Stood forth and thrice he wav'd his lilly hand-
And thrice he twirl'd his tye-thrice ftrok'd his band.-
"At friendship's call (thus oft with trait'rous aim,
Men, void of faith, ufurp faith's facred name)
"At Friendship's call I come, by Murphy fent,
"Who thus by me developes his intent.
"But left, transfus'd, the spirit should be loft,
"That spirit which in ftorms of Rhet'ric tost,
"Bounces about, and flies like bottled beer,
"In his own words his own intentions hear.
"Thanks to my friends.-But to vile fortunes born,
"No robes of fur these shoulders must adorn.
"Vain your applaufe, no aid from thence I draw;
"Vain all my wit, for what is wit in law?
"Twice (curs'd remembrance!) twice I strove to gain
"Admittance 'mongst the law-instructed train,
"Who, in the Temple and Gray's-Inn, prepare
"For clients wretched feet the legal fnare:
"Dead to thofe arts which polish and refine,
"Deaf to all worth, because that worth was mine,
"Twice did thofe blockheads ftartle at my name,
"And foul rejection gave me up to fhame.
"To laws and lawyers then I bad adieu,
"And plans of far more lib'ral note pursue.
"Who will may be a judge-my kindling breast
"Burns for that chair which Rofcius once poffefs'd.
"Here give your votes, your int'rett here exert,
"And let fuccefs for once attend defert."
With fleek appearance, and with ambling pace,
And, type of vacant head, with vacant face,
The Proteus Hill put in his modeft plea,—
"Let Favour fpeak for others, Worth for me."
For who, like him, his various powers could call
Into fo many fhapes, and fhine in all ?
Who could fo nobly grace the motley lift,
Actor, inspector, doctor, botanist ?
Knows any one fo well-fure no one knows,-
At once to play, prefcribe, compound, compofe?
Who can but Woodward came,-Hill slipp'd away,
Melting, like ghofts, before the rifing day.
* With that low Cunning, which in fools fupplies,
And amply too, the place of being wife,
Which Nature, kind, indulgent parent, gave
To qualify the blockhead for a knave;
With that smooth Falfhood, whofe appearance charms,
And reafon of each wholfome doubt difarms,
Which to the loweft depths of guile defcends,
By vileft means purfues the vileft ends,
Wears friendship's mask for purposes of spite,
Fawns in the day, and butchers in the night;
With that malignant Envy, which turns pale,
And fickens, even if a friend prevail,
Which merit and fuccefs purfues with hate,
And damns the worth it cannot imitate;
With the cold Caution of a coward's spleen,'
Which fears not guilt, but always feeks a screen,
Which keeps this maxim ever in her view
What's bafely done, should be done safely too;
With that dull, rooted, callous Impudence,
Which, dead to shame, and ev'ry nicer sense,
Ne'er blufh'd, unless, in fpreading Vice's fnares,
She blunder'd on some virtue unawares ;
With all these bleffings, which we feldom find
Lavish'd by nature on one happy mind,
A motley figure, of the Fribble tribe,
Which heart can scarce conceive, or pen describe,
Came fimp'ring on; to afcertain whofe fex
Twelve, fage, impannell'd matrons would perplex.
Nor male, nor female; neither, and yet both;
Of neater gender, though of Irish growth;
A fix-foot fuckling, mincing in its gait ;
Affected, peevish, prim, and delicate;
Fearful it feem'd, tho' of athletic make,
Left brutal breezes fhould too roughly shake
Its tender form, and favage motion fpread,
O'er its pale cheek, the horrid manly red.
Much did it talk, in its own pretty phrafe,
Of genius and of tafte, of play'rs and plays;
Much too of writings, which itself had wrote,
Of fpecial merit, tho' of little note;
For Fate, in a strange humour, had decreed
That what it wrote, none but itfelf fhould read;
Much too it chatter'd of dramatic laws,
Misjudging critics, and mifplac'd applause,
Then, with a felf-complacent jutting air,
It fmil'd, it fmirk'd, it wriggled to the chair;
And, with an aukward brifknefs not its own,
Looking around, and perking on the throne,
Triumphant feem'd, when that ftrange favage dame,
Known but to few, or only known by name,
Plain Common Sense appear'd, by Nature there
Appointed, with plain Truth, to guard the chair.
