Pardon, kind reader, that the wand'ring muse
Should in her subject mingle diff'rent views;
Unfrown'd upon, permit her to return,
Nor let a critic indignation burn;
Since all agree the real and mimic state,
In many points, each other nearly mate;
Since blunders, partialities, and pride,
At present, rule the roast on either side;
And merit, without meanness, or a friend,
In both may unsuccessfully attend;
Seek and deserve protection, but in vain,
Herein St. JAMES's joins with DRURY-LANE:
(36)
Who then, with patience, either spot can see,
Unless who hate desert, and liberty.
[Page 25]Authors come forth—most venerable tribe—
Whom we not fear to censure—nor will bribe
With paltry praise—come all around,
With self-sufficiency and dullness crown'd;
At satire's call here blushing bend your way,
Solemn and farcical as LORD MAY'R's DAY.
The poet's brain, how whimsical a spot;
How strange a jumble is the author's lot!
How rich, how poor, how pitiful, how great!
The world his field, and nature his estate:
This day a pamper'd PEGASUS he rides,
The next, one bare as ROSINANTE's sides;
Like QUIXOTE too, he often takes delight
To brave mankind in fruitless windmill fight;
By him what vast variety is shewn,
From the plain cottage to the gilded throne:
Sometimes his thunder shakes a wooden sphere,
Nay, all the elements by turns appear;
Now rosin light'nings blast the desart scene,
Then blooms stage groves, with beauteous vernal green;
[Page 26]He calls the TRAGIC MUSE in pompous woe,
While tears from sympathising passions flow;
'Till yielding to her blither sister, she
Resigns her groans to laughing COMEDY.
Sweet WILLY WHITEHEAD, who, with medium stile,
Can never force a tear, or win a smile;
Most simply chaste—most delicately dull,
Nearly o'erflowing, and yet never full.
Sweet WILLY WHITEHEAD, first in rhiming sphere,
Who smoothly BALLADIZES
(37) twice a year,
Teaching his laurell'd, pension'd muse to sing
The milkwarm praises of a milkwarm king;
Welcomes the infant year, as custom claims,
And hails, in creeping measure, royal names.
Bold ARTHUR MURPHY, a dramatic wight,
Whom taste must wish had never learn'd to write;
Who, BRITON like, attacks our Gallic foes,
And, deck'd in English garb, his plunder shews;
Whose works from genuine genius claim a smile,
Not of applause; for dullness' self must own,
That modest ARTHUR shares her gloomy throne,
And has, by various labours, fairly won
The glorious title of her eldest son.
Stand clear, ye critics! at due distance stand!
While we produce great DOCTOR CUMBERLAND,
The witty son of a RIGHT REV'REND sire,
Touch'd with such glow of true Parnassian fire;
That he has given three pieces
(38) to our stage,
The pride, the joy, the wonder of the age.
Let probability such authors bind,
As pour productions from a narrow mind;
Let those who wish to merit being read,
Avoid absurd assaults on PRISCIAN's head;
Our DOCTOR scorns to own such narrow views,
Defies all grammar and no theme pursues:
[Page 28]Of incidents supplied with plenteous store,
Off sets his muse and never seeks for more:
Let him go on amidst the public praise,
And proudly gild his never-blooming bays;
Let him proceed with most relentless heart,
'Till nature and the stage for ever part.
Stiff as the stays
(39) which once his needle made—
What strange transactions chance from trade to trade;
How wonderful the various turns of men,
Who now a bodkin wield, and now a pen;
Stiff as the whalebone which he once admir'd,
Behold HUGH KELLY with the muse inspir'd!
Vending in dialogue
sermonic scenes,
THALIA knows not what such preaching means;
And grieves to walk abroad in such disguise
As that dull WORD projected for the WISE.
(40)
[Page 29]KELLY between the sister muses steers,
Too grave for laughter, and too light for tears;
If CLEMENTINA claims thee for her sire,
To pastry-cooks consign her, or the fire;
Nor dare to play the double dealer's part,
In sentiments so foreign from thy heart.
(41)
Wherefore—oh HUGH!—with belly fair and round,
With city luxury and dullness crown'd;
Wilt thou aspire to hold an author's name?
If thou
art bent on literary fame,
Forego the city's father,
(42) left his head
Should thicken thine with sympathetic lead.
