The Histrionade Or, Theatric Tribunal; A Poem, Descriptive of the Principal Performers at Both Houses. In Two Parts. By Marmaduke Myrtle [i.e. Thomas Dermody] |
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| 1. | PART THE FIRST. |
| 2. |
 | The Histrionade |  |
1. PART THE FIRST.
Now that gaunt War, in pity to our Isle,
Sleeks his grim features to a sullen smile,
Sweet Peace, unscar'd by his terrific crest,
Clasps the dread Dæmon to her turtle-breast,
Hangs his dark helmet on the myrtle-bough,
And binds with olive-wreath his blood-stain'd brow;
While barren Peter pries abroad in vain,
For heroes, worthy his Pindaric strain,
Stoop'd from a lofty Lousiad, and a King,
To Rumford, and Receipts for Rotten Ling;
Or, fatal to each fond, uxorious Peer,
Thunders Crim. Con. in Auckland's frighted ear;
Cloy'd with the beauties of Dramatic Art,
That poorly feed the eye, but feast the heart,
When a vain Age seems emulous to raise
The dry Moralities of former days;
When o'er Instruction chaste, and Thought sublime,
Flits the gay Sprite of airy Pantomime;
Nay, basely exil'd from their native shore,
Strong Sense, and pow'rful Shakespeare please no more;
Stung by such madness into tenfold rage,
I rise to lash the mongrels of the Stage;
With scale impartial, to decide the plea
Of plaintiff Wit, and set the Suff'rer free.
Nor yet to Actors is the fault confin'd,
It clings more closely to the scribbling kind;
Dull fops! damnation-proof, whom duns compel,
To forge stale farces, ere they learn to spell;
Blockheads! with brandy and assurance warm,
Who “'bide the pelting of the pitiless storm,”
Resolv'd to cram their nauseous doses down,
And bully into praise, the crop-sick Town.
Tho' Dramatists we boast, inspir'd by spleen,
Who pick the vilest gleanings of the Scene,
Or sketch the eccentric fashions as they rise:
They never vaunt the plaudit of the wise.
Who gives to Comedy's high-favor'd birth
“Right stately moral, and full honest mirth!”
Who holds such finish'd Characters to view,
As surly Ben, or sprightly Beaumont drew?
Since, with the German tragic-fever fir'd,
Chaste Humour from her Sheridan retir'd.
Mistaken bard! ungratefully, to scorn
The dimpled bride, for thy embraces born;
Unfeelingly, to slight her genuine flame,
And court the coyness of the tearful dame.
Ev'n He, who from Panama's rocky height,
Brav'd the wild tempest, and the flaming fight;
Ev'n He—Pizarro!—shall no more surprize,
Nor Rolla's thund'ring rant, or savage size,
When Scandal's School, with fadeless conquest crown'd,
Shall eccho Joy's eternal laugh around.
Sleeks his grim features to a sullen smile,
Sweet Peace, unscar'd by his terrific crest,
Clasps the dread Dæmon to her turtle-breast,
Hangs his dark helmet on the myrtle-bough,
And binds with olive-wreath his blood-stain'd brow;
While barren Peter pries abroad in vain,
For heroes, worthy his Pindaric strain,
Stoop'd from a lofty Lousiad, and a King,
To Rumford, and Receipts for Rotten Ling;
Or, fatal to each fond, uxorious Peer,
Thunders Crim. Con. in Auckland's frighted ear;
10
That poorly feed the eye, but feast the heart,
When a vain Age seems emulous to raise
The dry Moralities of former days;
When o'er Instruction chaste, and Thought sublime,
Flits the gay Sprite of airy Pantomime;
Nay, basely exil'd from their native shore,
Strong Sense, and pow'rful Shakespeare please no more;
Stung by such madness into tenfold rage,
I rise to lash the mongrels of the Stage;
With scale impartial, to decide the plea
Of plaintiff Wit, and set the Suff'rer free.
Nor yet to Actors is the fault confin'd,
It clings more closely to the scribbling kind;
Dull fops! damnation-proof, whom duns compel,
To forge stale farces, ere they learn to spell;
Blockheads! with brandy and assurance warm,
Who “'bide the pelting of the pitiless storm,”
Resolv'd to cram their nauseous doses down,
And bully into praise, the crop-sick Town.
Tho' Dramatists we boast, inspir'd by spleen,
Who pick the vilest gleanings of the Scene,
Or sketch the eccentric fashions as they rise:
They never vaunt the plaudit of the wise.
11
“Right stately moral, and full honest mirth!”
Who holds such finish'd Characters to view,
As surly Ben, or sprightly Beaumont drew?
Since, with the German tragic-fever fir'd,
Chaste Humour from her Sheridan retir'd.
Mistaken bard! ungratefully, to scorn
The dimpled bride, for thy embraces born;
Unfeelingly, to slight her genuine flame,
And court the coyness of the tearful dame.
Ev'n He, who from Panama's rocky height,
Brav'd the wild tempest, and the flaming fight;
Ev'n He—Pizarro!—shall no more surprize,
Nor Rolla's thund'ring rant, or savage size,
When Scandal's School, with fadeless conquest crown'd,
Shall eccho Joy's eternal laugh around.
Ye Thespian tribes! where-ever you resort,
Sunk in a Cellar, cringing at a Court;
Whether, thro' garret-roofs, your nostrils wooe
The pleasurable breeze soft murm'ring thro';
Or, more delighted with a meaner state,
The smoaking Chop adorn your genial plate;
Tho' Juliet thro' the Park may, ogling, stray,
With “fond, reluctant, amorous delay;”
While fair Ophelia, what a monstrous sin!