The pageant faw, and blasted with her frown,
To its first ftate of nothing melted down.
Nor fhall the Mufe (for even there the pride
Of this vain nothing fhall be mortified)
Nor fhall the Mufe (fhould Fate ordain her rimes,
Fond, pleafing thought! to live in after-times)
With fuch a trifler's name her pages blot;
Known be the character, the thing forgot ;
Let it, to disappoint each future aim,
Live ruithout fex, and die withont a name !
Cold-blooded critics, by enervate fires
Scarce hammer'd out, when Nature's feeble fires Glimmer'd their laft; whofe fluggish blood half froze,
Creeps lab'ring thro' the veins; whose heart ne'ef
With fancy-kindled heat ;-a fervile race,
Who in mere want of fault, all merit place;
Who blind obedience pay to ancient schools,
Bigots to Greece, and flaves to musty rules;
With folemn confequence declar'd that none
Could judge that caufe but Sophocles alone.
Dupes to their fancied excellence, the crowd,
Obfequious to the facred dictate, bow'd.
When, from amidst the throng, a youth stood forth,
*This fevere character was intended for Mr. Fitzpatrick, a perfon who had rendered himself remarkable by his activity in the play-house riots of 1763," relative to the taking half prices. He was the hero of Garrick's Fribbleriad. E.
"That England may not please the ear as well?
"What mighty magic's in the place or air,
"That all perfection needs must centre there?
"In ftates, let ftrangers be preferred;
"In state of letters merit should be heard.
"Genius is of no country, her pure ray
Spreads all abroad, as gen'ral as the day; "Foe to reftraint, from place to place the flies, "And may hereafter e'en in Holland rife. "May not (to give a pleafing fancy scope, "And chear a patriot heart with patriot hope) "May not fome great extenfive Genius raise "The name of Britain 'bove Athenian praise ; "And, whilst brave thirst of fame his bofom warms, "Make England great in letters as in arms? "There may-there hath-and Shakespeare's muse "afpires
"Beyond the reach of Greece: with native fires "Mounting aloft, he wings his airy flight, "While Sophocles below ftands trembling at his "height.
"Why should we then abroad for judges roam, "When abler judges we may find at home? "Happy in tragic and in comic pow'rs, "Have we not Shakespeare ?-Is not Jonfon ours? "For them, your nat`ral judges Britons, vote; They'll judge like Britons, who like Britons "wrote."
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He faid, and conquer'd-Senfe refum'd her sway,
And difappointed pedants stalk'd away.
Shakespeare and Jonfon who deferv'd applause,
Joint-judges were ordain'd to try the cause.
Mean-time the stranger ev'ry voice employ'd,
To afk or tell his name-Who is it ?-LLOYD.
Thus, when the aged friends of Job stood mute,
And, tamely prudent, gave up the difpute,
Elihu, with the decent warmth of youth,
Boldly ftood forth the advocate of truth;
Confuted falfehood, and difabled pride,
Whilft baffled age stood snarling at his fide.
The day of tryal's fix'd, nor any fear
Left day of tryal should be put off here.
Caufes but feldom for delay can call
In courts where forms are few, fees none at all.
The morning came, nor find I that the Sun,
As he on other great events hath done,
Put on a brighter robe than what he wore
To go his journey on the day before.
Fall in the centre of a fpacious plain,
On plan entirely new, where nothing vain,
Nothing magnificent appear'd, but Art
With decent modefty perform'd her part,
Rofe a tribunal: from no other court
It borrow'd ornament, or fought fupport:
No juries here were pack'd to kill or clear,
No bribes were taken, nor oaths broken here
No gownfmen partial to a client's caufe,
To their own purpose tun'd the pliant laws.
Each judge was true and fteady to his trust,
As Mansfield wife, and as old Fofter * just.
