THE SICK MONKEY, A FABLE.
ADDRESSED To Mr. GARRICK, upon his ARRIVAL.
[]RETURN'D from travel to your native ſhore
Again to make us laugh or cry,
To turn your back, we hope, no more,
Nor from your colours fly;
Whether you fled for health, or quiet,
Harraſs'd with rule, or ſick of riot,
[2] Or whether you have kept us lean,
As ſlander ſays,
With lenten plays,
To make our appetites more keen;
Whether it be or this or that,
No matter what,
For we before the curtain ſee but blindly;
Now you are come,
To us, and home,
We greet you, Sir, and greet you kindly.
My Muſe is honeſt, as ſhe's bold,
A forward Miſs,
Who loves to prate—but hold—
I quite forgot;
Before I tell you what ſhe is,
I'll tell you what ſhe's not.
[3] No bird of prey, with wild uproar,
Like CHURCHILL, to diſturb the grove;
Nor comes ſhe, like the harmleſs dove,
To bill, and coo, and love,
—And nothing more.
In ſhort, to ſpeak more plainly,
Nor be it thought I ſpeak it vainly,
Averſe to flattery and ſpite,
She is a modeſt, ſober dame,
I wiſh all females were the ſame,
And will not ſcratch or bite:
She is not one of thoſe
Who ſhew their genius in their dreſs,
Whoſe inky fingers, unpinn'd cloaths,
The ſlip-ſhod ſhoe, and ſnuffy noſe,
Denote her wit, and ſluttiſhneſs:
Who with a Play, like piſtol cock'd, in hand,
Bid Managers to ſtand:
[4] " Deliver, Sir,
" Your thoughts on this
" Before you ſtir—
" —But, Madam—Miſs—
" Your anſwer ſtrait;
" I will not wait—
" —'Tis fit you know—
" I'll hear no reaſon,
" This very ſeaſon,
" AY or NO."
Not to kill more precious time,
In dropping ſenſe to pick up rhime;
Or, like friend SHANDY, rattle,
And loſe my matter in my prattle;
Without much wit digreſſion's tame,
So I ſhall give it o'er,
And beat about the buſh no more,
But ſtart my game.
[5] The Critick's pen has various uſes,
It praiſes now, and now abuſes,
Does this and that,
Or both together,
As fancy ſtrikes or rhimes come pat,
Stabs with the point, or tickles with the feather.
Authors, like bees, buz round, and round
Dramatic ground;
For all they meet
Have ſharp and ſweet;
They do no ill,
Would fools ſit ſtill;
Provoke 'em, and they're dangerous things;
And ev'ry Player
Should equally beware
Their honey as their ſtings.
GARRICK! thou mighty chief of kings and queens,
Deſpotic tyrant of the ſcenes!
[6] Think'ſt thou all human race to mock,
In buſkin, and in ſock,
And will not fools
Thy mock'ry ridicules,
From CHALKSTONE's Lord, to dainty FRIBBLE,
Rave, chatter, write,
In various ways diſplay their ſpite?
For all can talk, and ſome can ſcribble.
Others again
Take up the pen,
In panegyrick's gaudy colours paint thee;
As humour flows,
Now friends, now foes,
In proſe and verſe, and verſe and proſe,
Bedevil thee, and ſaint thee.
And can ſuch Criticks teaze thee?
And can ſuch praiſes pleaſe thee?
O, if they can,
Alas! poor man,
[7] No more deride
Thy neighbour's weakneſs, folly, pride,
But cure thy own,
If thou art able,
While I make known
My friendſhip to thee, in a Fable.
An APE there was, an APE of merit,
A lively, ſportive, pleaſant thing,
Had ſo much fancy, whim, and ſpirit,
And made ſuch ſport,
He got to Court,
And ſhew'd his tricks before the LION-KING.
Such honour gave him fame,
And rais'd his name;
From far and near they came to ſee
This MONKEY-prodigy!
[8] Though none were more expert and quick,
In tumbling backward o'er a ſtick;
Though none with a more lordly pride,
And happy eaſe, did e'er beſtride
The rugged, Ruſſian bear;
Though he could ſkip it up and down,
And pick the pocket of a clown,
Or whip away his hat,
Or fondle with a cat,
The wonder of the Fair!
This was not all—he had the art
Of acting ſtill a higher part:
To each profeſſion that he ſaw,
Phyſick, Divinity, or Law,
He ludicrouſly ſhap'd him:
So much poſſeſs'd of all their notions,
Their humours, oddities, and motions,
That not a ſoul eſcap'd him.
[9] In ridicule's enchanted glaſs,
Whatever forms are ſhewn,
We all can ſee another's face,
But never find our own.
