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Stood forth ; and thrice he wav'd his lilly hand- With all these blessings, which we feldom find
And thrice he twirl'd his tye-chricestrok'd his band.- Lavish'd by nature on one happy mind,

At friendthip’s call (thus oft with trait'rous aim, A motley figure, of the Fribble tribe, Men, void of faith, usurp faith's sacred name) Which heart can scarce conceive, or

pen

describe, At Friendship's call I come, by Murphy sent, Came simp'ring on ; to ascertain whose sex Who thus by me developes his intent.

Twelve, fage, impannellid matrons would perpley “ But left, transfus'd, the spirit should be loft, Nor male, nor female ; neither, and yet both; “ That spirit which in storms of Rhet'ric tost, Of neater gender, though of Irish growth ; “ Bounces about, and flies like bottled beer, A fix-foot suckling, mincing in its gait; « In his own words his own intentions hear.

Affected, peevith, prim, and delicate ; “ Thanks to my friends.-But to vile fortunes born, Fearful it seem'd, tho' of athletic make, 16 No robes of fur there shoulders must adorn. Lett brutal breezes should too roughly shake “ Vain your applause, no a'd from thence I draw; Its tender form, and savage motion spread, Vain all my wit, for what is wit in law?

O'er its pale cheek, the horrid manly red. “ Twice (curs'd remembrance !) twice I trove to gain Much did it talk, in its own pretty phrase, “ Admittance 'mongst the law-instructed train, Of genius and of taste, of play'rs and plays ; 66 Who, in the Temple and Gray's- Inn, prepare Much ton of writings, which itself had wrote, “ For clients wretched feet the legal snare :

Of special merit, tho' of little note ; “ Dead to those arts which polish and refine, For Fate, in a ftrange humour, had decreed « Deaf to all worth, because that worth was mine, That what it wrote, none but itself should read ; • Twice did those blockheads startle at my name, Much too it chatter'd of dramatic laws, “ And foul rejection give me up to shame.

Misjudging critics, and misplac'd applause, " To laws and lawyers then I bad adieu,

Then, with a self-complacent jutting air, “ And plans of far more lib'ral note pursue. It smil'd, it smirk’d, it wriggled to the chair ; • Who will may be a judge my kindling breast And, with an aukward briskness not its own, “ Burns for that chair which Rofcius once possess’d. Looking around, and perking on the throne, " Here give your votes, your int'reit here exert, Triumphant seem'd, when that strange savage dame, & And let success for once attend desert."

Known but to few, or only known by name,
With seek appearance, and with ambling pace, Plain Common Sense appear'd, by Nature there
And, type of vacant head, with vacant face, Appointed, with plain Truth, to guard the chais.
The Proteus Hill put in his modes plea,

The pageant saw, and blasted with her frown,
" Let Favour speak for others, Worth for me." To its first state of nothing melted down.
For who, like him, his various powers could call Nor shall the Muse (for even there the pride
Into so many shapes, and shine in all ?

Of this vain nothing shall be mortified)
Who could fo nobly grace the motley lift,

Nor shall the Muse (should Fate ordain her rimes, Astor, inspector, docior, botanist ?

Fond, pleasing thought ! to live in after-times) Knows any one so well-sure no one knows,

With such a trifler's name her pages blot ; At once to play, prescribe, compound, compose ? Known be the character, the thing forgot ; Who can-but Woodward came.-Hill Nipp'd away, Let it, to disappoint each future aim, Melting, like ghosts, before the rising day. Live without sex, and die withont a name !

