« PreviousContinue »
However modifh, I detest this plan:
For me, no maukith creature, 'weak, and wan;
He muft be English, and an English-Man.
To Nature, and his Country, false and blind,
Shou'd Belville dare to twist his form and mind,
I will discard him and to Britain true,
A Briton chuse-and, may be, one of you !
Nay, don't be frighten'd I am but in jest ;
Free Men in Love, or War, Tould ne'er be press’d.
If you wou'd know my utmost expectation,
'Tis one unspoil'd by travellid Education ;
With knowledge, taite, much kindness, and fome whim,
Good sense to govern me—and let me govern him :
Great love of me, must keep his heart from roving ;
Then I'll forgive him, if he proves too loving;
If in these times, I shou'd be biess’d by Fate
With such a Phænix, such a matchless Mate,
I will by kindness, and some small discerning,
Take care that Hymen's torch continues burning :
At weddings, now-a-days, the torch thrown down,
Just makes a smoke, then stinks throughout the town!
No married Puritan-l'll follow pleasure,
And ev'n the Fashion-but in mod'rate measure;
I will of Op'ra extasies partake,
Tho' I take snuff to keep my felf awake;
No rampant Plumes fhall o'er my temples play,
Foretelling that my brains will fy away;
Nor from my head shall strange vagaries spring,
To Thew the soil can teem with ev'ry thing!
No fruirs, roots, greens, shall fill the ample space,
A kitchen-garden, to adorn my face !
No Rocks shall there be seen, no Windmill, Fountain,
Nor curls like Guns set round, to guard the Mountain !
O learn, ye Fair, if this same madness spreads,
Not to hold up, but to keep down your heads :
Be not misled by strange fantastic art,
But in your dress let Nature take some part;
Her skill alone a lasting pow'r insures,
And best can ornament such charms as yours.
WRITTEN BY DR. JOHNSON.
PREST by the load of life, the weary mind
Surveys the general toil of human kind;
With cool submission joins the labouring train,
and social sorrow, loses half it's pain.
Our anxious bard, without complaint, may Phare
This bustling season's epidemic care.
Like Cæfar's pilot, dignify'd by fate,
Toft in one common storm with all the great; · Diffrest alike, the statesman and the wit,
When one a borough courts, and one the pit.
The befy candidates for pow'r and fame,
Have hopes, and fears, and wishes, just the same;
Disabled both to combat, or to fly,
-Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply.
, Uncheck'd on both, loud rabbles vent their rage,
As mongrels bay the lion in a cage.
Th' offended burgess hoards his angry tale,
For that bleft year when all that vote may rail ;
Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss,
Till that glad night, when all that hate may
- This day the powder'd curls and golden coat,
Says Swelling Crispin, begg'd a cobler's vote :
This night, our wit, the pert apprentice cries,
lies at my feet, I hiss him, and he dies.
The great, 'tis true, can charm th' electing tribe.;
The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe.
Yet judg’d by those, whose voices ne'er were fold,
He feels no want of ill persuading gold;
But confident of praise, if praise be due,
Trants without fear, to merit, and.co.y.Qii.
OETS and painters, who from nature draw
Their best and richelt stores, have made this law:
That each should neighbourly afliit his brother,
And steal with decency from one another,
To-night, your matchless Hogarıb gives the thought,
Which from his canvas to the stage is brought.
And who so fit to warm the poet's mind,
As he who pictur’d morals and mankind ?
But not the same their characters and scenes. ;
Both labour for one end, by different means :
Each, as it suits him, takes a separate road,
Their one great object, Marriage.a la-mode!
Where titles deign with cirs to have and hold,
And change rich blood for more substantial gold !
And honour'd trade from interest turns aside,
To hazard happiness for titled pride.
The painter dead, yet ftill he charms the eye ;
While England lives, his fame can never die :
But he, who firuts his hour upon the stage,
Can scarce extend his fame for half an age;
Nor pen nor pencil can the actor save,
The art, and artist, share one common grave.
O let me drop one tributary tear,
On poor Jack Falsaff's grave, and Juliet's bier !
You to their worth must testimony give;
'Tis in your hearts alone their fame can live.
Still as the scenes of life will shift away,
The strong impressions of their art decay.
Your chi/dren cannot feel what you have known ;
They'll boast of Quins and Cibbers of their own :
The greatest glory of our happy few,
Is to be felt, and be approv'd by you.
TO THE A PP R E N TIC E.
Spoken by Mr. WOODWARD.
ROLOGUES precede the piece,-in mournful
As undertakers walk before the hearse,
Whose doleful march may strike the harden'd mind,
And wake its feelings--for the dead-behind.
No smuggled, pilfer'd scenes from France we Mew,
> 'Tis English English, firs! from top to toe.
Our hero is a youth-by fate design'd
For calling fomples, ---but whose ftage frock mind
could rule, nor his indenlures bind.
A Place there is where such young Quixotes meet,
?Tis call’d, the SPOUTING-CLUv;-a glorious treat! : Where prentic'd-kings-alarm the gaping street ! 'There Brultus starts and stares by midnight taper,
Who all the day enacts-a woollen-draper. - There Hamlet's Ghost Italks forth with doubl’d fift; Cries out with hollow voice-Lift, lift, O lift,
And frightens Denmark's prince-a young Tobacconift. - 'The Spirit too, clear'd from bis deadly white,
Rifes--a Haberdafver to the fight!
Not young Aitornies have this rage withstood,
But change their Pens for TRUNCHEONS, Ink for
And (strange reverse) die for their Country's good.
Thro all the Town this folly you may trace;
Myself am witness-'is a common case
I've further proofs, could ye but think I wrong ye, bit Look round you'll find some spouting youths
among ye, • Ve ftage-struck heroes, -Jark, Dick, Tom, Will, :: Who hold ihe balance, or who gild the pill; And y u, who to the Ladies make your court, And wh le you fimper clip an inch too short, Quit not the substance for an empty shade, ick to the Rule of Three, and mind your trade;
But hark! I'm call’d, * --be warn’d by what you see,
Oh! spout no more :-Farewell, remember me.
E P I L OG U E
B A R B. AR O S S A,
WRITTEN BY MR. GARRICK.
Spoken by Mr. WOODWARD,
* In the Character of a fire GENTLEMAN.
Enter --Speaking to the people without.
SHAW! damn your Epilogue and hold yougos.
Shall we of rank be told what's right and wrong ;
Had you ten Epilagues you thou'd not speak 'em,
Tho' had writ 'em all in linguum grecum,
I'll do't by all the Gods !-(you must excuse me)..,
Tho' author, actors, audience, all abuse me!
To the AUDIENCE.
Behold a gentleman!-and that's enough!
Laugh if you please-I'll take a pinch of snuff!
I come to tell you-(let it not surprise you)
That I'm a wit-and worthy to advile you ---
How could you suffer that same country booby,
That pro-logue speaking savage,--that great looby,
To talk his nonsense !--give me leave to say
'Twas low-damn'd low!--but fave the fe.low's playmun
devil eat-allow him that,
And give a meal to Measer, Mon, and Cat:
But why attack the fashions?-fenseless rogue !
We have no joys but what result from vogue,
The mode fou'd all controul-nay, ev'ry passion,
Sense, appetite and all, give way to fashion ;
I hate as much as he, a Turtle-feast,
But 'till the present Turtle-page has ceas'd,
I'd ride a hundred miles to make myself a beat.
I have no cars,-yet op'ras I adore !
Always prepar'd to die-to sleep- no more!
The warning-bell rings.