Observe examples—they instruct the wise;
Observe those maxims—none but fools despise:
Breathe freer air—resign a civic crown,
Ev'n WILKES is made much duller by his gown.
(43)
[Page 30]JOHNSON, that huge Leviathan of wit,
Made once a turgid, tasteless tragic hit;
Told a soft tale in such laborious strains,
As damn'd the fair IRENE for his pains.
A literary warehouse, well supply'd
With learning's lore, and not a little pride;
Who, in his own opinion, sits supreme,
Whatever stile he takes, whatever theme;
Who never yet his own applause has miss'd,
Poet, philosopher, philologist.
JOHNSON, who once, beneath a virtuous face,
Gave venal pensioners to vile disgrace;
JOHNSON, who since, more prudent grown, and old,
Obeys the touch of all-converting gold;
Of a court scribbler takes the paltry sphere,
And damns his fame—for what?—three hundred pounds a year.
[Page 31]JOHNSON, thrice happy in a new-coin'd word,
Reigns in full state, most pompously absurd;
In a sad fit of dotage takes up arms,
And crams the public with his FALSE ALARMS;
(44)
Defends a ministry, in whose defence
He murders virtue, liberty, and sense.
GARRICK, the friend of DOCTORS, right or wrong,
Most aptly here adorns satyric song;
GARRICK, who titles loves almost as life,
And nearly well as his beloved wife;
GARRICK, by multitudes so much ador'd,
Like sir JOHN ENGLISH, worships ev'ry lord.
(45)
Taste would herself become their worshipper;
But Drury's lord, on greatness only set,
Head or no head, admires a coronet.
Why wilt thou, DAVY, harrass out thy pen?
Oh may it never judgement wound again;
No ear so dull, but what must surely tingle
To hear the jargon of thy dear Sir Dingle.
Bless'd be the sire, but hold—this starts a doubt—
'Tis a wise son can find his father out;
But what of this? legitimacy's fire
Equals not that catch'd from illegal sire;
Then blest be he, with warmth we speak the word,—
Should he perchance a footman be, or lord,
That gave us COLY
(47)—oh luxurious grant!—
That pretty, peevish, pert annuitant:
Oh may he follow still parental path,
And, mother like, give all his love to BATH!
(48)
[Page 33]Here may he cry, let wounded withers wince,
I'm an invulnerable FAIRY PRINCE;
Such troops I pay, such management I claim,
As never grac'd before theatric name:
I've wrote enough; what needs there any more,
To gain fame's temple, and the public roar?
The LONDON PACKET
(49), the St. JAMES's join
To vend the puffs which I and DAVY coin:
We, pleaders like, though at the public bar
We wrangle fiercely, wage no hostile war;
Behind the curtain we shake hands and smile,
United BUBBLE MASTERS of this isle.
Why should I write? it costs a world of pains
To drag ev'n dialogue from hard-bound brains:
Then as for wit—my scull may be its tomb,
Upon my brows no laurel e'er can bloom,
They both forswore me in my mother's womb.
[Page 34]GOLDSMITH, who teems with sentiments refin'd,
Speaks in his works a pregnant, lib'ral mind;
And shew'd, tho' we condemn his gen'ral plan,
Strong tints of life in his GOOD NATUR'D MAN;
Yet don't we wish to meet him on the stage,
'Twill spoil the foremost poet of our age;
Nor would we view him in historic path,
His politics may rouse up patriot wrath;
No writer can in many points excell;
We prize not writing much, but writing well;
Then, DOCTOR, stick to what we call thy own,
And sport in fields of poesy alone.
Come HOOLE, thou gentlest of the tragic tribe,
Thou modest, temp'rate, unaffecting scribe;
In METASTASIO all thy genius lies,
Where nature fails, to borrow wit is wise;
CYRUS, TIMANTHES, pretty little tales,
Outweigh'd by Gossamore in judgment's scales:
Like tinkling rills, thy rippling verses sound,
And yet with Mexican
(50) applause are crown'd:
[Page 35]Oh kindly age, that swallows good and bad,
Oh simple age, gone critically mad!
Witness—but wherefore should we witness call,
Review our drama and confess it all.
KENRICK, we think, may stand, beyond dispute,
As sensible, discerning, and acute;
But so engross'd with mathematic notion,
His thoughts all center in PERPETUAL MOTION.
(51)
Without a question, born to live by rule,
He ne'er can shine in a poetic school;
And with the drama still must be at strife,
Unless he greatly mends his WIDOW'D WIFE.