In the first feat, in robe of various dyes,
A noble wildness flashing from his eyes,
Sat Shakespeare. In one hand a wand he bore,
For mighty wonder fam'd in days of yore;
The other held a globe, which to his will
Obedient turn'd, and own'd the master's skill:
Things of the noblest kind his genius drew,
And look'd thro' Nature at a fingle view
A loose he gave to his unbounded foul,
And taught new lands to rife, new feas to roll ;
Call'd into being scenes unknown before,
And, paffing Nature's bounds, was something more,
Next Jonfon fat, in ancient learning train'd,
His rigid judgment Fancy's flight restrain'd,
Correctly prun'd each wild luxuriant thought,
Mark'd out her courfe, nor fpar'd a glorious fault,
The book of man he read with niceft art,
And ranfack'd all the fecrets of the heart;
Exerted penetration's utmost force,
And trac'd each paffion to its proper
fource ;
Then strongly mark'd, in livelieft colours drew,
And brought each foible forth to public view.
The coxcomb felt a lafh in ev'ry word,
And fools, hung out, their brother fools deterr'd.
His comic humour kept the world in awe,
And Laughter frighten'd Folly more than Law.
But, hark-the trumpet founds, the crowd give
And the proceffion comes in just array.
Now fhould I, in fome sweet poetic line,
Offer up incenfe at Apollo's fhrine;
Invoke the Mufe to quit her calm abode,
And waken mem'ry with a sleeping ode,
For how should mortal man, in mortal verfe,
Their titles, merits, or their names rehearse?
But give, kind Dullnefs, memory and rime,
We'll put off Genius till another time.
First, Order came,-with folemn step, and flow,
In measur❜d time his feet were taught to go.
Behind, from time to time, he caft his eye,
Left This should quit his place, That step awry.
Appearances to fave his only care;
So things feem right, no matter what they are.
In him his parents faw themselves renew'd,
Begotten by Sir Critic on Saint Prude.
Then came drum, trumpet, hautboy, fiddle, flute;
Next fnuffer, fweeper, fhifter, foldier, mute :
Legions of angels all in white advance;
Furies, all fire, come forward in a dance;
Pantomime figures then are brought to view,
Fools hand in hand with fools, go two by two.
Next came the treasurer of either house;
One with full purfe, t'other with not a fous.
Behind, a group of figures awe create,
Set off with all th' impertinence of state;
By lace and feather confecrate to fame,
Expletive kings, and queens without a name.
Here Havard, all ferene, in the fame strains, Loves, hates, and rages, triumphs, and com
His eafy vacant face proclaim'd a heart
Which could not feel emotions, nor impart.
With him came mighty Davies. On my life,
That Davies hath a very pretty wife :---
Statesman all over !-In plots famous grown!---
He mouths a fentence, as curs mouth a bone.
Next Holland came.-With truly tragic stalk,
He creeps, he flies.-A hero fhould not walk.
As if with heav'n he warr'd, his cager eyes
Planted their batteries against the skies;
Attitude, action, air, pause, start, figh, groan,
He borrow'd, and made ufe of as his own.
*Sir Michael Fofter, one of the Judges of the By fortune thrown on any other stage, King's Bench.
He might, perhaps, have pleas'd m easy-age ;
But now appears a copy and no more,
Of fomething better we have feen before.
The actor who would build a folid fame,
Muft imitation's fervile arts difclaim;
Act from himself, on his own bottom ftand;
I hate e'en Garrick thus at fecond-hand.
Behind came King.-Ered up in modeft lore,
Bashful and young he fought Hibernia's shore ;
Hibernia, fam'd, 'bove ev'ry other grace,
For matchless intrepidity of face.
From her his features caught the gen'rous flame,
And bid defiance to all fenfe of shame.
Tutor'd by her all rivals to furpafs,
'Mongit Drury's fons he comes, and shines in Brass.
Lo Yates Without the least finesse of art
He gets applaufe-I wish he'd get his part.
When hot impatience is in full career,
How vilely Hark'e! Hark'e!" grates the ear?
When active fancy from the brain is fent,
And ftands on tip-toe for fome wifh'd event,
I hate thofe carelefs blunders which recall
Sufpended fenfe, and prove it fiction all.
In characters of low and vulgar mould,
Where Nature's coarfeft features we behold,
Where, deititute of ev'ry decent grace,
Unmanner'd jefts are blurted in your face,
There Yates with juftice ftrict attention draws,
Acts truly from himfelf, and gains applaufe.