Soothes her sad heart with solitary Gin;
Tho' Desdemona's wine, the cunning punk!
Instead of Cassio, made Iago drunk;
Tho' Pierre, whom prowling Creditors enclose,
“Fine, bold-fac'd villain!” durst not shew his nose;
Tho' mad Macbeth the furly watchmen keep,
To answer at Queen's Square for “murd'ring sleep;”
Tho' Brutus can't a pair of breeches boast;
And Gertrude grills a griskin for the Ghost;
Nay, tho' a Writ Young Ammon may detain,
And four stout Bailiffs seize the pensive Dane;
By this well-feather'd talisman of mine,
Pluck'd from the pinion of a Goose divine;
By the dread Weekly Censor, name of fear!
Ye Thespian tribes! I charge you to appear!
And, as your forms in quick succession pass,
Let Fancy catch each shadow in her Glass.
Sunk in a Cellar, cringing at a Court;
Whether, thro' garret-roofs, your nostrils wooe
The pleasurable breeze soft murm'ring thro';
Or, more delighted with a meaner state,
The smoaking Chop adorn your genial plate;
12
With “fond, reluctant, amorous delay;”
While fair Ophelia, what a monstrous sin!
Soothes her sad heart with solitary Gin;
Tho' Desdemona's wine, the cunning punk!
Instead of Cassio, made Iago drunk;
Tho' Pierre, whom prowling Creditors enclose,
“Fine, bold-fac'd villain!” durst not shew his nose;
Tho' mad Macbeth the furly watchmen keep,
To answer at Queen's Square for “murd'ring sleep;”
Tho' Brutus can't a pair of breeches boast;
And Gertrude grills a griskin for the Ghost;
Nay, tho' a Writ Young Ammon may detain,
And four stout Bailiffs seize the pensive Dane;
By this well-feather'd talisman of mine,
Pluck'd from the pinion of a Goose divine;
By the dread Weekly Censor, name of fear!
Ye Thespian tribes! I charge you to appear!
And, as your forms in quick succession pass,
Let Fancy catch each shadow in her Glass.
First of the band, applauded Kemble moves,
Whom Judgment regulates, and taste approves;
While at respectful distance rivals bow,
Deep meditation marks his serious brow,
Till firm intent, and resolution high,
Anon, relume his awe-commanding eye.
On ev'ry step of his superior state,
The sober triumphs of Conception wait;
And partial Nature lends each lib'ral grace
Of manly form, and mind-illumin'd face.
Ah! had she, too, these pow'rful tones supplied,
That pierce the heart, and o'er the ear preside,
Attune the plaint of Love, or swell the burst of Pride;
Nor, niggard in this mighty gift alone,
Spar'd but a hollow, hoarse, sepulchral groan;
By art unmellow'd, and by trick untam'd,
Pitied by Candour, tho' by Envy blam'd:
Well might this later Time expect to view
Roscius, reviving, witch the world anew;
Nor ask a Dancer, or an Eunuch's aid,
By the sweet sorcery of Action sway'd.
Who that has seen his Hamlet's well-feign'd woe,
Disclosing “that within which passeth shew;”
Who that has caught his agonizing stare,
Of dread uncertainty, on Banquo's chair;
Or ev'n Penruddock's undetermin'd hate,
Touch'd by his villain-friend's too piteous fate,
But owns, all puny prejudice aside,
Impartial Justice, only, is my guide?
Whom Judgment regulates, and taste approves;
While at respectful distance rivals bow,
Deep meditation marks his serious brow,
13
Anon, relume his awe-commanding eye.
On ev'ry step of his superior state,
The sober triumphs of Conception wait;
And partial Nature lends each lib'ral grace
Of manly form, and mind-illumin'd face.
Ah! had she, too, these pow'rful tones supplied,
That pierce the heart, and o'er the ear preside,
Attune the plaint of Love, or swell the burst of Pride;
Nor, niggard in this mighty gift alone,
Spar'd but a hollow, hoarse, sepulchral groan;
By art unmellow'd, and by trick untam'd,
Pitied by Candour, tho' by Envy blam'd:
Well might this later Time expect to view
Roscius, reviving, witch the world anew;
Nor ask a Dancer, or an Eunuch's aid,
By the sweet sorcery of Action sway'd.
Who that has seen his Hamlet's well-feign'd woe,
Disclosing “that within which passeth shew;”
Who that has caught his agonizing stare,
Of dread uncertainty, on Banquo's chair;
Or ev'n Penruddock's undetermin'd hate,
Touch'd by his villain-friend's too piteous fate,
But owns, all puny prejudice aside,
Impartial Justice, only, is my guide?
14
Prepost'rous joke! a ranting Mandarine!
Oh! for some spruce Drill-serjeant, to prepare
That ploughboy-attitude, and awkward air;
To one fix'd point, those pendulums to bring,
And ascertain each arm's perpetual swing.
Yet let not censure, too severely, treat
Talents, that might be graceful, never great.
Voice is not wanting—true!—for empty sound,
I freely own, a kettle-drum's renown'd;
But where my pulse should beat with fancied fears,
My heart with feeling flow, my eyes with tears,
Where Terror's icy chill should blanch my cheek,
Or the hot blush of rude Resentment break,
Milk-warm, and model'd on a milder plan,
By Heav'n—that Barrymore is not the man.