(52)
Come BICKERSTAFF, tho' late, not least in love;
Full in review thou patch-work author move;
Who, with such front, a brother's thoughts assumes:
Thou scribbling jay, deck'd forth with borrow'd plumes.
In second-hand none can thy equals be;
Thy works the Monmouth-street of poetry.
[Page 36]Some steal one half—but that for thee's too small,
Thy mighty mind has stomach for it all:
Cut, slice, and pilfer, profit is thy own,
Whilst thou liest prostrate 'fore King DAVID's
(53) throne;
He, like most other kings, can never want
Some subtle, soothing, servile sycophant;
In such a case it would be wond'rous hard
Not to repay a fawning, flatt'ring bard.
Come FRANKY GENTLEMAN, from LIFFEY's
(54) side,
What frenzy can thee, as an author, guide?
Appear to swell our literary list,
Thou namby pamby, ROYAL FABULIST:
(55)
Might'st thou not hope more prudently to thrive,
By clinking songs on WILKES and FORTY-FIVE?
Thou more than RUSSIAN
(56) conqueror—whose pen—
O may we never meet its rage again!
[Page 37]Has forc'd the DARDANELLES with hostile speed,
And laid an hapless SULTAN low indeed;
Thou art another prologue-smith, still fit
To shew, like DAVY, plenteous lack of wit.
HULL has good feelings, and possesses sense,
Yet to an author's fame shews small pretence;
Much better must he write, who hopes to rise,
Than SPANISH LADIES, or PERPLEXETIES;
(57)
To turn a period, or to clink a rhime,
With little wit, and less of the sublime,
May be call'd writing, yet is waste of time.
With much collegiate buckram stiff, and prim,
FRANKLIN
(58) appears—it must, it must be him;
Great WARWICK's ghost pursues his steps, and cries,
Why was I made the worst of tragedies?
Is there a muse existing could inspire,
So cold a scribe with mine or MARG'RATE's fire!
[Page 38]With thee we both have found a wretched fate,
I roar a bully, she a Billingsgate:
Oh, may contempt afford thee just reward,
Thou coxcomb preacher, and more coxcomb bard!
Rough as a rope-maker, lo! REED
(59) comes forth;
In his own mind, of much poetic worth:
Yet DIDO sure, and eke his TOMMY JONES,
(60)
Instead of laurels, cry for broken bones:
But Madrigal with fair Trulletta join'd,
Shew they not brilliant parts, and mighty mind?
Burlesque at best we deem a bankrupt trade,
The worst attempt which genius ever made;
A brat of envy born, of dullness bred,
Which ne'er can credit yield to heart or head;
A twist of thoughts, contortion of the brain,
That gives to decent taste unequall'd pain;
[Page 39]May hemp of all such poets be the prize,
Ev'n MIDAS, though we laugh, we must despise.
The muse, at length, with painful censure tir'd,
Meets with an author worthily admir'd;
Rival'd in strength of character by few,
Rich in a fund of humour ever new;
Whose pregnant pencil takes from life each tint,
Whose thoughts are stamp'd in brilliant Fancy's mint;
Who never makes a vain, or feeble hit;
Terse in his stile, and polish'd in his wit:
Copious in subject, yet compact in scenes,
Dull explanation never intervenes:
Each line, each person, under just controul,
Speaks to the heart, and beautifies the whole:
Laughter attends—spleen flies the house of joy,
Where GENIUS FOOTE and NATURE never cloy.
Acting, which now becomes a wretched trade,
We deem a science—yet alas! betray'd
To sordid views: while poor neglected Fame
Sinks into nothing but an empty name.
[Page 40]Should one, too dull to fill a footman's place,
Chance to obtain RIGHT HONOURABLE grace,
The kindly master writes a kindly line,
And thinks the
blockhead may an
actor shine;
Kind managers most cringingly receive,
And credit to the awkward mandate give;
Afford to one, who cannot walk or speak,
Perhaps, the sum of TWENTY HOG
(61) a week;
And complaisantly bid him
get by heart
A gentleman's, a beau's, or prince's part:
Indeed if princes on the stage are like
Some that we know; such may a semblance strike:
For sad experience tells—say all we can,
What makes a PRINCE, can't make a GENTLEMAN.