But when to please himself or charm his wife,
He aims at fomething in politer life,
When, blindly thwarting Nature's stubborn plan,
He treads the stage, by way of gentleman,
The clown, who no one touch of breeding knows,
Looks like Tom Errand drefs'd in Clincher's
cloaths.
Fond of his drefs, fond of his person grown,
Laugh'd at by all, and to himfelf unknown,
From fide to fide he truts, he fmiles, he prates,
And feems to wonder what's become of Yates.
Woodward, endow'd with various tricks of face,
Great mafter in the fcience of grimace,
From Ireland ventures, fav'rite of the town,
Lur'd by the pleafing profpect of renown;
A fpeaking Harlequin, made up of whim,
He twifts, he twines, he tortures ev'ry limb,
Plays to the eye with a mere monkey's art,
And leaves to fenfe the conquest of the heart.
We laugh indeed, but on reflection's birth,
We wonder at ourfelves, and curfe our mirth.
His walk of parts he fatally mifplac'd,
And inclination fondly took for tafte;
Hence hath the town fo often feen display'd
Beau in burlesque, high life in mafquerade.
But when bold wits, not fuch as patch up plays,
Cold and correct, in thefe infipid days,
Some comic character, ftrong featur'd, urge
To probability's extremeft verge,
Where modeft judgment her decree fufpends,
And for a time, nor cenfures, nor commends,
Where critics can't determine on the spot,
Whether it is in Nature found or not,
There Woodward fafely fhall his pow'rs exert,
Nor fail of favour where he shews defert.
Hence he in Bobadil fuch praises bore,
Such worthy praises, Kitely fearce had more.
By turns transform'd into all kinds of fhopes, Cenitant to none, Foote laughs, cries, ftruts and fcrapes;
Now in the centre, now in van or rear,
The Proteus fhifts, Barud, Parson, Auctioneer.
His ftrokes of humour, and his burits of sport,
Are all contain'd in this one word, Differt.
Doth a man stutter, look a-fquint, or halt ?
Mimics draw humour out of Nature's fault,
With personal defects their mirth adorn,
And hang misfortunes out to public fcorn.
E'en I, whom nature caft in hideous mould,
Whom, having made, the trembled to behold,
Beneath the load of mimicry may groan,
And find that Nature's error are my own.
Shadows behind of Foote and Woodward came;
Wilkinson this, Obrien was that name.
Strange to relate, but wonderfully true,
That even fhadows have their fhadows too!
With not a fingle comic pow'r endu'd,
The first a mere mere mimic's mimic stood;
The laft by Nature form'd to please, who fhews,
In Jonfon's Stephen, which way Genius grows;
Self quite put off, affects, with too much art,
To put on Woodward in each mangled part;
Adopts his fhrug, his wink, his ftare; nay, more,
His voice, and croaks; for Woodward croak'd be-
fore.
When a dull copier fimple grace neglects.
And refts his imitation in defects,
We readily forgive; but fuch vile arts
Are double guilt in men of real parts.
By Nature form'd in her perverfeft mood,
With no one requifite of art endu’d,
Next Jackfon came.-Obferve that fettled glare,
Which better speaks a puppet than a player:
Lift to that voice-did ever Discord hear
Sounds fo well fitted to her untun'd ear?
When, to enforce fome very tender part,
The right-hand fleeps by inctinct on the heart,
His foul, of every other thought bereft,
Is anxious only where to place the left;
He fobs and pants to foothe his weeping spouse,
To foothe his weeping mother, turns and bows.
Aukward, embarrass'd, ftiff, without the skill
Of moving gracefully, or ftanding still,
One leg, as if fufpicious of his brother,
Defirous feems to run away from t'other.
Some errors, handed down from age to age,
Plead cuftom's force, and ftill poffefs the stage.
That's vile-Should we a parent's faults adore,
And err, because our fathers err'd before;
If, inattentive to the author's mind,
Some actors made the jeft they could not find,
If by low tricks they marr'd fair Nature's mien
And blurr'd the graces of the fimple scene,
Shall we, if reafon rightly is employ`d,
Not fee their faults, or feeing not avoid?
When Falstaff ftands detected in a lye,
Why, without meaning, rolls Love's glassy eye?
