And fuch there are; fo petulant is pride!
The itch of cavil, festering to disease,
No art can circumfcribe, no genius please;
To beauty's felf with elegance combin❜d,
The heart grows callous and perception blind.
Why tax Califta's powers?-fufpect thy fenfe,
And do not ape the wit at truth's expence ;
The crouded audiences and streaming eyes
Demonftrate clear, thy frigid cenfure lies.
Monimia treads the ftage Monimia's young,
Too fair a flower to 'fcape the wanton tongue;
Foul-mouth'd defamer! eafily we fee
Which way the wind fits-fhe's four grapes to thee:
Misfortune's cruel hand expos'd her there,
Tho' weak her efforts, her misfortunes spare,
The brave in every state respect the fair.
If no untimely froft defeat her spring,
Another CAMPION future bards may fing:
The oak majeftic towering to the fkies,
Grew from an acorn to that ftrength and fize.
But, oh! what anxious minutes tells the wight, 195 Who proves ungracious in the Million's fight.
'Tis held the ftars that mark the natal hour,
Have o'er the lives of men defpotic power;
It staggers faith; yet by what other rule
Are fome the theme of conftant ridicule ?
And, ah! I ween, thrice luckless, who offends
The powers on whom dramatic fame depends;
For aye the sport of the capricious town,
Like blood-hounds on the scent they hunt him down :
Each flaw of gefture, feature, limb or voice,
A mote, the trick of nature, not of choice,
All in full cry with ruthless censure scan,'
And in the actor crucify the man.
Cheerly, good Caius! wipe thy brimming eyes;
Humane like thee, with thee I sympathize :—
Confcious of his defects with heart-ftruck woe,
To meet the ordeal doom'd to undergo,
He enters; and anon his wounded ear
Horse-laughs affail, low gibe and bitter jeer:
Pit, boxes, galleries mingle in the roar,
And why? he does his best and can't do more.
His sketches given with force are touch'd with skill;
He ftrives to please, and never fails in will:
Some tints of quaintnefs may obfcure his art,
But pass not sentence 'till you read his heart.
To every truth detraction's ears are fhut,
And every plea comes lacquied witha but;
But, fuch an odious fright! what brought him there?
What might have made a worse, even thee, a play'r,
Neceffity-difhoneft means he scorns,
Doft thou for that his pallet plant with thorns,
And mix with needlefs gall his scanty meal?"
When? when will eafe and plenty learn to feel?
With scarce a hope his cheerlefs breaft to warm,
He bides the pelting of the pitiless storm;
Mute and fubmiffive bowing low his head,
Support him, heaven! to earn his infants bread.
Ill-fated man! he feeks not for applause;
His caufe is nature's, hear him for his cause.
The tongue of kindness pleads, and pleads in vain, 235
Her gentle whispers but provoke difdain';
Yet to his griefs let confolation speak,
The firft in favour won't be fo a week:
Wears he the buskin? all bombaft, cries fpleen;
Give wisdom tears; to bucks the comic fcene;
And, chuckling in a knot, they're doubly bleft,
When fense disclaims and rudenefs points the jeft.
Faft by the orchestra Hircus takes his ftand,
The spikes appropriate to support his hand;
His ftick thruft to his chin, his head to prop,
How like a wig-block in a barber's fhop!
With watering gums he on the actress glotes,
To get a peep beneath her petticoats;
A fage behind his fhoulder foftly tips,
Sir, be fo good,-our profpect you eclipfe.
Wak'd from his dream, Sir, what do you mean by that?
Your pardon, fir,-juft to take off your hat;
But he, as blockheads will not be advis'd,
Stands bolt upright, and, as he ought, despis'd.
A-breast the ring, another spark entrenches
On decency alike, and mounts the benches;
No doubt, by fuch rare proof of shining parts,
To burn to cinders all the miffes hearts;
But to them all a nuisance perks the clown,—
Is no good fellow near to knock him down?
No valiant knight to trip fuch brainless elves?
Odds pins and needles! ladies! right yourselves.
But not confin'd alone to the parterre,
Shame to the boxes! favages are there.
How differ, tell us, ye adepts in spunk!
He with champaign, and he with porter drunk?
Form'd to their guft, and for fuch worthies fit,
A fcreen is humour and a fopha wit;
The dialogue, however finely penn'd,
Is quite a bore, and written to no end;
Tho' brilliant fancy glow in every line,
The Graces fport and warble all the Nine,
Deaf to the charmer Maudlin ftill appears,
And, if he hear him, never shows he hears.
Birds of a feather! Puppies, bears and hogs,
Love learned pigs, monkies, and dancing dogs.
Some by the quantum eftimate the stuff,
And for their money think they've neʼer enough;
What's plot, fituation, character or style?
Suffice it them, the bill extends a mile!
A farce to a good play was once a crime,
Now drolls and farces fwallow all the time;
And, cramm'd up to the throat, we ftill deplore
Our wants, like babies, and bawl out for more.
Hard is his task for public taste who carves !
For where one glutton feasts another ftarves.
Your fkilful cook confults the appetite;
But, damn the manager! he's never right :
He gives them tragedy, they mouthe at that;
He gives them comedy-'tis poor and flat;
With fire and frolic feeks he their content,
They grow difcreet, and doat on fentiment.
Those the unfetter'd, nervous ancients please ;
The moderns tied to rule and compass these ;
He veers with each; but ftill he gets no thanks;
They must have whiftlers, tumblers, mountebanks !
Are whiftlers, tumblers, mountebanks procur'd?
What, in a playhouse? not to be endur❜d!
Then the performers! what a wretched crew!
Juft Falstaff's corps! why doesn't he look for new? 300
Whom better could he bring, fir, in their ftead?
Bring Dodd, bring Quick, bring-Garrick from the dead!
And if old barebones he contriv'd to chouse,
Ere laps'd a month, he would not bring a house.
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