* With that low Cunning, which in fools supplies, Cold-blooded critics, by enervate fires And amply too, the place of being wife,

Scarce hammer'd out, when Nature's feeble fires Which Nature, kind, indulgent parent, gave

Glimmer'd their last ; whose Nuggish blood half To qualify the blockhead for a knave;

froze, With that smooth Falthood, whose appearance charms, Creeps lab'ring thro' the veins ; whose heart ne'er And reason of each wholsome doubt difarms,

glows Which to the lowest depths of guile descends, With fancy-kindled heat ;-a servile race, By vileft means pursues the vileft ends,

Who in mere want of fault, all merit place; Wears friendship’s mask for purposes of spite, Who blind obedience pay to ancient schools, Fawns in the day, and butchers in the night;

Bigots to Greece, and Naves to musty rules ; With that malignant Envy, which turns pale, With folemn consequence declar'd that none And fickens, even if a friend prevail,

Could judge that cause but Sophocles alone. Which merit and success pursues with hate,

Dupes to their fancied excellence, the crowd, And damns the worth it cannot imitate ;

Obsequious to the sacred dictate, bow'd. With the cold Caution of a coward's spleen,

When, from amidst the throng, a youth stood Which fears not guilt, but always seeks a screen,

forth, Which keeps this maxim ever in her view

Unknown his person, not unknown his worth;
What's basely done, should be done safely too ; His look bespoke applause ; alone he stood,
With that dull, rooted, callous Impudence,

Alone he stemm'd the mighty critic flood.
Which, dead to shame, and ev'ry nicer fense, He talk'd of ancients, as the man became
Ne'er blush'd, unless, in spreading Vice's snares, Who priz'd our own, but envied not their fame;
She blunder'd on some virtue unawares ;

With noble rev'rence spoke of Greece and Rome,

And scorn'd to tear the laurels from the tomb. This severe character was intended for Mr. Fitz- « But more than just to other countries grown, patrick, a person who had rendered himself remarka-“ Must we turn base apostates to our own? ble by his activity in the play-house riots of 1763, “ Where do these words of Greece and Rome relative to the taking half prices. He was the hero excel, of Garrick's Fribbleriad.

E. “ That England may not please the car as well ?

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( What mighty magic's in the place or air, Things of the noblest kind his genius drew,
" That all perfection needs must centre there? And look'd thro' Nature at a single view :
“ In states, let strangers be preferred ;

A loose he gave to his unbounded soul, « In state of letters merit should be heard.

And taught new lands to rise, new seas to roll

į « Genius is of no country, her pure ray

Coll'd into being scenes unknown before, “ Spreads all abroad, as gen'ral as the day ;

And, passing Nature's bounds, was something more. “ Foe to restraint, from place to place the flies, Next Jonson sat, in ancient learning train’d, “ And may hereafter e'en in Holland rise.

His rigid judgment Fancy's flight restrain'd, "May not (to give a pleasing fancy scope,

Correctly prun'd each wild luxuriant thought, " And chear a patriot heart with patriot hope) Mark'd out her course, nor spar'd a glorious fault, May not some great extensive Genius raise

The book of man he read with nicest art, “ The name of Britain 'bove Athenian praise ; And ranfack'd all the secrets of the heart; « And, whilft brave thirst of fame his bosom warms, Exerted penetration's utmost force, “ Make England great in letters as in arms ?

And trac'd each paffion to its proper source; " There may--there hath-and Shakespeare's mufe Then strongly mark’d, in liveliest colours drew,

And brought each foible forth to public view. “ Beyond the reach of Greece : with native fires The coxcomb felt a lath in ev'ry word, “ Mounting aloft, he wings his airy Aight,

And fools, hung out, their brother fools deterr'd. " While Sophocles below tands trembling at his His comic humuur kept the world in awe, " height.

And Laughter frighten'd Folly more than Law. “ Why should we then abroad for judges roam, But, hark the trumpet sounds, the crowd give " When abler judges we may find at home ?

way, “ Happy io tragic and in comic pow'rs,

And the procession comes in just array.
• Have we not Shakespeare ? --Is not Jonson ours ? Now should I, in fome sweet poetic line,
& For them, your natral judges Britons, vote; Offer up incense at Apollo's shrine ;
“ They'll judge like Britons, who like Britons Invoke the Muse to quit her calm abode,
« wrote."

And waken mem'ry with a neeping ode.
He said, and conquerid-Sense resum'd her sway, For how should mortal man, in mortal verse,
And disappointed pedants (talk'd away.