Why? There's no caufe-at leaft no caufe we
know-
It was the fashion twenty years ago.
Fashion, a word which knaves and fools may ufe
Their knavery and folly to excufe.
To copy beauties, forfeits all pretence
To fame to copy faults, is want of fense.
Yet (tho' in fome particulars he fails,
Some few particulars, where Mode prevails)
If in thefe hallow'd times, when sober, fad,
All gentlemen are melancholy mad,
When 'tis not deem'd fo great a crime by half
To violate a veftal, as to laugh,
Rude mirth may hope prefumptuous to engage
An act of Toleration for the stage,
And courtiers will, like reafonable creatures,
Sufpend vain fashion, and unfcrew their features,
Old Falftaff, play'd by Love, thall pleafe once more,
And humour fet the audience in a roar.
Actors I've feen, and of no vulgar name,
Who, being from one part poffefs'd of fame,
Whether they are to laugh, cry, whine, or bawl,
Still introduce that fav'rite part in all.
Here, Love, be cautious-ne'er be thou betray'd
To call in that wag Falftiff's dang 'rous aid;
Like Goths of old, howe'er he seems a friend,
He'll feize that throne, you with him to defend.
In a peculiar mould by Humour cast,
For Falstaff fram'd-Himfelf, the first and last-
He ftands aloof from all-maintains his state,
And fcorns, like Scatmen, to affimilate.
Vain all difguife-too plain we fee the trick,
Tho' the Knight wears the weeds of Dominic,
And Boniface, difgrac'd, betrays the fmack,
In Anno Domini, of Falftaff's fack.
Arms crofs'd, brows bent, eyes fix'd, feet
ing flow,
A band of malecontents with fpleen o'erflow;
Wrapt in conceit's impenetrable fog,
Long, from a nation ever hardly us'd,
At random cenfur'd, wantonly abus'd,
Have Britons drawn their fport, with partial view
Form'd gen'ral notions from the rafcal few ;
Condemn'd a people as for vices known,
Which, from their country banish'd, feek our own.
At length, howe'er, the flavith chain is broke,
And Sente awaken'd, fcorns her ancient yoke:
Taught by thee, Moody, we now learn to raise
Mirth from their foibles, from their virtues, praife.
Next came the legion, which our Summer Bayes,
From alleys, here and there, contriv'd to raise,
Flush'd with vast hopes, and certain to fucceed
With Wits who cannot write, and fearce can read.
Vet'rans no more fupport the rotten caufe,
No more from Elliot's worth they reap applaufe;
Each on himself determines to rely,
Be Yates difbanded, and let Elliot fly.
Never did play'rs fo well an author fit,
To Nature dead, and foes declared to Vit.
So loud each tongue, fo empty was each head,
So much they talk'd, fo very little faid,
So wond'rous dull, and yet fo wond'rous vain,
At once fo willing, and unfit to reign,
march-That Reafon fwore, nor would the oath recall,
Their mighty matter's foul inform'd them all.
As one with various difappointments fad,
Whom Dullness only kept from being mad,
Apart from all the reit great Murphy came-
Common to fools and wits, the rage of fame.
What tho' the fons of Nonfenfe hail him SIRE,
AUDITOR, AUTHOR, MANAGER, and SQUIRE,
His reftlefs foul's ambition ftops not there,
To make his triumphs perfect, dub him PLAYER.
In perfon tall, a perfon form'd to please,
If fymmetry could charm, depriv'd of eafe;
When motionlefs he ftands, we all approve,
What pity 'tis the Thing was made to move.
Which pride, like Phebus, draws from ev'ry bog,
They curfe the Managers, and curfe the Town,
Whofe partial favours keeps fuch merit down.
But if fome man, more hardy than the rest,
Should dare attack thefe gnatlings in their neft;
At once they rife with impotence of rage,
Whet their small ftings, and buzz about the stage.
""Tis breach of privilege!-Shall any dare
"To arm fatyric truth against a player?
"Prefcriptive rights we plead time out of mind;
"Actors, unlath'd themfelves, may lafh man-
"kind."