Justly a fav'rite, would he stoop to trace
The line that parts gay Humour from Grimace;
In merit various, pleasing various ways,
Droll Jack, I swear, might weary all my praise,
15
To gross buffoon'ry, and a Gall'ry-fame;
But when, in matchless Feignwell, he denies
All scenic truth, and glories in disguise;
When ev'ry masque, with ease, his features wear,
Modishly pert, or formally austere;
Perfection crowns each project he designs,
Unknown he triumphs, and conceal'd he shines.
To Genius, in defiance of decay.
Need King be nam'd? need my weak voice declare,
With feeble eulogy, th' accomplish'd Play'r?
While Ogleby attracts the critic-eye,
(Tho' Benedick and Puff, already, die,)
Need Sorrow antedate th' approaching doom,
And lead Thalia to her future tomb?
Wit's vet'ran chief! how many a smiling hour,
Has Anguish borrow'd from thy sprightly pow'r!
What sad hearts did thy laugh, resistless, raise!
What Rapture worship'd thy meridian blaze!
Thy merits still to Mem'ry's glance appear,
And grey Tradition holds the bright Idea dear.
16
Of full sonorous voice, and lofty form,
That voice, too, sometimes, swell'd into a storm;
Yet boldly anxious Nature to redeem,
And bring old-fashion'd Sense into esteem;
Raymond, if scan'd by Stricture's sternest laws,
Tho' wonder be supprest, must force applause.
Not seldom have I mark'd his utmost art,
Impatient, struggling thro' a meaner part,
Where Emulation pent, would, vainly, strive
To keep some puling modern piece alive;
And the laborious load of dulness shook
The lion-nerves of Kemble, or of Cooke.
Hence, I affirm, his energy of mind,
By arbitrary Custom unconfin'd,
Superior might in Southerne's Hero shine,
Or burst from Zanga, with a beam divine.
Nor whining drawl, nor ranting turbulence,
He suffers to o'erleap Decorum's fence;
And spite of critic-curs, a snarling race!
Who join to want of judgement, want of grace;
Skill'd to repress, and regulate his rage,
I vouch him no small Credit to the Stage.
That voice, too, sometimes, swell'd into a storm;
Yet boldly anxious Nature to redeem,
And bring old-fashion'd Sense into esteem;
Raymond, if scan'd by Stricture's sternest laws,
Tho' wonder be supprest, must force applause.
Not seldom have I mark'd his utmost art,
Impatient, struggling thro' a meaner part,
Where Emulation pent, would, vainly, strive
To keep some puling modern piece alive;
And the laborious load of dulness shook
The lion-nerves of Kemble, or of Cooke.
Hence, I affirm, his energy of mind,
By arbitrary Custom unconfin'd,
Superior might in Southerne's Hero shine,
Or burst from Zanga, with a beam divine.
Nor whining drawl, nor ranting turbulence,
He suffers to o'erleap Decorum's fence;
And spite of critic-curs, a snarling race!
Who join to want of judgement, want of grace;
Skill'd to repress, and regulate his rage,
I vouch him no small Credit to the Stage.
17
Would I, presumptuous, point the fairest road,
And hint where talent might be best bestow'd;
Bidding the Lords of all Theatric fame,
“Blush thro' the veil of Night a whitely shame;”
Some, who but fill the scene, should dare to look
Beyond a tongue-tied Lord, or walking Duke;
Rise into notice, a due rank maintain,
Nor Feeling think of Garrick and Delane.
And hint where talent might be best bestow'd;
Bidding the Lords of all Theatric fame,
“Blush thro' the veil of Night a whitely shame;”
Some, who but fill the scene, should dare to look
Beyond a tongue-tied Lord, or walking Duke;
Rise into notice, a due rank maintain,
Nor Feeling think of Garrick and Delane.
Were I dispos'd, in laughter-loving plight,
To shake, convulsive, with the boastful Knight,
Palmer shall Falstaff's bolster'd bulk supply,
And Humour revel in his jovial eye;
For well with shambling gait, and jocund jeer,
He counterfeits the Friar's holy leer;
Nor, when the Coxcomb-birth of Cibber's brain,
Vaunts of imperial beauties in his train,
Tho', often, into shade his worth be thrown,
Is less the merit of the Actor known.
To shake, convulsive, with the boastful Knight,
Palmer shall Falstaff's bolster'd bulk supply,
And Humour revel in his jovial eye;
For well with shambling gait, and jocund jeer,
He counterfeits the Friar's holy leer;
Nor, when the Coxcomb-birth of Cibber's brain,
Vaunts of imperial beauties in his train,
Tho', often, into shade his worth be thrown,
Is less the merit of the Actor known.
Much has boon Nature, in her merriest mood,
On Suett, too improvident, bestow'd;
Much of spontaneous mirth, enough to raise
Ten passing Play'rs of our degen'rate days;
But such unlucky trick his taste belies,
Such vulgar daubs each finer stroke disguise,
Were Patience to decide, with critic phlegm,
Too much we scarce could flatter, or condemn.
On Suett, too improvident, bestow'd;
Much of spontaneous mirth, enough to raise
Ten passing Play'rs of our degen'rate days;
But such unlucky trick his taste belies,
Such vulgar daubs each finer stroke disguise,
18
Too much we scarce could flatter, or condemn.
If figure, model'd to a lady's eye,
With not a little pride, can skill supply,
The Younger Kemble claims undoubted praise;
And his hoarse accents soften as we gaze.