Their titles, merits, or their names rehearfe ?
Shakespeare and Jonson who deserv'd applause, But give, kind Dullness, memory and rime,
Joint-judges were ordain'd to try the cause.

We'll put off Genius till another time. Mean-time the stranger ev'ry voice employ'd,

First, Order came, with solemn step, and now, To ask or tell his name-Who is it !LLOYD. In measur'd time his feet were taught to go.

Thus, when the aged friends of Job stood mute, Behind, from time to time, he cast his eye, And, tamely prudent, gave up the dispute,

Left This should quit his place, That step awry. Elihu, with the decent warmth of youth,

Appearances to save his only care ; Boldly stood forth the advocate of truth ;

So things seem right, no matter what they are. Confuted falsehood, and disabled pride,

In him his parents saw themselves renew'd, Whilft baffled age stood snarling at his fide.

Begotten by Sir Critic on Saint Prude. The day of tryal's fix'd, nor any fear

Then came drum, trumpet, ha:tboy, fiddle, fute ; Lest day of tryal should be put off here.

Next fnuffer, sweeper, Jhifter, soldier, mute : Causes but seldom for delay can call

Legions of angels all in white advance; In courts where forms are few, fees none at all, Furies, all

fire, come forward in a dance ; The morning came, nor find I that the Sun, Pantomime figures then are brought to view, As he on other great events hath done,

Fools hand in hand with fools, go two by two. Put on a brighter robe than what he wore

Next came the treasurer of either house ; To go his journey on the day before.

One with full purse, t'other with not a fous. Full in the centre of a spacious plain,

Behind, a group of figures awe create, On plan entirely new, where nothing vain,

Set off with all th'impertinence of fate; Nothing magnificent appear’d, but Art

By lace and feather consecrate to fame, With decent modesty perform'd her part,

Expletive kings, and queens without a name. Rose a tribunal: from no other court

Here Havard, all serene, in the fame strains, It borrow'd ornament, or sought support :

Loves, hates, and rages, triumphs, and com No juries here were pack'd to kill or clear,

plains ; No bribes were taken, nor oaths broken here; His easy vacant face proclaim'd a heart No gownsmen partial to a client's cause,

Which could not feel emotions, nor impart. To their own purpose tun'd the pliant laws.

With him came mighty Davies. On my life, Each judge was true and steady to his trust,

That Davies hath a very pretty wife :As Mansfield wise, and as old Foster * juft.

Statesman all over !—In plors famous grown!In the first seat, in robe of various dyes,

He mouths a sentence, as curs mouth a bone. A noble wildness flashing from his eyes,

Next Holland came.With truly tragic ftalk, Sat Shakespeare.--In one hand a wand he bore, He creeps, he flies.--A hero should not walk, For mighty wonder fam'd in days of yore ;

As if with heav'n he warr'd, his eager eyes The other held a globe, which to his will

Planted their batteries against the skies ; Obedient turn'd, and own'd the master's skill : Attitude, action, air, paute, start, figh, groen,

He borrow'd, and made use of as his own. * Sir Michael Foster, one of the Judges of the By fortune thrown on any other stage, King's Bench.

He might, perhaps, have pleasʼd an easy age;

But now appears a copy and no more,

Now in the centre, now in van or rear, Of something better we have seen before.

The Proteus fifts, Bawd, Parfon, Auctioneer. The actor who would build a solid fame,

His strokes of humour, and his bursts of sport, Muft imitation's servile arts disclaim ;

Are all contain’d in this one word, Distort. Act from himself, on his own bottom stand ;

Doth a man slutter, look a-squint, or halt? I hate e'en Garrick thus at second-hand.

Mimics draw humour out of Nature's fault, Behind came King.-Bred up in modest lore, With personal defects their mirth adorn, Bashful and young he fought Hibernia's shore ; And hang misfortunes out to public scorn. Hibernia, fam'd, 'bove ev'ry other grace,

E’en I, whom nature cast in hideous mould,
For matchless intrepidity of face.

