University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

A bedchamber.
Curtain draws, and discovers Poetaster and Atheos sleeping. Shakespear's ghost rises, with the tragedy of Douglas in his hand.

So now, these barkers at my reputation
Are snoring in their kennel—Well, sleep on—
When I describe the characters of men,
And paint them as they are, he calls it barbarism.
[pointing to Atheos.
When Sir John Falstaff and the Prince appear,
'Tis barbarous to make you so to laugh;
And when the gentle Desdemona dies,
'Tis barbarous to make you so to weep.
And am I then compar'd to such a play-thing?
[showing Douglas,
Are there no ladders wherewithal to scale
The fort of Fame, but you must climb to it.
[pointing to Poetaster.
Hoisted upon my shoulders?—Well, sleep on;
Yet shall the steam of Styx, and breath of furies,
Be poppies to thine eyes, thou demi-devil.
[pointing to Atheos:
If Otway and myself must yield to thee,
[pointing to Poetaster.
'Twas true, no dream, that sun and moon descended,
And made obeisance to the stripling Joseph.

[vanishes.
Otway
's ghost rises.
I led a wretched life, and dy'd for hunger,
Had not a crust of bread to give my stomach,
Whose ever-craving, agonizing throes,
Gnaw'd me to death.
Yet did the fame my compositions gain'd,
Sooth my forlorn shade! But thou, inhuman!
Hast been endeavouring to filch that fame,
And rob me of my all. O! I could weep
With Belvidera's or Monimia's eyes,
To see the godlike Shakespear so contemn'd,
Myself so disregarded.

[vanishes.
Poetaster
wakens.
Sleep'st thou yet, Atheos! then thou hast not dream'd
Of such drear scenes as I've. “Ye ministers
“Of gracious Heav'n, who love the human race!
“Angels and seraphs! who delight in goodness,
“Forsake your skies, and to his couch descend;
“There from his fancy chase those dismal forms
“That haunted me just now; his spirit charm
“With images celestial, such as please
“The bless'd above upon their golden beds.”

Atheos
wakens.
Ha! what didst thou say, my Poetaster!
Didst' talk of sweet repose? I tasted none.
Two angry ghosts disturb'd my midnight-sleep:
Though pale they were and wan, and in their dead-cloaths;
Yet something very noble seem'd about them;
Oft did they frown on me, and oft on thee,
“And ever and anon they vow'd revenge.”

Poetaster.
O! Atheos, with thee this night I've shar'd,
Not only the same couch, but the same wo.
I dream'd that my departed spirit fled
To the infernal regions; there I sought,
And found at length the bless'd Elysian fields,
Where happy poets dwell. I heard the lyres
Of Homer and of Maro in sweet concert;
Shakespear above them all I saw exalted,
An cager-list'ning croud surrounded him;
To whom he said, that “all the world's a stage,
“And all the men and women merely players.”
I thought, sure I can speak to better purpose;
And would have stopp'd him while he so harangu'd,
Had not some little ugly goblins seiz'd
And carried me before the three stern judges,
Whose nod determines all affairs in hell.
I was arraign'd of being a wretched poet,
One whose unmanner'd mouth, whene'er it drunk,
Made Helicon's pure font a nauseous puddle.
My judges (beshrew them for it) order'd
My play, my Douglas, forthwith to be sunk
In Lethe's stream, myself for ever chain'd,
And link'd with Bayes, to walk that river's banks.

Atheos.
Go to, we both have dream'd, that's all the matter:
Some few hours hence, and you must stand your trial:
Come, let us then go dress, and to the pannel.
Pshaw! be not discompos'd. “Departed ghosts
“Are ne'er permitted to review this world.”