In suited characters he may succeed,
His brother's miniature, but small, indeed;
Tho' ne'er shall he the rugged height attain
Of Great and Perfect, ever scal'd with pain.
With not a little pride, can skill supply,
The Younger Kemble claims undoubted praise;
And his hoarse accents soften as we gaze.
In suited characters he may succeed,
His brother's miniature, but small, indeed;
Tho' ne'er shall he the rugged height attain
Of Great and Perfect, ever scal'd with pain.
When matchless Tom, thro' sacred love of ease,
Or warn'd by ruthless age, neglects to please;
His comic cast, so difficult to fill,
Downton may seize with no ungraceful skill;
The testy Cynic, he may freely claim,
And the sly jibe of shrewdest Satire aim;
With contrite grief, the wayward fashions mark,
And, sulky, at the painted shadows bark.
But tho' he toil, precise in ev'ry feature,
Ne'er to “o'erstep the modesty of Nature,”
'Tis meet, attention gently to awake,
That he, sometimes, the slumb'ring audience shake
With all those vivid touches, that impart
Conviction best, and best impress the heart.
Or warn'd by ruthless age, neglects to please;
His comic cast, so difficult to fill,
Downton may seize with no ungraceful skill;
The testy Cynic, he may freely claim,
And the sly jibe of shrewdest Satire aim;
With contrite grief, the wayward fashions mark,
And, sulky, at the painted shadows bark.
But tho' he toil, precise in ev'ry feature,
Ne'er to “o'erstep the modesty of Nature,”
'Tis meet, attention gently to awake,
That he, sometimes, the slumb'ring audience shake
With all those vivid touches, that impart
Conviction best, and best impress the heart.
19
“Let me have music, see that it be sad!”
For now, methinks, our world is music-mad:
And lo! with warbling flutes, deaf-dinning drums,
And deep Bassoons, the King of Crotchets comes!
Ordain'd divinest Opera to restore,
And plant Italian sing-song on our shore.
How sleek his essenc'd locks! his face how fair!
Apollo's symmetry! Adonis' air!
And while the tremulating accents rise,
Oh! how devoutly doat his beauteous eyes!
How sweet from Box to Box, they, fondly, pass,
Before, more fondly, tutor'd at his Glass!
Yet (glad to hear a varlet that can speak,)
Er'e I'd attend to his harmonious squeak;
Or, in dull concert to his quavers nod,
I'd be “as dark as Erebus,” by G---.
Pity! soft Latium had not kept the boy,
Doom'd, here, so many damsels to destroy;
For, certes, he would deck that dainty coast,
And Signior Kelly be the fav'rite toast.
For now, methinks, our world is music-mad:
And lo! with warbling flutes, deaf-dinning drums,
And deep Bassoons, the King of Crotchets comes!
Ordain'd divinest Opera to restore,
And plant Italian sing-song on our shore.
How sleek his essenc'd locks! his face how fair!
Apollo's symmetry! Adonis' air!
And while the tremulating accents rise,
Oh! how devoutly doat his beauteous eyes!
How sweet from Box to Box, they, fondly, pass,
Before, more fondly, tutor'd at his Glass!
Yet (glad to hear a varlet that can speak,)
Er'e I'd attend to his harmonious squeak;
Or, in dull concert to his quavers nod,
I'd be “as dark as Erebus,” by G---.
Pity! soft Latium had not kept the boy,
Doom'd, here, so many damsels to destroy;
For, certes, he would deck that dainty coast,
And Signior Kelly be the fav'rite toast.
Another too, to Harmony devote:
And, really, all his fortune's in—his throat,
For, once, ambitious to forsake the man,
A poor, tame Monster! he play'd Caliban.
Ah! Sedgwick, how could'st thou have steel'd thy heart,
Transform'd to such a brutal, beastly part?
Such an amphibious Pest, of filthiest hue,
Bedlam's worst charcoal painter never drew.
Wond'rous! Old Will did not in wrath descend,
From thy bare back the shaggy garment rend,
In muddy Thames thy vile ambition cool,
And what before was Savage, prove—a Fool.
And, really, all his fortune's in—his throat,
For, once, ambitious to forsake the man,
A poor, tame Monster! he play'd Caliban.
20
Transform'd to such a brutal, beastly part?
Such an amphibious Pest, of filthiest hue,
Bedlam's worst charcoal painter never drew.
Wond'rous! Old Will did not in wrath descend,
From thy bare back the shaggy garment rend,
In muddy Thames thy vile ambition cool,
And what before was Savage, prove—a Fool.
Methinks I know his strut:—upon my soul,
That Caulfield's an inimitable Droll!
That Caulfield's an inimitable Droll!
Blest with a gracious form, tho' not, I fear,
The faultless rival of The Belvidere;
(Fine managerial flatt'ry! meant to force
From modest lips, a compliment of course,)
Holland, I swear, shall not in silence part,
Who can condemn the language of his heart?
His timid tongue, his manly sense belies,
But Candour traces Worth thro' all disguise.
The faultless rival of The Belvidere;
(Fine managerial flatt'ry! meant to force
From modest lips, a compliment of course,)
Holland, I swear, shall not in silence part,
Who can condemn the language of his heart?
His timid tongue, his manly sense belies,
But Candour traces Worth thro' all disguise.
21
Must I to Wroughton Merit's palm deny?
Older and abler far have past him by.