Whom, having made, she trembled to behold,
From her his features caught the gen'rous flame, Beneath the load of mimicry may groan,
And bid defiance to all sense of shame.

And find that Nature's error are my own.
Tutor'd by her all rivals to surpass,

Shadows behind of Foote and Woodward came; 'Mongst Drury's fons he comes, and shines in Brass. Wilkinson this, Obrien was that name.

Lo Yates Without the least finesle of art Strange to relate, but wonderfully true, He gets applause--I wish he'd get his part.

That even shadows have their shadows too!
When hot impatience is in full career,

With not a single comic pow'r endu'd,
How vilely “ Hark'e ! Hark'e!" grates the ear? The first a mere mere mimic's mimic stood;
When active fancy from the brain is sent,

The last by Nature form'd to please, who shews,
And stands on tip-toe for some with'd event, In Jonson's Stephen, which way Genius grows ;
I hate those careless blunders which recall

Self quite put off, affects, with too much art,
Suspended fense, and prove it fiction all.

To put on Woodward in each mangled part; In characters of low and vulgar mould,

Adopts his thrug, his wink, his stare; nay, more, Where Nature's coarseft features we behold,

His voice, and croaks ; for Woodward croak'd beWhere, destitute of ev'ry decent grace,

fore. Unmanner'd jests are blurted in your face,

When a dull copier simple grace neglects.
There Yates with justice strict attention draws, And rests his imitation in defects,
Acts truly from himself, and gains applause. We readily forgive; but such vile arts
But when to please himself or charm his wife, Are double guilt in men of real parts.
He aims at something in politer life,

By Nature form'd in her perversest mood,
When, blindly thwarting Nature's stubborn plan, With no one requisite of art endu'd,
He treads the stage, by way of gentleman,

Next Jackson came.-Observe that settled glare,
The clown, who no one touch of breeding knows, Which better speaks a puppet than a player :
Looks like Tom Errand dress’d in Clincher's Lift to that voice-did ever Discord hear
cloaths.

Sounds so well fitted to her untun'd ear?
Fond of his dress, fond of his person grown, When, to enforce some very tender part,
Laugh'd at by all, and to himself unknown, The right-hand sleeps by inctinct on the heart,
From side to side he struts, he smiles, he prates, His soul, of every other thought bereft,
And seems to wonder what's become of Yates. Is anxious only where to place the left;

Woodward, endow'd with various tricks of face, He subs and pants to soothe his weeping spouse,
Great master in the science of grimace,

To soothe his weeping mother, turns and bows. From Ireland ventures, fav’rite of the town, Aukward, embarrass'd, stiff, without the skill Lurd by the pleasing prospect of renown;

Of moving gracefully, or standing still, A speaking Harlequin, made up of whim,

One leg, as if suspicious of his brother, He twists, he twines, he tortures ev'ry limb, Desirous seems to run away from t'other. Plays to the eye with a mere monkey's art,

Some errors, handed down from age to age,
And leaves to sense the conquest of the heart. Plead custom's force, and still postess the ftage,
We laugh indeed, but on reflection's birth,

That's vile-Should we a parent's faults adore,
We wonder at ourselves, and curse our mirth, And err, because our fathers err'd before;
His walk of parts he fatally misplacid,

If, inattentive to the author's mind,
And inclination fondly took for taste;

Some actors made the jest they could not find, Hence hath the town fo often seen display'd

If by low tricks they marr'd fair Nature's mien, Beau in burlesque, high life in masquerade.

And blurr'd the graces of the simple scene, But when bold wits, not such as patch up plays, Shall we, if reason rightly is employd, Cold and correct, in these infipid days,

Not see their faults, or seeing not avoid ? Some comic character, strong featur'd, urge When Falstaff stands detected in a lye, To probability's extremeft verge,

Why, without meaning, rolls Love's glaffy eye? Where modeit judgment her decree fufpends, Why - There's no cause at least no caule we And for a time, nor censures, nor commends,

know Where critics can't determine on the spot,

It was the fashion twenty years ago. Whether it is in Nature found or not,

Fashion, a word which knaves and fools

may

use There Woodward safely shall his pow'rs exert, Their knavery and folly to excuse. Nor fail of favour where he shews defert.