Such patrons CHELSEA
(62) oft and GREENWICH stain,
With the low voidings of their servile train,
As Covent-Garden deck and Drury-Lane.
[Page 41]How vast the requisites which serve to frame,
That man who would deserve the player's name;
Yet ev'ry coxcomb fancies he is fit,
The complicated, arduous task to hit:
If taught
(63) by GARRICK he must sure succeed,
Of useless nature he can little need;
Oh wretched doctrine, baneful to the stage!
Let ev'ry parrot keep its proper cage.
A graceful person, and a feeling mind,
An education of the lib'ral kind:
Deportment easy, and conception clear,
A well-tun'd voice, and a discerning ear;
Fire in his eyes and meaning in his face,
That may discriptively each passion trace;
With solid judgement to conduct the whole—
Judgement of merit the essential soul.—
Must grace the theatre and please the croud,
Without such
mumming as is now allow'd;
[Page 42]Without such low chicane, such paltry art,
As tricks the eyes, but can't affect the heart.
Oh GARRICK! 'tis with honest, social pain
That we have prob'd thee in the failing vein;
But had our dearest brother been to try,
We should maintain impartiality:
Had all thy flatterers, in early life,
Set thee and critic niceties at strife;
They might have made thy
techy feelings sore,
But errors had been less, and merit more.
Bold we approach and paint each public fault,
Without reserve, or bitterness of thought;
Howe'er we seem, on truth you may depend;
Would
ev'ry monarch had so just a friend:
What thou
hast been, with rapture we allow,
Yet, rather grieve to see thee acting now;
QUIN found his failing, in just time, and swore;
He ne'er for gain would whistle FALSTAFF more:
Victorious CHURCHILL
(64) turn'd a child at last,
And with weak dotage stain'd his conquests past.
[Page 43]Some twenty, or perhaps, ten years ago,
The world knew not thy equal: but how low
Have failing pow'rs reduc'd thee since that time?
Description would ev'n wound satiric rhyme.
Those eyes which then could animate the stage,
Now shew the glaze of swift declining age;
That voice, which once could pierce the dullest ear,
Drops its best notes, less musically clear;
That person, short by nature, made more short
By corpulence; affords proportion sport:
And criticism laughs, tho' not most strict,
To see a butter-firkin BENEDICK.
Shall it be said, that DAVID GARRICK shines;
When COMIC MAJESTY itself declines
To grace his merits by some kind commands:
Rather content with common vulgar hands?
No, let him cry, and shake a well-stuff'd purse,
Bad as I am, my followers are worse;
The fact is granted, weeping judgement says,
Yet by the grant yields very feeble praise.
[Page 44]Thy carpenters, thy sycophants and tools,
A set of artful knaves, or wretched fools;
Headed by brother GEORGE,
(65) from royal Mews,
With fulsome stuff thy plyant ears abuse;
Rather trust those who plainly, roughly chide,
And let infirmities suppress thy pride.
BARRY, who vegetated fair and long,
In person graceful, and in feelings strong;
With voice harmonious, yet too apt to whine,
Music of sound his principal design;
Measure of verse not sense bespoke his care,
And rants were catch'd at, to make groundlings stare;
Without variety of action, still
His arms and legs obey'd
mechanic will;
Yet, with all faults, none more could flood each eye,
None better form'd to make the ladies sigh;
Now, after various gallantries, devote
To that most paltry prop, a petticoat.
[Page 45]So a tall oak the glory of the grove,
Whom Sylvan deities have view'd with love;
Feeling the gripe of all-devouring time,
No longer shews its stately head sublime;
Shrinks at each blast, of ev'ry storm afraid,
And bending, seeks a willow's feeble aid.
REDDISH, alike by nature and by art,
Is form'd incapable to touch the heart;
He strives, indeed, through various shapes to please,
Without expression, dignity or ease;
A voice so bounded, it was never meant,
To rise above a moral sentiment;
A figure clumsy, and a vulgar face,
Devoid of spirit as of pleasing grace;
Action unmeaning, often misapply'd,
Bless'd with no perfect attribute but pride;
Take heed, bold sir, nor friendly caution slight,
In FRAMPTON, and that path, we deem thee right;
But when a hero takes thy awkward gait,
We laugh at both his passions, and his state.
