all his Beauties when they're in their Fulness,
As by Luckless appears, and the Goddess of Dulness.
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Next Ralpho appears, and of
Liberty writes,
Or dully describes the Dulness of Nights:
He answers P***'s Rhymes in blank Verse or Prose,
As a Bully returns windy Words for hard Blows:
His Lyrick Performance so sweetly is sung,
So smoothly the Numbers run over the Tongue;
He prays for its Sake, that the rest may be past,
And the next New-year's Ode shall be worse than the last.
Or dully describes the Dulness of Nights:
He answers P***'s Rhymes in blank Verse or Prose,
As a Bully returns windy Words for hard Blows:
His Lyrick Performance so sweetly is sung,
So smoothly the Numbers run over the Tongue;
He prays for its Sake, that the rest may be past,
And the next New-year's Ode shall be worse than the last.
B*** M***** comes next, with a break and a
Ha***,
And luckily gain'd Four-third Nights for a Play,
'Gainst regal Authority rails,—yet the Thing
Has with Impudence laid at the Feet of the King.
He too has great Hopes, as h'as such a Wit,
To fill (at the price of the Boxes)—the Pit:
The Bays will be happily plac'd on his Head,
So the Author may live, since Timophanes' dead.
And luckily gain'd Four-third Nights for a Play,
'Gainst regal Authority rails,—yet the Thing
Has with Impudence laid at the Feet of the King.
He too has great Hopes, as h'as such a Wit,
To fill (at the price of the Boxes)—the Pit:
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So the Author may live, since Timophanes' dead.
Next O**** comes, who a long time before,
The Bays or at least he the Name of it wore;
H' was putting down Opera, Farce, Play and Ball:
But hap'd in his Pantomine Triumph to fall.
He hopes in good earnest, this Tempter the Bays
Will justly be said the Reward of his Lays.
The Bays or at least he the Name of it wore;
H' was putting down Opera, Farce, Play and Ball:
But hap'd in his Pantomine Triumph to fall.
He hopes in good earnest, this Tempter the Bays
Will justly be said the Reward of his Lays.
And lastly J*** D***, who never could write,
But bark like a Cur, and unable to bite;
He'd cavil with this, and would find fault with that,
And when Authors are dead, say their Writings are flat;
Sent Bombs to the Heart of each Poem or Play;
He lash'd ev'ry Author that fell in his Way:
He too at poor Shakespear has drawn forth his Pen;
He has marr'd, and endeavour'd to make him again;
'Till the Town have in Coriolanus been bit,
And stil'd him a Blockhead for spoiling a Wit:
But now he must yield to the Weight of his Age,
Unable to help, or to hinder the Stage:
He'll promise to lay aside Malice and Spleen,
For tho' his Head's grey; it may yet wear the green.
But bark like a Cur, and unable to bite;
He'd cavil with this, and would find fault with that,
And when Authors are dead, say their Writings are flat;
Sent Bombs to the Heart of each Poem or Play;
He lash'd ev'ry Author that fell in his Way:
He too at poor Shakespear has drawn forth his Pen;
He has marr'd, and endeavour'd to make him again;
'Till the Town have in Coriolanus been bit,
And stil'd him a Blockhead for spoiling a Wit:
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Unable to help, or to hinder the Stage:
He'll promise to lay aside Malice and Spleen,
For tho' his Head's grey; it may yet wear the green.
Thus T*****, C****, and O***, and R***,
The one thinks to please, and the other bewitch;
And D***** and M*****, and J***** and W****
Must be put in for Laureat, or think their Case hard:
O****, R***, and S*** D*** claims
The Honour to light upon each of their Names:
But not for their Merit; 'tis Int'rest must guide,
Or the Title would go from each of 'em wide:
Yet they have Deservings—we'll give 'em their Praise,
They are worthy of Birth, but unworthy the Bays.
The one thinks to please, and the other bewitch;
And D***** and M*****, and J***** and W****
Must be put in for Laureat, or think their Case hard:
O****, R***, and S*** D*** claims
The Honour to light upon each of their Names:
But not for their Merit; 'tis Int'rest must guide,
Or the Title would go from each of 'em wide:
Yet they have Deservings—we'll give 'em their Praise,
They are worthy of Birth, but unworthy the Bays.
FINIS.
Joseph Frederick Creta blew two French Horns at once, before his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.
A Friend of the Author's offering the Cobler of Preston made into an Opera to O---, he rejected it, producing an Opera of his own Writing, called the Patron; he told the young Author, that Songs should be wrote in such a Stile, whether sung by Prince or Peasant—for that was indeed Poetry.
The D--- F--- said to be wrote by Shakespear, but no more his, than that spurious Piece of stuff call'd Heroick Friendship is Mr. Otway's.
C--- J--- fam'd for writing a Play once a Year; his Brains being at the lowest Ebb last Season, produced nothing but the V--- O--- by the Name of the C---.
Vain Belinda are your Wiles, a favourite Air in the Temple Beau, but none of the best, for a Simile between a delicate Belle and a Ruffian Bully can never be coherent.
Said to be assisted by several Hands in his Dramatick Performances, as a Scene from this, and a Scene from that Person of Quality, which he introduces as he thinks fit: How true it is we leave our Readers to judge, but will say this, his Plays seem Pieces of Sense and Nonsense, like Harlequin's Patch-work Jacket sow'd together.
Vide Author's Farce, the Scene between Luckless and his Landlady, pirated from L*** in a B*****, and the Goddess of Nonsense from the Goddess Duln'ss in the D---.
| The Candidates for the Bays | |