To copy beauties, forfeits all pretence Hence he in Bobadil such praises bore,

To famemto copy faults, is want of sense.
Luch worthy praises, Kitely scarce had more.

Yet (tho' in some particulars he fails,
By turns transform'd into all kinds of shapes, Some few particulars, where Mode prevails)
Çonitant to none, Foote laughs, cries, ftruts and If in these hallow'd times, when sober, fad
fcrapes ;

All gentlemen are melancholy mad,

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When 'tis not deem'd so great a crime by half Long, from a nation ever hardly usd,
To violate a vestal, as to laugh,

At random censur'd, wantonly abus'd,
Rude mirth may hope presumptuous to engage

Have Britons drawn their sport, with partial view An act of Toleration for the stage,

Form'd gen'ral notions from the rascal few; And courtiers will, like reasonable creatures, Condemn'd a people as for vices known, Suspend vain fashion, and unscrew their features, Which, from their country banish'd, seek our own. Old Falstaff, play'd by Love, shall pleafe once more, At length, howe'er, the Navish chain is broke, And humour let the audience in a roar.

And Sense awaken'd, scorns her ancient yoke: Actors I've seen, and of no vulgar name,

Taught by thee, Moody, we now learn to raise Who, being from one part possess'd of fame, Mirth from their foibles, from their virtues, praise. Whether they are to laugh, cry, whine, ot bawl, Next came the legion, which our Summer Bayes, Still introduce that fav'rite part in all.

From alleys, here and there, contriv'd to raise, Here, Love, be cautious-ne'er be thou betray'd Flush'd with vast hopes, and certain to succeed To call in that wag Falstaff's dang 'rous aid;

With Wits who cannot write, and scarce can read. Like Goths of old, howe'er he seems a friend, Veerans no more support the rotten cause, He'll seize that throne, you with him to defend. No more from Elliot's worth they reap applause ; In a peculiar mould by Humour cast,

Each on himself determines to rely,
For Falstaff fram'd-Himself, the first and last- Be Yates disbanded, and let Elliot fly.
He stands aloof from all-maintains his state, Never did playʻrs so well an author fit,
And scorns, like Scotsmen, to assimilate.

To Nature dead, and foes declared to Wit.
Vain all disguise-to plain we see the trick, So loud each tongue, so empty was each head,
Tho' the Knight wears the weeds of Dominic, So much they talk'd, so very little said,
And Boniface, disgrac'd, betrays the smack, So wond'rous dull, and yet so wondrous vain,
In Anno Domini, of Falstaff's fack.

At once so willing, and unfit to reign, Arms crossd, brows bent, eyes fix’d, feet march- That Reason swore, nor would the oath recall, ing Now,

Their mighty master's soul inform’d them all. A band of malecontents with spleen o'erflow;

As one with various disappointments sad, Wrapt in conceit's impenetrable fog,

Whom Dullness only kept from being mad, Which pride, like Phæbus, draws from ev'ry bog, Apart from all the rest great Murphy came They curse the Managers, and curse the Town, Common to fools and wits, the rage of fame. Whole partial favours keeps such merit down. What tho' the fons of Nonfense hail him SIRE,

But if some man, more hardy than the rest, AUDITOR, AUTHOR, MANAGER, and SQUIRE, Should dare attack these gnatlings in their nest;

His restless foul's ambition stops not therc, At once they rise with impotence of rage,

To make his triumphs perfect, dub him PLAYER. Whet their small stings, and buzz about the stage. In person tall, a person form’d to please, « 'Tis breach of privilege !—Shall any dare If symmetry could charm, depriv'd of ease; " To arm satyric truth against a player?

When motionless he stands, we all approve, *" Prescriptive rights we plead time out of mind; What pity 'tis the Thing was made to move. 16 Actors, unlash'd themselves, may lah man- His voice, in one dull, deep, and varied sound, « kind.”