[Page 46]PALMER, compos'd of more than common size,
With languid features, and more languid eyes;
Stalks a tall gauky on perception's rays,
Too slight for censure, and too dull for praise;
From hollow lungs he rumbles forth a sound,
Enough all sense and feeling to confound:
Emphasis! oh vain, superfluous word,
All rules for speaking, actors deem absurd;
None but a pedant would attempt to teach
By grammar ties, or paltry parts of speech;
This GARRICK knows, and only plies with tricks,
(66)
But leaves the meaning for themselves to fix;
Or, fond of something critical and new,
A meaning gives beyond the author's view.
What is a voice, tho' bless'd with silver tone,
If love's soft notes in sing-song are made known?
What is a mellow medium, if each line
In dull monotony shews dull design?
Or what QUIN's deep-mouth'd base, if with a growl
It wounds each tender feeling of the soul?
[Page 47]Rightly to rule, is truly to possess;
And, pow'rs well manag'd please us more, tho' less
Than those luxuriances which weed like shew,
And serve to choak the gardens where they grow.
Who has not seen, upon rejoicing night,
Squibs sputter, fret and bounce by partial light?
So elder AICKIN shatters tragic strains,
And fritters nature with uncommon pains;
Struts, foams and roars; good lack! what noise he makes,
While sense and harmony condemn his breaks;
Most cracker like he moves, a short-liv'd joke,
Shines with false fire, and soon concludes with smoke.
Soft pair of youths, whom we must ne'er divide,
As best, or worst, no mortal can decide:
MORPHEUS o'er both his leaden mace has cast,
They sleep, and walk, and talk, and sleep at last;
Yet be not CAUTHERLEY, in doleful dumps,
Are you not happy in a QUEEN
(67) of TRUMPS?
[Page 48]And thou, oh, BRERETON! haste to get another,
Then Cypher kindly may call Cypher brother.
LOVE, a soft name, but sadly misapply'd,
When giv'n to paltry petulance and pride;
Where was it found? 'midst gentle Southern gales?
Oh no, where BOREAS rends resisting sails;
In SCOTIA's clime; no wonder then 'tis rude;
That clime with softness never was endu'd.
LOVE, as a serious actor, we detest,
With no one pleasing, proper talent bless'd;
A face, where motionless composure sits,
And short-liv'd meaning only gleams by fits;
A bell-man's hollow voice, a bell-man's drone;
Who does not shudder at his CHRISTMAS tone?
With porter's gait, and action of a bear,
He claims more censure than the muse can spare;
Indeed, when Boniface and Falstaff call,
We sit with patience, tho' the merit's small;
For when the better is compar'd with worse,
As LEAR observes, it lightens any curse.
[Page 49]HURST, a laborious, imitative drudge,
Of whom it gives us poignant pain to judge;
Discordant, stiff, nay, every thing that's bad
An heap of MOSSOP's errors, quite run mad:
Yet is this wretch, so managers will give,
In some parts, HOLLAND's representative:
Oh, what a dreadful falling off is there,
From HOLLAND, who of faults had plenteous share.
PACKER in all, through ev'ry cast the same,
Toils to obtain a useful actor's name;
Oft is he seen, and gives as oft offence,
While his mean pow'rs, unmeaning sounds dispense;
When he assumes, or levity, or state,
He SADDLES
(68) critics with a grievous weight.
AICKIN, the younger, has some gifts to please,
Just sensibility and modest ease;
He aims not there where nature cannot reach,
But lets her guide his gesture and his speech;
[Page 50]The muse concern'd, beholds the place he fills;
But all in vain, while so his tyrant wills;
Wishing she could with such persuasion speak,
To gain him better parts, and add some pounds per week.
When JEFFERSON paints age in tragic strains,
Judgement attends, nor slights his well-meant pains;
'Tis there he shines not with a radiant blaze,
Yet merit decks him with some pleasing rays;
He vainly aims not at gigantic strides,
But with discretion, medium feelings guides;
Much safer 'tis the middle path to run,
Than mount aloft to fall like PHAETON.
MOODY we praise, with all the warmth we can,
When he depicts the IRISH GENTLEMAN;
Nor stop we here, since he possesses sense,
To keep from those attempts might give offence;
May just reward his real merit crown,
Who well deserves the favour of the town.
BURTON and BRANSBY, kindly yok'd together,
Dull, heavy, cold as dark NOVEMBER weather;
[Page 51]Chill ev'ry ear, and puzzle ev'ry eye,
Through clouds their dubious meaning to descry;
And, gentle opiates, with composure blest,
Lull yawning audiences to perfect rest.
