Our Poetefs, fcarce bleft with one Rupee,
Invites the Criticks to a Difh of Tea.
On India bufinefs fhe attempts to call
Voters and Orators from Leadenhall,
And many a lady fhrouded in a Shawl;
Who, rang'd in rows, may bribe the Critick's eye, With a new Blanket Warehouse in July!
Her Indian hoft, or gueft, of this night's feaft, Is juft imported, neat as from the Eaft; His temper hot as Kayan, taste uncouth, But full of Honour, Honefty, and Truth! Let the Committee on his Acts who fit, No fault, that is not fairly prov'd, admit! Take him for what he is, humanely greet him, And like a stranger, as you like him, treat him!
To the CAPRICIOUS LADY, altered from the SCORNFUL
LADY OF BEAUMONT and FLETCHER,
And acted at the THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN.
Spoken by Mrs. ABINGTON.
February, 1783.
N Fletcher's days it was the favourite plan
Of Woman to dethrone the tyrant Man :
Our modern Fashions vary-yet their aim,
Howe'er purfu'd appears the very fame.
The Starch-Ruff'd Maidens of Queen Befs's reign Were doom'd a Starch demeanour to maintain; Quill'd up like Porcupines, they shot their darts, Slaughter'd whole rows of Knights, and wounded Hearts:
Their Virtue nought could shake, no fiege could alter:
A rock, impregnable as Gibraltar!
In vain were fighs, and tears, and idle flattery,
Their red-hot balls laid low each hoftile battery,
While they, bright ftars, above all weak comparison,
Shone forth the Female Eliotts of the Garrison.
The modern maiden finds things alter'd quite,
A hundred Danglers, 'not one faithful Knight!
Nor coy, nor cruel, all her charms difplay'd,
Coldly fhe's feen, and trusting she's betray'd:
U 4
Unfeeling coxcombs fcorn the damfels pow'r,
And pass in Rotten-Row the vacant hour.
The Fair, her power thus loft in fingle life,
Referves her policy till made a Wife.
The humble married dames of Fletcher's day
Thought wives must love and honour and obey;
Bound in the nuptial ring, that hoop of Gold,
Enchain'd their paffions, and their will controll❜d.
Too oft the modern Mifs, fcarce made a bride,
Breaks out at once all infolence and pride:
Mounted in Phaeton fhe courts the eye,
And eats, and games, and paints, and dresses high :
Who fhall fay nay? Content to drink and play,
His Lordship cries-" My Lady, take your way!
I've fixt your box at the opera-but am vext
That Polly Brilliant could not get the next."
Such was the rigid line of ancient rule,
And fuch the freedom of the Modern School:
Chufe which, ye Fair; or else, to copy loth,
Compose a new Pafticcio out of both;
Or fmit with nobler pride, on Nature look,
And read the brighteft pages of her book!
Would you a spotlefs maid, chafte wife be known,
Show the young Virtues ripening or full blown,
Mark how they prop, and dignify the Throne!
Rival Their goodness with a loyal strife,
with Royal Virtues private Life.
OCCASIONAL
On opening the THEATRE ROYAL, HAYMARKET, May 31, 1783.
Spoken by Mr. PALMER.
F real Novelty, we're told, there's none,
We know there's nothing new beneath the Sun. Yet ftill, untir'd, a Phantom we pursue,
Still expectation gapes for fomething new!
To whet your appetite, and pique your taste,
Each Bard ferves fome old difh in new Puff-Pafte;
Crams with hard crufts the Literary Glutton,
And like, Lord Peter, fwears they're Beef and Mutton.
Old Magazines each Manager too plunders,
Like Quacks and Mountebanks cries, Wonders!
Wonders!
Detection fcorns! risks contradictions flat;
Boafts a Black Swan! and gives us a Black Cat! Two Magpies, thus, all Winter charms the ear; The self-fame note our Cuckow dwells on here! For We, like Them, our Penny Trumpets found, An dNovelty's the word the whole year round. What tho' our house be threescore years of age, Let us new-vamp the Box, new-lay the Stage,
Long paragraphs fhall paint with proud parade
The gilded front and airy balustrade;
While on each poft, the flaming bill displays
Our Old New Theatre, and New-Old Plays.
The Hag of Fashion thus all paint and flounces,
Fills up her wrinkles, and her age renounces.
Stage answers Stage: from other boards, as here,
Have Senfe and Nonsense claim'd by turns your ear.
Here late his jefts Sir Jeffrey Dunstan broke;
Yet here too Lillo's Mufe fublimely spoke;
Here Fielding, foremost of the hum'rous train,
In Comick Mask indulg'd his laughing vein !
Here frolick Foote your favour well could beg,
Propt by his genuine Wit, and only Leg;
Their humble follower feels his merit less,
Yet feels, and proudly boafts, as much fuccefs.
Small though his talents, fmaller than his fize,
Beneath your smiles his little Lares rife:
And, oh! as Jove once grac'd Philemon's Thatch,
Oft of our Cottage may You lift the latch!
Oft may we greet you, full of hope and fear,
With hearty welcome, though but homely cheer!
May our old roof its old fuccefs maintain,
Nor know the Novelty of your difdain!
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