To flatter SELF we all incline,
For SELF we plan and labour;
" Pluck not, good Sir, a hair of mine,
" And you may ſcalp my neighbour."
Each laugh'd to ſee his friend the jeſt,
And prais'd the MONKEY highly,
Not openly, but ſlily,
At court you find a thouſand ſuch:
But what was beſt,
Though there were none
By turns he did not fall upon,
Each thought himſelf the only one
The MIMIC could not touch:
[10] Bleſt fools! who boaſt your happy lot
From ridicule ſecure,
Though leopard-ſtain'd, you ſee no ſpot,
INIMITABLY pure!
Whether the JACKANAPES was clever,
Or the Court not over nice,
By various tricks he crept in favour,
And for thoſe tricks had DOUBLE PRICE!
Thus FORTUNE, in a whim,
Reſolv'd to turn his brain,
And fill'd his cup up to the brim,
Th'intoxicating cup of joy,
Which better heads than his deſtroy,
No wonder he was vain!
Whenever goſſip FAME prates loud,
ENVY, in turn, as loud will tattle,
And ſcribblers to her ſtandard croud,
Cry, HAVOCK! and prepare for battle.
[11] MALEVOLENCE, with lynx's eye,
The moſt minute defects will ſpy;
And even FRIENDSHIP, ſhame upon our kind!
Is to thoſe faults not always blind.
The looking up fatigues the ſight,
And mortals when they ſoar,
Should they once reach a certain height,
All wiſh to have them lower:
And friends there are in this good town
Will lend a hand to help them down.
About, about my pen,
Nor loſe the Fable in thy railing!
But to our MONKEY back again,
Who found that Brutes, as well as Men,
Have this ſame curſed failing.
The moment he got fame and wealth
(How ill exchang'd for eaſe and health!)
[12] The envious crew
Poor PUG purſue,
Abuſe his active, pliant ſpirit;
But chiefly thoſe
Were mark'd his foes,
Who felt a ſatire in his merit.
The dull and ſluggiſh were the firſt
To ſhew their teeth, if not to bite;
The HOG, the BEAR, the ASS, had burſt,
Had they not grunted, roar'd, and bray'd their ſpite.
This furious ſtir,
Awak'd the Critic CUR;
HOUND, GREYHOUND, MASTIFF, anſwer to the call,
THE LITTLE DOGS AND ALL.
The game's in view:
For man and beaſt
Scandal's a feaſt,
Where both with appetite fall to.
[13] The bloated TOAD, in ſilence, ſtole
To gather poiſon in her hole:
As miſchief never knows delay,
She rouz'd the VIPER in her way;
A neighbour, and her boſom friend:
For though ſhe crawl'd and could not run,
She kept this maxim ſtrictly,
(Ye ſons of Law, attend!)
That miſchief, if it muſt be done,
'Twere well it were done quickly.
But then his friends—Did they oppoſe?
(A luke-warm friend's the worſt of foes)
The GOAT look'd wiſe, and wagg'd his beard;
The SPANIEL ſhook his ears;
The Fox turn'd up his pointed noſe;
Thoughtful and dull the CAT appear'd,
Or elſe in whiſpers purr'd her fears:
The STEED alone was firm and faſt,
The generous STEED ſtood by him to the laſt.
[14] PUG ſickens, mopes, and looks like death,
Speaks faintly, and ſcarce draws his breath;
Some call it Megrim, ſome the Spleen;
Words often us'd that little mean:
But Scandal, with her face demure,
Hints it is heat of blood,
By which is underſtood,
An old Amour:
In ſhort, they ranſack all diſeaſes,
And give him that their fancy pleaſes.
Among the reſt,
That fits him beſt,
Which beſt the Doctor ſerves:
Of which he moſt avails him,
When knowledge fails him,
And, with a face of wiſdom, calls it—NERVES.
The HORSE, who ſaw his friend's diſtreſs,
Did thus his honeſt mind expreſs:
[15] " Come, prithee, rouze; this life's the devil;
" What ſigh and ſob, and keep within?
" What YOU, who us'd to friſk and revel,
" For ever chatter, and for ever grin?
" Zounds—it would make a parſon ſwear;—
" Get on my back, and take the air."—
Away they went, and as they paſs,
The HOG, the DOG, the BEAR, the ASS,
PUG's diff'rent foes in diff'rent places;
If in the leaſt they ſhew'd their ſpite,
The HORSE would winny, ſnort, and bite,
And throw the dirt into their faces.
For all this care,
This exerciſe and air,
Yet ſtill the MONKEY pin'd,
For well we are aſſured,
That when the grief is in the mind,
'Tis ſooner got than cur'd
[16] In this condition,
What to preſcribe him?—a Phyſician.