What! fhall opinion then, of Nature free
And lib'ral as the vagrant air, agree
To ruft in chains like thefe, impos'd by things
Which, lefs than nothing, ape the pride of kings;
No-though half-poets with half-players join
To curfe the freedom of each honest line;
Though rage and malice dim their faded cheek;
What the mufe freely thinks, fhe'll freely fpeak.
With juft difdain of ev'ry paltry fneer,
Stranger alike to flattery and fear,
In purpose fix'd and to herself a rule,
Public contempt fhall wait the public fool.
Austin would always gliften in French filks,
Ackman would Norris be, and Packer Wilks.
For who, like Ackman, can with humour please;
Who can, like Packer, charm with sprightly ease?
Higher than all the reft, fee Bransby strut:
A mighty Gulliver in Lilliput!
Ludicrous Nature! which at once could fhew
A man fo very high, fo very low.
If I forget thee, Blakes, or if I fay
Aught hurtful, may I never fee thee play.
Let critic, with a fupercilious air,
Decry thy various merit, and declare
Frenchman is ftill at top ;-but fcorn that rage
Which, in attacking thee attacks the age.
French follies, univerfally embrac'd,
At once provoke our mirth, and form our taste.
His voice, in one dull, deep, and varied found,
Seems to break forth from caverns under ground.
From hollow cheft the low fepulchral note
Unwilling heaves, and struggles in his throat.
Could authors butcher'd give an actor grace,
All must to him refign the foremoît place.
When he attempts, in fome fav'rite part,
To ape the feelings of a manly heart,
His honeft features the difguife defy,
And his face loudly gives his tongue the lye.
Still in extremes, he knows no happy mean,
Or raving mad, or stupidly ferene.
In cold-wrought fcenes the lifeless actor flags,
In paffion, tears the paffion into rags.
Can none remember ?—Yes-I know all must-
When in the Moor he ground his teeth to duft,
When o'er the stage he Folly's ftandard bore,
Whilst Common-Senfe ftood trembling at the door.
How few are found with real talents blefs'd,
Fewer with Nature's gifts contented reft.
Man from his fphere eccentric ftarts aftray;
All hunt for fame; but most mistake the way.
Bred at St. Omer's to the thuffling trade,
The hopeful youth a Jesuit might have made,
With various readings ftor'd his empty fkull,
Learn'd without fenfe, and venerably dull;
Or, at fome banker's defk, like many more,
Content to tell that two and two make four,
His name had flood in CITY ANNALS fair,
And prudent Dullness mark'd him for a Mayor.
What then could tempt thee in a critic age,
Such blooming hopes to forfeit on a stage?
Could it be worth thy wond'rous waste of pains
To publish to the world thy lack of brains?
Or might not reafon e'en to thee have shewn
Thy greatest praise had been to live unknown?
Yet let not vanity, like thine, defpair:
Fortune makes Folly her peculiar care.
A vacant throne high plac'd in Smithfield view,
To facred Dullness and her firft-born due,
Thither with hafte in happy hour repair,
Thy birth-right claim, nor fear a rival there.
Shuter himself shall own thy jufter claim,
And venal Ledgers puff their Murphy's name,
Whilft Vaughan or Dapper, call him which you will,
Shall blow the trumpet, and give out the bill.
There rule fecure from critics and from sense,
Nor once fhall Genius rife to give offence;
Eternal peace shall bless the happy fhore,
And little Factions break thy reft no more.
From Covent-Garden crowds promiscuous go,
Whom the Mufe knows not, nor defires to know.
Vet'rans they feem'd, but knew of arms no more
Than if, till that time, arms they never bore:
Like Weftminster militia train'd to fight,
They scarcely knew the left hand from the right.
Afham'd among fuch troops to fhew the head,
Their chiefs were scatter'd, and their heroes fied.