Seems to break forth from caverns under ground. What! shall opinion then, of Nature free From hollow chest the low sepulchral note And lib'ral as the vagrant air, agree

Unwilling heaves, and struggles in his throat. To rust in chains like these, impos'd by things

Could authors butcher'd give an actor grace,
Which, less than nothing, ape the pride of kings; All must to him resign the foremost place.
No-though half-poets with half-players join When he attempts, in fome fav’rite part,
To curse the freedom of each honest line;

To ape the feelings of a manly heart,
Though rage and malice dim their faded cheek; His honest features the disguise defy,
What the muse freely thinks, she'll freely speak. And his face loudly gives his tongue the lye.
With just disdain of ev'ry paltry sneer,

Still in extremes, he knows no happy mean, Stranger alike to flattery and fear,

Or raving mad, or stupidly serene. In purpose fix'd and to herself a rule,

In cold-wrought scenes the lifeless actor flags, Public contempt shall wait the public fool.

In passion, tears the passion into rags. Austin would always glisten in French filks, Can none remember?-Yes I know all muftAckman would Norris be, and Packer Wilks. When in the Moor he ground his teeth to dust, For who, like Ackman, can with humour please; When o'er the stage he Folly's standard bore, Who can, like Packer, charm with sprightly ease? Whilft Common Sense stood trembling at the door. Higher than all the rest, fee Branfby strut:

How few are found with real talents bless'd, A mighty Gulliver in Lilliput!

Fewer with Nature's gifts contented rest. Ludicrous Nature! which at once could thew Man from his sphere eccentric starts astray ; A man so very high, so very low.

All hunt for fame ; but most mistake the way. If I forget thee, Blakes, or if I say

Bred at St. Omer's to the shuffling trade, Aught hurtful, may I never see thee play.

The hopeful youth a Jesuit might have made, Let critic, with a supercilious air,

With various readings stor'd his empty kull, Decry thy various merit, and declare

Learn'd without fenfe, and venerably dull ; Frenchman is still at top ;-but scorn that rage Or, at some banker's desk, like many more, Which, in attacking thee attacks the age.

Content to tell that two and two make four, French follies, universally embracid,

His name had ftood in City ANNALS fair, At once provoke our mirth, and form our taste, And prudent Dullness mark'd him for a Mayor.

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What then could tempt thee in a critic age,

But think not, though these daftard-chicfs are
Such blooming hopes to forfeit on a stage?

fled,
Could it be worth thy wond'rous waste of pains That Covent-Garden troops shall want a head :
To publish to the world thy lack of brains ? Harlequin comes their chief !-See from afar,
Or might not reason e'en to thee have shewn

The hero seated in fantastic car !
Thy greatest praise had been to live unknown ? Wedded to Novelty, his only arms
Yet let not vanity, like thine, despair :

Are wooden swords, wands, talismans, and charms;
Fortune makes Folly her peculiar care.

On one side Folly fits, by some call’d Fun,
A vacant throne high plac'd in Smithfield view, And on the other, his arch-patron Lun.
To sacred Dullness and her firfi-born due,

Behind, for liberty a-thirst in vain,
Thither with halte in happy hour repair,

Sense, helpless captive, drags the galling chain. 'Thy birth-right claim, nor fear a rival there. Six rude mil-shapen beasts the chariot draw, Shuter himself shall own thy juster claim,

Whom Reason loaths, and Nature never saw ;
And venal Ledgers puff their Murphy's name, Monsters, with tails of ice, and heads of fire ;
Whilst Vaughan * or Dapper, call him which you will, Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimæras dire.
Shall blow the trumpet, and give out the bill. Each was bestrode by full as monstrous wight,

There rule secure from critics and from sense, Giant, Dwarf, Genius, Elf, Hermaphrodite.
Nor once shall Genius rise to give offence ;

The Town, as usual, met him in full cry; Eternal peace shall bless the happy shore,

The Town, as usual, knew no reason why.
And little Factions break thy reft no more.