INCHBALD, who long on NORFOLK dumplins fed,
Those solid emblems of his solid head;
Imported to the capital, was shewn,
(69)
As one well-form'd to mount the Tragic throne;
A
first appearance smooth'd the thorny way,
Yet, candid judgement damn'd his wild essay;
The shade of CONGREVE felt each jarring strain,
And fled ere Osmyn could appear again.
DAVIS, a sing-song man, of little worth,
The critic muse relentingly brings forth;
Such feeble objects should her lash escape,
She should not combat with a human ape.
[Page 52]VERNON, in music, gains unbounded praise,
We to his
acting yield applausive lays;
Like GREENLAND's sun, too little seen, he shines
Scarce half his time; but when he does, refines
The clouds of dullness which around him gloom,
Nonsense avaunt, and give true merit room!
PARSONS and HARTRY, with strong pow'r of face,
Give sportive humour oft successful chace;
Yet each too feeble for a foremost station,
Courts rather than commands our approbation.
WESTON, but wherefore need we speak of him,
Begot by MOMUS upon Lady WHIM;
While laughing multitudes declare, with glee,
His face the essence of true comedy;
Nor does mechanic manner stiffly spoil
The pleasure of involuntary smile;
SCRUB, ABEL-DRUGGER, SNEAK, and DOCTOR LAST,
Must stand unrival'd his peculiar cast;
Tho' in MEDEA's kettle boil'd anew,
GARRICK would lose by parallel review:
[Page 53]Then happ'ly plac'd, beyond all public strife,
Use, TOM, some caution in thy private life;
So shall not creditors enjoyment damp,
Nor sordid MANAGERS thy income cramp.
DIBDIN, alas! we nearly had forgot,
Perhaps oblivion were the kindest lot:
How he
composes, 'tis not fit, we say,
But grant kind stars that he may never
play:
Nor, to enlarge our wish, may ever sing;
MUNGO in this, in that, and ev'ry thing.
Why shares not BANNISTER, a fairer light?
He gives no umbrage unto critic sight;
In many parts of weight he might be shewn,
With more than usual pleasure to the town;
Let him the task he's equal to approve,
And fill the vacant place of lumpish LOVE.
Who trips it, jantée, o'er the sprightly scene,
A pretty, pert, significant PANTINE?
DODD, who gives pleasure both to ears and eyes,
Tho'
duodecimo of human size.
[Page 54]We think that BADDELEY can never miss,
A crouching
Frenchman, or a flatt'ring
Swiss;
Yet, for aught else, his talents are but small;
This praise, perhaps, he cruelty may call:
But critics never justice should retrench;
Let that be left to JUDGES on the bench:
They, in the quibble of almighty law,
At any time can find a ready flaw.
A flaw! what's that? a loophole
(70) to escape,
Where wrong of right may take the pleasing shape;
A ready passage litigation finds,
To pilfer pockets and impose on minds;
Oh, that the long-rob'd gentry would beware,
And yield poor honesty a better share!
Come last, tho' first, come pleasant, sprightly KING,
Of whom 'tis pleasure, or to hear, or sing;
From whose extended merit thousands find,
The transports which attend a joyous mind:
Void of all art, with genius on thy side,
Genius thy never-failing friend and guide;
Judgement approves thee—right—because it must.
Thy ease, thy spirit, and thy features wrought,
Pregnant with sensibility of thought;
Thy just conception, and thy utt'rance free,
A pleasing, matchless volubility:
All, all unite to give thy valued name,
The laughter-bearing stamp of comic fame.
Late may the STAGE thy loss, oh! KING, lament,
Year after years in public service spent;
May'st thou enjoy, retir'd, a life serene,
And meet with comfort thy conclusive scene;
That cannot fail, to him who keeps thy plan,
Ev'n death is pleasure to an honest man.
The ladies!— soft!— a tender, ticklish theme,
'Tis rudeness, of their faults to think or dream;
Weakness avaunt! truth must send forth her dart,
Though it should glance a flutt'ring, female heart;
Politeness may condemn—complain who list—
But truth becomes an honest satirist;
[Page 56]And we, jealous as any king who lives,
Claim this the first of our prerogatives.
Beauty we worship, and the sex admire;
Their frowns must damp us, and their smiles inspire;
Yet ANTONY's submission ne'er shall prove
In us, that criticism's lost for love:
He to Aegyptian charms resign'd a world,
In beauty's sad despight our bolts are hurl'd.