Sparks at his glafs fat comfortably down
To fep'rate frown from fmile, and fmile from frown;
Smith, the genteel, the airy, and the smart,
Smith was just gone to school to say his part ;
Rofs (a misfortune which we often meet)
Was faft afleep at dear Statira's feet;
Statira, with her hero to agree,
Stood on her feet as faft afleep as he;
Macklin, who largely deals in half-form'd founds,
Who wantonly tranfgreffes Nature's bounds,
Whofe acting's hard, affected, and constrain'd,
Whofe features, as each other they difdain'd,
At variance fet, inflexible and coarse,
Ne'er know the workings of united force,
Ne'er kindly foften to each other's aid,
Nor fhew the mingled pow'rs of light and shade,
No longer for a thankless stage concern'd,
To worthier thoughts his mighty genius turn'd,
Harangu'd, gave lectures, made each fimple elf
Almoft as good a speaker as himself;
Whilft the whole Town, and with mistaken zeal,
An aukward rage for Elocution feel;
Dull Cits and grave Divines his praife proclaim,
And join with Sheridan's their Macklin's name;
Shuter, who never car'd a single pin
Whether he left out nonsense or put in,
Who aim'd at wit, tho' levell'd in the dark,
The random arrow feldom hit the mark,
At Iflington, all by the placid stream
Where City fwains in lap of dullnefs dream,
Where, quiet as her ftrains their ftrains do flow,
That all the patron by the bards may know,
Secret as night, with Rolt's experienc'd aid,
The plan of future operations laid,
Projected schemes the fummer months to chear,
And fpin out happy Folly through the year.
A gentleman ftill living, who published, at this jundure, a Poem entitled, "The Retort,"
But think not, though these dastard-chiefs are fled,
That Covent-Garden troops fhall want a head:
Harlequin comes their chief!-See from afar,
The hero feated in fantastic car!
Wedded to Novelty, his only arms
Are wooden fwords, wands, talismans, and charms ;
On one fide Folly fits, by fome call'd Fun,
And on the other, his arch-patron Lun.
Behind, for liberty a-thirst in vain,
Senfe, helpless captive, drags the galling chain.
Six rude mif-fhapen beafts the chariot draw,
Whom Reafon loaths, and Nature never faw;
Monsters, with tails of ice, and heads of fire;
Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimeras dire.
Each was beftrode by full as monftrous wight,
Giant, Dwarf, Genius, Elf, Hermaphrodite.
The Town, as ufual, met him in full cry;
The Town, as ufual, knew no reason why.
But Fashion fo directs, and moderns raise
On Fashion's mould'ring base their transient praise.
Next, to the field a band of females draw
Their force; for Britain owns no Salique law:
Juft to their worth, we female rights admit,
Nor bar their claim to empire or to wit.
Firft, giggling, plotting chamber-maids arrive,
Hoydens and romps, led on by Gen'ral Clive.
In fpite of outward blemishes, she shone
For humour fam`d, and humour all her own.
Easy, as if at home, the stage fhe trod,
Nor fought the critic's praife, nor fear'd his rod,
Original in fpirit and in cafe,
She pleas'd by hiding all attempts to please.
No comic actress ever yet could raise,
On Humour's bafe, more merit or more praise.
With all the native vigour of fixteen,
Among the merry troop confpicuous feen,
See lively Pope advance in jig and trip,
Corinna, Cherry, Honeycomb, and Snip.
Not without Art, but then to Nature true,
She charms the Town with humour juft, yet new.
Chear'd by her promife, we the lofs deplore
The fatal time when Clive fhall be no more.
Lo! Vincent comes-with fimple grace array'd,
She laughs at paltry arts, and fcorns parade.
Nature through her is by reflection shewn,
Whilft Gay once more knows Polly for his own.
Talk not to me of diffidence and fear-
I fee it all, but muft forgive it here.
Defects like these which modeft terrors cause,
From impudence itself extort applaufe.
Candour and Reason still take Virtue's part;
We love e'en foibles in fo good an heart.
Let Tommy Arne, with ufual pomp of stile,
Whose chief, whofe only merit's to compile,
Who, meanly pilfering here and there a bit,
Deals mufic out as Murphy deals out wit,
Publish propofals, laws for tatte prescribe,
And chaunt the praise of an Italian trite;
Let him reverse kind Nature's first decrees,
And teach e'en Brent a method not to please ;
But never shall a truly British age
Bear a vile race of eunuchs on the stage.
The boafted work's call'd National in vain,
If one Italian voice pollutes the strain.
Where tyrants rule, and slaves with joy obey,
Let flavish minstrels pour th' enervate lay i
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