But Fashion so directs, and moderns raise
From Covent-Garden crowds promiscuous go, On Fashion's mould'ring base their transient praise.'
Whom the Muse knows not, nor desires to know. Next, to the field a band of females draw
Vet'rans they seemd, but knew of arms no more Their force ; for Britain owns no Salique law. :
Than if, till that time, arms they never bore : Just to their worth, we female rights admit,
Like Westminster militia train'd to fight,

Nor bar their claim to empire or to wit.
They scarcely knew the left hand from the right. First, giggling, plotting chamber-maids arrive,
Alham’d among such troops to shew the head, Hoydens and romps, led on by Gen'ral Clive.
Their chiefs were scatter'd, and their heroes Aed. In spite of outward blemishes, the shone
Sparks at his glass fat comfortably down

For humour fam'd, and humour all her own.
To lep'rate frown from smile, and smile from frown ; Ealy, as if at home, the stage she trod,
Smith, the genteel, the airy, and the smart, Nor sought the critic's praise, nor fear'd his rod,
Smith was just gone to school to say his part ; Original in spirit and in eale,
Ross (a misfortune which we often meet)

She pleas'd by hiding all attempts to please.
Was fast aseep at dear Statira's feet ;

No comic actress ever yet could raise, Statira, with her hero to agree,

On Humour's base, more merit or more praise. Stood on her feet as fast asleep as he ;

With all the native vigour of fixteen, Macklin, who largely deals in half-form'd sounds, Among the merry troop conspicuous feen, Who wantonly transgresses Nature's bounds, See lively Pope advance in jig and trip, Whose acting's hard, affected, and constrain'd, Corinna, Cherry, Honeycomb, and Snip. Whose features, as each other they disdain'd, Not without Art, but then to Nature true, At variance fet, inflexible and coarfc,

She charms the Town with humour just, yet new. Ne'er know the workings of united force,

Chear'd by her promise, we the loss deplore Ne'er kindly soften to each other's aid,

The fatal time when Clive shall be no more. Nor shew the mingled pow'rs of light and shade,

Lo! Vincent comes with simple grace array'd,
No longer for a thankless stage concern'd,

She laughs at paltry arts, and scorns parade.
To worthier thoughts his mighty genius turn'd, Nature through her is by reflection shewn,
Harangu'd, gave lectures, made each simple elf Whilst Gay once more knows Polly for his own.
Almost as good a speaker as himself;

Talk not to me of diffidence and fear
Whilst the whole Town, and with mistaken zeal, I see it all, but must forgive it here.
An aukward rage for Elocution feel ;

Defects like these which modest terrors cause,
Dull Cits and grave Divines his praise proclaim, From impudence itself extort applause.
And join with Sheridan's their Macklin's name ; Candour and Reason still take Virtue's part ;
Shuter, who never car'd a single pin

We love e'en foibles in to good an heart.
Whether he left out nonsense or put in,

Let Tommy Arne, with usual pomp of itile Who aim'd at wit, tho' levell'd in the dark, Whose chief, whose only merit's to compile, The random arrow seldom hit the mark,

Who, meanly pilfering here and there a bit, At Illington, all by the placid stream

Deals music out as Murphy deals out wit, Where City Swains in lap of dullness dream, Publish proposals, laws for talte prescribe, Where, quiet as her strains their strains do flow, And chaunt the praise of an Italian trite; That all the patron by the bards may know,

Let him reverse kind Nature's first decrees, Secret as night, with Rolt's experienc'd aid, And teach e'en Brent a method not to please ; The plan of future operations laid,

But never shall a truly British age Projected schemes the summer months to chear, Bear a vile race of eunuchs on the stage. And spin out happy Folly through the year.

The boasted work's call'd National in vain,

If one Italian voice pollutes the strain. * A gentleman still living, who published, at this Where tyrants rule, and saves with joy obey, juncture, a Poem entitled, “ The Retort." E. Let slavish minstrels pour th' enervate lay i

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