Horace in London Consisting of imitations of the first two books of the odes of Horace. By the authors of the rejected addresses, or the new theatrum poetarum [Horace and James Smith] |
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| I. | ODE I. THE FIRST O. P. WAR.
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 | Horace in London |  |
ODE I. THE FIRST O. P. WAR.
Motum ex Metello consule civicum.
To Mr. Kemble.
When civil commotion beleaguers the Thane,
When tempests assail aged Lear,
When the ghost of old Hamlet amazes the Dane,
In Richard the cruel, or Hotspur the vain,
O when shall your equal appear?
When tempests assail aged Lear,
When the ghost of old Hamlet amazes the Dane,
In Richard the cruel, or Hotspur the vain,
O when shall your equal appear?
The wreath of applause what philosopher scorns?
'Tis a crown of the sweetest moss roses;
But when it the brow of an actor adorns,
The public will mix a few good-natur'd thorns,
To tickle his ears when he dozes.
'Tis a crown of the sweetest moss roses;
But when it the brow of an actor adorns,
The public will mix a few good-natur'd thorns,
To tickle his ears when he dozes.
115
Awhile to your theatre now bid adieu;
Fly, fly, from the tumult and riot;
Attempt not your truncheon and staff to renew,
But give them to Townsend, to help to subdue
The foes to new prices and quiet.
Fly, fly, from the tumult and riot;
Attempt not your truncheon and staff to renew,
But give them to Townsend, to help to subdue
The foes to new prices and quiet.
For hark! what a discord of bugles and bells,
What whistling, and springing of rattles!
What screaming, and groaning, and hissing, and yells,
Till mad headed Mammon his victims impels
To scuffle, row, riot, and battles.
What whistling, and springing of rattles!
What screaming, and groaning, and hissing, and yells,
Till mad headed Mammon his victims impels
To scuffle, row, riot, and battles.
And now from the barracks of Bow Street, alack!
A band under Townsend and Sayers,
Wave high their gilt staves, while the dull sounding thwack
Falls frequent and thick on the enemies' back,
Or visits their pate with a merry toned crack,
In aid of King John and the Players.
A band under Townsend and Sayers,
Wave high their gilt staves, while the dull sounding thwack
Falls frequent and thick on the enemies' back,
Or visits their pate with a merry toned crack,
In aid of King John and the Players.
The Billingsgate muses, indignant to find
Catalani and fiddlers from Paris
Usurping their place, in revenge have combin'd
To kick up this dust in the popular mind,
So fatal to Kemble and Harris.
Catalani and fiddlers from Paris
Usurping their place, in revenge have combin'd
To kick up this dust in the popular mind,
So fatal to Kemble and Harris.
116
What surly brown bear has not gladly receiv'd
The misers who old prices stick to?
At Bow Street what knight is not sorely aggriev'd?
Where Christians are cross'd, Unbelievers believ'd,
Oh story “mirabile dictu!”
The misers who old prices stick to?
At Bow Street what knight is not sorely aggriev'd?
Where Christians are cross'd, Unbelievers believ'd,
Oh story “mirabile dictu!”
To mix in this warfare regardless of fear,
What 'prentice or clerk is unwilling?
From Smithfield and Wapping what heroes appear,
Who fight, I acknowledge, for all they hold dear,
When the object of war's the last shilling.
What 'prentice or clerk is unwilling?
From Smithfield and Wapping what heroes appear,
Who fight, I acknowledge, for all they hold dear,
When the object of war's the last shilling.
What fists of defiance the pugilists wield!
What Jews have not had bloody noses?
What victim of law, who to Mainwaring yields,
But gladly for ever would quit Cold Bath Fields
To fight here “pro aris et focis”?
What Jews have not had bloody noses?
What victim of law, who to Mainwaring yields,
But gladly for ever would quit Cold Bath Fields
To fight here “pro aris et focis”?
But gently, my muse, hush your angry ton'd lyre,
From rows so disgraceful remove;
And seated at home by your own parlour fire,
Let Beauty and Bacchus your numbers inspire
To melody, laughter, and love.
From rows so disgraceful remove;
And seated at home by your own parlour fire,
Let Beauty and Bacchus your numbers inspire
To melody, laughter, and love.
| Horace in London | |