Nor hasty I, to censure or condemn,
Intrinsic lustre best betrays the Gem.
And such my kindness, tho' I'm cruel thought,
For one bright virtue, I'd forgive a fault;
Nay, such my Charity's sublime excess,
That mere Desert, in it's most homely dress,
Sincerer rev'rence from my pen may call,
Than pealing claps that threat old Drury's fall.
Older and abler far have past him by.
Nor hasty I, to censure or condemn,
Intrinsic lustre best betrays the Gem.
And such my kindness, tho' I'm cruel thought,
For one bright virtue, I'd forgive a fault;
Nay, such my Charity's sublime excess,
That mere Desert, in it's most homely dress,
Sincerer rev'rence from my pen may call,
Than pealing claps that threat old Drury's fall.
Hence, I confess, my antiquated taste,
Affects the natural, correct, and chaste;
Hence, I am charm'd with Powel's decent ease,
Whose simple strokes of Humour gently please;
To no gigantic heights they, rashly, strain;
Nor do his lab'ring pow'rs delight, to pain;
But, unseduced by Mimicry's mad wiles,
The conscious dignity of Reason smiles.
Affects the natural, correct, and chaste;
Hence, I am charm'd with Powel's decent ease,
Whose simple strokes of Humour gently please;
To no gigantic heights they, rashly, strain;
Nor do his lab'ring pow'rs delight, to pain;
But, unseduced by Mimicry's mad wiles,
The conscious dignity of Reason smiles.
Of staid demeanour, and commanding port,
As form'd to grace the circle of a Court;
Of form right studious, and austere by rule,
Aickin, tho' bred in Acting's elder School,
With charm refin'd, the classic bosom sways,
Nor ever from his text, luxuriant, strays.
No wanton sallies mar his strict design,
Nor dares he deviate in one sacred line;
Ev'n in this point alone true taste appears,
And Satire shall not press his weight of years.
As form'd to grace the circle of a Court;
Of form right studious, and austere by rule,
Aickin, tho' bred in Acting's elder School,
With charm refin'd, the classic bosom sways,
Nor ever from his text, luxuriant, strays.
22
Nor dares he deviate in one sacred line;
Ev'n in this point alone true taste appears,
And Satire shall not press his weight of years.
Waldron and Packer, next, approach my shrine;
Full zealous both, but not allow'd to shine.
Gravely reflecting on youth's brighter day,
They “keep the noiseless tenor of their way;”
Too humble, to extort the gen'ral cry,
Yet all attention to escape, too high,
Fix'd to one Post by necessary fate,
The good, old, useful Members of the State.
Full zealous both, but not allow'd to shine.
Gravely reflecting on youth's brighter day,
They “keep the noiseless tenor of their way;”
Too humble, to extort the gen'ral cry,
Yet all attention to escape, too high,
Fix'd to one Post by necessary fate,
The good, old, useful Members of the State.
Now aid me, Shade of Stentor! with thy lungs,
Thy lungs bell-metal, and ten iron tongues;
To wedge, in couplets close, the num'rous crew,
Phalanx profound! who rush upon my view!
For B---n's self, unwearied bard! would fail
To number Evans, Fisher, Chippendale,
Maddox and Danby, and some twenty more;
Like waves, thick-crowding on the sandy shore.
Safe let them sleep, reliev'd from doubt or dread,
Nor fear the tempest howling o'er their head.
Thy lungs bell-metal, and ten iron tongues;
To wedge, in couplets close, the num'rous crew,
Phalanx profound! who rush upon my view!
For B---n's self, unwearied bard! would fail
To number Evans, Fisher, Chippendale,
Maddox and Danby, and some twenty more;
Like waves, thick-crowding on the sandy shore.
Safe let them sleep, reliev'd from doubt or dread,
Nor fear the tempest howling o'er their head.
23
Well-pleas'd, to female Candidates I turn,
With purer flame whose tender bosoms burn;
Those tender bosoms I shall never vex,
Devoted to the service of the Sex.
What! steal a humid pearl from Beauty's eye?
Start from Love's rosy lip th' ambrosial sigh?
Or, with barbarian insolence, profane
Those snowy orbs, incapable of stain?
First, let young Israelites with pork be fed;
The Bellman wear the laurel on his head;
The National Arrears be paid by pence;
Dibdin write tragedy, or Dutton sense!
Yet tell me, fair ones! with indignant pride,
Why, sometimes, do you jerk the cheek aside,
When a rough Hero wooes, of humbler race,
As if he'd squirt tobacco in your face?
Say, up the stage, why, oft, do you retire,
To bid the Pitt your radiant backs admire?
Quite careless of your Suitor's sad distress,
While he, poor fellow! sighs to the P.S.
Yes, it has griev'd my soul, indeed, to view
Your curst ill-usage of young Mountague;
When you no more remark'd his moans so deep,
Than if exhal'd from drunken Chimney-sweep.
I own, to mind, Miss Juliet's manners brought
The sage, old Saw of “Better fed than taught.”
Further rebuke your fav'rite must not add,
Yet this, I say, is, certainly, too bad;
And ev'n sore-stung with twitches of the Gout,
Politeness bids you hear his story out.
With purer flame whose tender bosoms burn;
Those tender bosoms I shall never vex,
Devoted to the service of the Sex.
What! steal a humid pearl from Beauty's eye?
Start from Love's rosy lip th' ambrosial sigh?
Or, with barbarian insolence, profane
Those snowy orbs, incapable of stain?