Wherefore, oh time, shouldst thou bring on decay,
Nor let ripe women, girls for ever play?
POPE was, ten years ago, a sprightly lass;
But will increase of flesh now let her pass?
Why not? plump DAVY, near on fifty-six,
Still perseveres to play his boyish tricks;
Thro' ranger waddles, and is fond to dance,
Learn'd he such tricks in Italy or France?—
CLAIRON
(71) herself must at her prophet sneer,
To see his age and size in youthful sphere,
[Page 57]And policy, we freely own, should find,
Somewhat that's fatly similar of kind;
For if, like rabbits, coupled fat and lean,
Defects of figure would be quickly seen;
Hence to those tastes, which are not very nice,
POPE may in CHERRY please, and BEATRICE:
We grant that CLIVE, when past Meridian life,
Too often wag'd with fit appearance strife;
But nature could forgive her size and face,
For apt expression, and well-suited grace;
Let's not recall the sad remembrance past,
That losing her, we've lost her murder'd cast.
Having thus said, when HOPKINS comes in sight,
That bane of laughter; poison of delight:
We grieve, and wonder that a lump so dull,
Should ever rise beyond the Collier's
(72) trull:
Should murder ladies— nay, sometimes a queen;
'Till e'en good-nature falls into the spleen:
Must think the public easily beguil'd.
REDDISH, without a relish, we produce,
As profitless for pleasure, as for use;
Worse than a
cypher— why? because we find,
She moves a FIGURE of obnoxious kind:
Mere water-gruel, made most simply small,
Of which one taste sufficiently will pall.
LOVE has some merit, yet of little strength,
She ne'er should rise above a single length:
(74)
And BRADSHAW, likewise, was by nature meant
To stand within the same predicament;
Tho' we confess her AUDREY is a store
Of Comic humour, makes us wish for more.
AMBROSE and EGERTON, a dismal pair,
Not worth the critic's or the poet's care.
And boldly breeches seiz'd in IMOGEN;
Wants not good pow'rs for kindled love or rage,
Yet, can she not in either much engage;
In action stiff, oft dissonant in tone,
Her requisites ungraciously are shewn;
Yet, as our Theatres at present stand,
A post of honour she may well command:
She too was banish'd by a pittance small,
'Till, list'ning to HIBERNIA's friendly call,
That kindly soil to dawning merit true,
Improv'd, return'd her to the public view;
GARRICK awak'd, who,
pining, gave her more,
Than his pinch'd soul deny'd to her before.
BARRY has long a pleasing fav'rite reign'd,
And warm applause, by sterling merit gain'd;
So much in serious scenes she gives delight,
We wish to see her each returning night:
[Page 60]Mark her, enraptur'd, tread th' enliven'd stage,
Weep with her grief, and shudder with her rage;
In all her various passions sympathize,
And even gaze with transport on her EYES.
(76)
Here let us pause— to breathe a wish sincere,
That she may keep within her proper sphere;
Nor venture COMEDY of lighter kind;
With laughter she can never touch the mind:
Her Tragic walk is striking, rich and wide,
Enough to gratify e'en female pride:
Why then intrude on spirited compeers?
Is't not enough to shine the queen of tears?
Come at our call, whom all with joy must see,
The gay Theatrical EUPHROSYNE:
Whose ev'ry movement shews peculiar grace,
Whose arch expression cheers the dullest face;
Whose elegance and spirit, aptly join'd,
Pour matchless pleasure on each critic mind;
[Page 61]Ask you her name?—who has not view'd the sun?
Such only should be told — 'tis ABINGTON;
And yet, this foremost merit of our time,
Merit, which CHURCHILL scarce could paint in rhime;
Merit, with gen'ral approbation crown'd,
Treads but a narrow, a penurious round:
Clarinda, Beatrice and Townly claim,
Th' enliv'ning honour of her fav'rite name;
With many more; yet, vainly plead their cause,
For managers will make th' absurdest laws;
But let them blunder— tho' we seldom view,
Yet, ABINGTON must charm us when we do.
Of DRURY's long
et cetera we say,
That some much better, in their stations, play;
Than plume-crown'd heroes of superior rank,
And such for their endeavours we must thank;
Yet, being placed too low for public same,
'Twould be but superfluity to name.