First, let young Israelites with pork be fed;
The Bellman wear the laurel on his head;
The National Arrears be paid by pence;
Dibdin write tragedy, or Dutton sense!
Yet tell me, fair ones! with indignant pride,
Why, sometimes, do you jerk the cheek aside,
When a rough Hero wooes, of humbler race,
As if he'd squirt tobacco in your face?
Say, up the stage, why, oft, do you retire,
To bid the Pitt your radiant backs admire?
Quite careless of your Suitor's sad distress,
While he, poor fellow! sighs to the P.S.
Yes, it has griev'd my soul, indeed, to view
Your curst ill-usage of young Mountague;
When you no more remark'd his moans so deep,
Than if exhal'd from drunken Chimney-sweep.
I own, to mind, Miss Juliet's manners brought
The sage, old Saw of “Better fed than taught.”
24
Yet this, I say, is, certainly, too bad;
And ev'n sore-stung with twitches of the Gout,
Politeness bids you hear his story out.
See Siddons, foremost of the train advance!
Kindling all breasts with keen, electric glance.
Consummate Actress! She, an host alone,
For each attraction eminently known!
While proud t'assert her sov'reignty of soul,
The Passions own her absolute control.
Spurn'd from Ingratitude's detested door,
What fancy can depict her fainting Shore”
When the sad Mother sees no Pow'r to save
From Death's cold clasp, “her Beautiful, her Brave;”
When Isabella pours her helpless moan,
And, frantic, finds “Two husbands, yet not one;”
Or, plung'd into the darkness of Despair,
On the “damn'd Spot” her leaden eye-balls glare;
What heart, so harden'd into flint, forbears
From shudd'ring sympathy? what eye from tears?
That sympathy, these tears, confirm her skill,
The Mind's wide Empire wielded by her will.
Kindling all breasts with keen, electric glance.
Consummate Actress! She, an host alone,
For each attraction eminently known!
While proud t'assert her sov'reignty of soul,
The Passions own her absolute control.
Spurn'd from Ingratitude's detested door,
What fancy can depict her fainting Shore”
When the sad Mother sees no Pow'r to save
From Death's cold clasp, “her Beautiful, her Brave;”
When Isabella pours her helpless moan,
And, frantic, finds “Two husbands, yet not one;”
Or, plung'd into the darkness of Despair,
On the “damn'd Spot” her leaden eye-balls glare;
What heart, so harden'd into flint, forbears
From shudd'ring sympathy? what eye from tears?
That sympathy, these tears, confirm her skill,
The Mind's wide Empire wielded by her will.
Grey-bearded Gravity, and Stoic Pride,
With all your musty maxims, stand aside!
When sunny gleams of Transport gild the stage,
And Jordan animates a stupid Age.
Oh! born in ev'ry station to excell,
And charm, alike, in Viola or Nell!
Wild Grace attends each leer or airy trip,
And Nonsense 'self comes sweeten'd from her lip.
Witness the fluent folly, long in vogue,
Of smooth Address, and grinning Epilogue;
Which, ever guiltless of Wit's deadly Sin,
Poetic Spiders delicately spin,
When Critic-midwives aid a brother's pains,
Or hold a Green-room Inquest on his Brains,
But fix no verdict, 'till by coxcombs round,
Felo de se th' unlucky Congreve's found;
Their angry venom reptile-censors spit,
Like snakes, dire-hissing from the dismal Pitt;
And bolts, hurl'd headlong from a clouded sky
Of canvas, give their tow'ring thoughts the lie.
With all your musty maxims, stand aside!
25
And Jordan animates a stupid Age.
Oh! born in ev'ry station to excell,
And charm, alike, in Viola or Nell!
Wild Grace attends each leer or airy trip,
And Nonsense 'self comes sweeten'd from her lip.
Witness the fluent folly, long in vogue,
Of smooth Address, and grinning Epilogue;
Which, ever guiltless of Wit's deadly Sin,
Poetic Spiders delicately spin,
When Critic-midwives aid a brother's pains,
Or hold a Green-room Inquest on his Brains,
But fix no verdict, 'till by coxcombs round,
Felo de se th' unlucky Congreve's found;
Their angry venom reptile-censors spit,
Like snakes, dire-hissing from the dismal Pitt;
And bolts, hurl'd headlong from a clouded sky
Of canvas, give their tow'ring thoughts the lie.
Here let me ask why this redoubted Twain,
So long in Winter-quarters, snug, remain,
Nor stoop to drudge thro' the entire campaign?
Why, check'd by Av'rice in their brave career,
Commence their triumphs with the closing Year?
Nor, kindly, one victorious hour supply,
To lift the fortunes of a poor Ally?
Laden with spoils, and fame, they march away,
Reckless of those whose numbers won the day;
For the best Captains say, and they say right,
Confederate force will make the surest fight.
So long in Winter-quarters, snug, remain,
Nor stoop to drudge thro' the entire campaign?
Why, check'd by Av'rice in their brave career,
Commence their triumphs with the closing Year?
Nor, kindly, one victorious hour supply,
To lift the fortunes of a poor Ally?
26
Reckless of those whose numbers won the day;
For the best Captains say, and they say right,
Confederate force will make the surest fight.
If port majestic, soft-seducing air,
And features—Heaven's! how femininely fair!
To first-rate honors may assure pretence,
Powell, indeed, may vaunt of Excellence.
In orient beauty bath'd, her shining head
When Venus lifted from the billowey bed;
When her smooth neck the am'rous surges prest,
Their foam less white than her delicious breast,
Panting with rich desires, and fond alarms,
Scarce did she shew a softer pomp of charms;
But charms alone, too oft, but feebly bind,
And rigid judgment mourns the absent Mind.
And features—Heaven's! how femininely fair!
To first-rate honors may assure pretence,
Powell, indeed, may vaunt of Excellence.
In orient beauty bath'd, her shining head
When Venus lifted from the billowey bed;
When her smooth neck the am'rous surges prest,
Their foam less white than her delicious breast,
Panting with rich desires, and fond alarms,
Scarce did she shew a softer pomp of charms;
But charms alone, too oft, but feebly bind,
And rigid judgment mourns the absent Mind.
From what refulgent realms of op'ning day,
Fleets yon pure Semblance? faëry vision stay!
Still, with seraphic sentiment, improve
My grosser sense, and light it into love.
Enchanting visitant! the surest guide,
Still let Simplicity attend thy side;
Still be her secret whisper heard with awe,
Thy rule her impulse, her impression law;
And, when few years thy ripen'd worth refine,
I shall not blush, De Camp, this verse was mine.
Fleets yon pure Semblance? faëry vision stay!
Still, with seraphic sentiment, improve
My grosser sense, and light it into love.
Enchanting visitant! the surest guide,
Still let Simplicity attend thy side;
27
Thy rule her impulse, her impression law;
And, when few years thy ripen'd worth refine,
I shall not blush, De Camp, this verse was mine.
I never to thy praises, Pope, aspir'd,
Whom ev'n the surly Satirist admir'd,
When, warm in mirthful youth, he saw thee “trip
Corinna, Cherry, Honeycomb, and Snip;”
But, as lorn Fancy eyes thy faded flow'r,
I mourn the loss of many a raptur'd hour,
And (Death, remorseless, hurrying on his way)
Ere the shaft flies, a hasty homage pay.
Whom ev'n the surly Satirist admir'd,
When, warm in mirthful youth, he saw thee “trip
Corinna, Cherry, Honeycomb, and Snip;”
But, as lorn Fancy eyes thy faded flow'r,
I mourn the loss of many a raptur'd hour,
And (Death, remorseless, hurrying on his way)
Ere the shaft flies, a hasty homage pay.
Hoydens and Romps, with Harlowe, now, appear:
Nor must I on slight foibles be severe;
Her laugh would bid the sides of Dulness shake,
Or stern Diogenes his tub forsake.
Nor must I on slight foibles be severe;
Her laugh would bid the sides of Dulness shake,
Or stern Diogenes his tub forsake.
That little Syran, Bland, I must approve,
Breathing the soul of Harmony and Love;
Tho' Crouch, no more, can claim the melting lay,
Ah! dire effects of B****y and Decay!
Another Ariadne, let her rest,
With unregarded charms, on Bacchus' breast.
Breathing the soul of Harmony and Love;
Tho' Crouch, no more, can claim the melting lay,
Ah! dire effects of B****y and Decay!
28
With unregarded charms, on Bacchus' breast.
Much of Menage and Mellon could I say,
Both very pretty creatures, in their way!
I might affirm that Biggs, in time, will rise,
(Tho' paltry Imitation I despise,)
Sure to afford some symptoms of delight,
Could she play Widow Brady ev'ry night.
I might (tho' they must hardly rival Pope)
To Sparks and Walcott lend a little hope;
To Sontley's fairer fame enlarge the line;
And bid ev'n Yates herself affect to shine;
But Stewart, Humphreys, Campbell, and a few
Delightful elves, would blame my blindness too;
Perhaps with Cornish hug this form embrace,
And crack my fiddle, like the Bard of Thrace.
Both very pretty creatures, in their way!
I might affirm that Biggs, in time, will rise,
(Tho' paltry Imitation I despise,)
Sure to afford some symptoms of delight,
Could she play Widow Brady ev'ry night.
I might (tho' they must hardly rival Pope)
To Sparks and Walcott lend a little hope;
To Sontley's fairer fame enlarge the line;
And bid ev'n Yates herself affect to shine;
But Stewart, Humphreys, Campbell, and a few
Delightful elves, would blame my blindness too;
Perhaps with Cornish hug this form embrace,
And crack my fiddle, like the Bard of Thrace.
While led by Fashion's wond'rous force along,
Both Houses boast the Sov'reignty of Song:
Club to support the Fav'rite, and combine
In social league, to aid One grand Design;
To Angels, sure, in voice and form allied,
Beauty and Billington must still preside;
Contending States each magic trill obey,
And foes be soften'd by her tuneful sway.
Both Houses boast the Sov'reignty of Song:
Club to support the Fav'rite, and combine
In social league, to aid One grand Design;
To Angels, sure, in voice and form allied,
Beauty and Billington must still preside;
29
And foes be soften'd by her tuneful sway.
Music, of old, beyond the slightest doubt,
Could gently wheedle the Bad Spirit out;
But, now, the ready Instrument of sin,
I find, it ushers the Bad Spirit in.
If a hard Winter no sore throats supply;
Or of raw Drams no warbling Cherubs die;
If glitt'ring guineas happen not to fail;
Old homespun Reason will be jigg'd to jail;
Shakespeare, the tedious Bore! must shut up Shop;
And Roscius learn to dance—from the New-drop.
Could gently wheedle the Bad Spirit out;
But, now, the ready Instrument of sin,
I find, it ushers the Bad Spirit in.
If a hard Winter no sore throats supply;
Or of raw Drams no warbling Cherubs die;
If glitt'ring guineas happen not to fail;
Old homespun Reason will be jigg'd to jail;
Shakespeare, the tedious Bore! must shut up Shop;
And Roscius learn to dance—from the New-drop.
Shame! that a tinsel, tawdry, trifling race,
Should caper, and curvet, in Merit's place:
Shame! that all sense should sink before a Song,
Nor ev'n th' insulted State relieve the wrong;
Shame! that a noble Isle, whose offspring aim
At Spartan fortitude, and Roman fame;
Should idly doat upon each foreign toy,
Emasculate and dead to manly joy!
Now, when sequester'd from the courtly clan,
Proud in the Minister to prove the Man;
Unshaken amid Party's furious tides,
Safe at the helm, an Atticus presides.
At length, by his superior wisdom won,
Has bright-ey'd Peace her radiant march begun;
At length undaunted by the cannon's roar,
Her dove-like pinion wraps our favour'd Shore;
Celestial forms! the children of delight!
In rosey fetters hold the Fiend of Fight;
While clouds, contagious, fly at her command,
And gleams of Glory lighten o'er the land.
Tho' Mem'ry still, will glance a mournful eye
To where the gallant Sons of Britain lie;
Yet, let no lip repining murmurs breath
O'er blessings, bought by honorable death;
Or meaner Sorrow, impotent to save,
Profanely blight the laurels of the Brave;
Since from their ashes, shall, refulgent, rise
The Phœnix, Happiness, to glad our eyes.
Accomplish'd Statesman! to whose soul are known
All excellence, and merit, but its own;
Again, each nerve new-strung to active toil,
Shall Industry enrich the blooming soil;
Laborious Learning catch his glitt'ring prize;
And star-crown'd Science tread her native Skies.
Nor, by his partial favor taught to sing,
Shall Silence slumber on the tuneful string,
But the fair Muse, whose charming spell, bestows
To ev'ry bosom, save her own, repose,
Fix in th' eternal adamant of Fame,
Her firmest friend's imperishable-Name.
Should caper, and curvet, in Merit's place:
Shame! that all sense should sink before a Song,
Nor ev'n th' insulted State relieve the wrong;
Shame! that a noble Isle, whose offspring aim
At Spartan fortitude, and Roman fame;
Should idly doat upon each foreign toy,
Emasculate and dead to manly joy!
Now, when sequester'd from the courtly clan,
Proud in the Minister to prove the Man;
30
Safe at the helm, an Atticus presides.
At length, by his superior wisdom won,
Has bright-ey'd Peace her radiant march begun;
At length undaunted by the cannon's roar,
Her dove-like pinion wraps our favour'd Shore;
Celestial forms! the children of delight!
In rosey fetters hold the Fiend of Fight;
While clouds, contagious, fly at her command,
And gleams of Glory lighten o'er the land.
Tho' Mem'ry still, will glance a mournful eye
To where the gallant Sons of Britain lie;
Yet, let no lip repining murmurs breath
O'er blessings, bought by honorable death;
Or meaner Sorrow, impotent to save,
Profanely blight the laurels of the Brave;
Since from their ashes, shall, refulgent, rise
The Phœnix, Happiness, to glad our eyes.
Accomplish'd Statesman! to whose soul are known
All excellence, and merit, but its own;
Again, each nerve new-strung to active toil,
Shall Industry enrich the blooming soil;
Laborious Learning catch his glitt'ring prize;
And star-crown'd Science tread her native Skies.
31
Shall Silence slumber on the tuneful string,
But the fair Muse, whose charming spell, bestows
To ev'ry bosom, save her own, repose,
Fix in th' eternal adamant of Fame,
Her firmest friend's imperishable-Name.
“Thus far into the breach:”—nor do I dread
The Daily scandals, buzzing round my head;
At pert Critique, or flaming Paragraph,
Mere paper-squib, and rocket, lo! I laugh!
Unable, now, to cavil or confute,
Alas! the mighty Oracle is mute;
The Times are into dull oblivion cast,
And the vain glory of The World is past!
Yet, more convincing Stricture may betide,
By rhyming Bully's baneful fist apply'd,
No learned Bruiser by, to cool the fray,
Adjourning vengeance to a fairer day,
And woes unnumber'd, in grim silence wait,
The brave Assertor of the Scenic State.
The Daily scandals, buzzing round my head;
At pert Critique, or flaming Paragraph,
Mere paper-squib, and rocket, lo! I laugh!
Unable, now, to cavil or confute,
Alas! the mighty Oracle is mute;
The Times are into dull oblivion cast,
And the vain glory of The World is past!
Yet, more convincing Stricture may betide,
By rhyming Bully's baneful fist apply'd,
No learned Bruiser by, to cool the fray,
Adjourning vengeance to a fairer day,
And woes unnumber'd, in grim silence wait,
The brave Assertor of the Scenic State.
Pink'd by some Play'r, whose virtues I rehearse,
Or, murder'd by vile bullet, and blank verse;
While Tragic vixens, with opprobrious sneer,
And killing scoff, assault my closing ear;
I hope, I may not cry, in penal smart,
“A plague on Both your Houses!” ere we part
Or, murder'd by vile bullet, and blank verse;
32
And killing scoff, assault my closing ear;
I hope, I may not cry, in penal smart,
“A plague on Both your Houses!” ere we part
END OF PART THE FIRST.
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