There is a certain way of life,
Which all muſt take,
For faſhion's ſake,
Or be with all the world at ſtrife:
The rich muſt to the Doctor give,
The poor to Nature truſt, and live.
It muſt be ſo;—or could the tribe
Of thoſe who quack, or who preſcribe,
In folly find ſuch ample gain?
Could noſtrums ſwell the Advertiſer?
Or the wiſe heads of Warwick-lane
Buy Wig enough to make them wiſer?
Our patient cannot wait;
" Send for a doctor ſtrait!"
But not a formal, half-bred fool,
Who cures by chance, and kills by rule,
[17] A perriwig-pated block:
Phyſicians for the Brutes were Fowls,
And though the ſworn practitioners were OWLS,
They choſe a neighbouring COCK.
He enters with a ſtately tread,
His comb and wattles dignify his head:
No outward fign was ever ſeen,
That promis'd half ſo much within;
And yet—ye ſons of Phyſick, bluſh!
The wine was better than the buſh.
His learning back'd by penetration,
A kind of Radcliffe-inſpiration,
Bound by no partial, pedant laws,
Shot through each ſymptom to its cauſe:
A rarity without diſpute!
He was an honeſt COCK to boot.
Yet with this genius, worth, and knowledge,
He had a ſtain, a deep diſgrace,
No mortal merit could efface,—
—He was not of the College!
[18] But hold—our hero out of ſight,
Muſt now again be brought to light:
We left him in the Doctor's care,
Who with a ſerious face,
Attending to the caſe,
Did thus his mind declare:
" I could, like any learned brother,
" With a hard name my ign'rance ſmother:
" 'Tis one of our eſtabliſh'd laws,
" Which daily we fulfil,
" Whene'er our ſkill can't find a cauſe,
" To make a cauſe to ſuit our ſkill:
" Thus we ſeldom meet diſgrace;
" We only can miſtake the caſe.
" What are theſe papers by your ſide?
" 'Tis phyſick, Sir, to cure my pride:
" This heap of papers, verſe and proſe,
" Is the joint malice of my foes;
" There's not a day but ſomething's ſent me,
" To fret me, and torment me."
[19] This ſaid, the converſation ſtops:
For PUG was faint, and calls for drops;
With rage ſubdu'd, the patient panted,
Which ſtruck a light the Doctor wanted,
Who thus pronounc'd—"I know your ail:
" 'Tis not in your heart or head,
" As ſome have ſaid;
" Where then, good Doctor?—in your tail."
His Tail of moſt uncommon make,
In action like the ſerpent kind,
A thouſand diff'rent forms could take,
Twirl, twiſt, and vary to his mind.
If Lords were ap'd—this pliant queue
Was croſs his breaſt a ribbon blue,
Or green, or red—and then ſlap-daſh,
A Chaplain's ſcarf, or Col'nel's ſaſh:
When e'er the city ſtruck his brain,
'Twas round his neck a Lord Mayor's chain:
[20] Or were his part to liſp and trip it,
Hey, prefto!—'twas a Lady's tippet!
But now depriv'd of ſpirit, life, and ſtrength,
It lies a languid, lank, inanimated length.
The Doctor paus'd—then ſilence broke,
" I'll ſtrike a maſter ſtroke!
" This Tail of yours we muſt amend,
" Give it new life and force,
" And if we gain that end,
" The reſt will come of courſe:
" With that ſame malice of your foes,
" Both verſe and proſe,
" Curl it each night and morning;
" But then take warning—
" Never again to caſt your eyes
" On what is wrote, or may be writ,
" Whether it is, or is not wit;
" For there the magic lies."
[21] 'Tis beſt by craft, and not by book,
To cure theſe mental fevers;—
The MONKEY all for goſpel took,
The ſick are great believers.
So well the Doctor's words he noted,
His tail that night was papilloted;
His greedy eyes, to cure his head,
No more on paper-diet fed.
The cauſe remov'd effects will ceaſe,
Depriv'd of oil, the flame goes out,
Our APE began to be at peace,
His Tail to move about:
The more 'twas curl'd,
The more it twirl'd;
With head and heart
The Tail took part,
Life friſks in ev'ry vein,
—PUG was himſelf again!—
[22] The MONKEY got his health,
The Doctor wealth,
Of patients he had plenty:
For though the cure was half a joke,
'Twas wonder'd at by ſilly folk,
And that's nineteen in twenty.
To fix his cure, Hiſtorians ſay,
That, like Sir WILFULL in the play,
He talk'd of foreign parts:
Left all his griefs and cares behind,
Sail'd with the firſt fair wind,
And hey for ITALY, and Arts!
What he got there no creature knows,
Nor he himſelf can tell us;
What lightly comes as lightly goes,
With all ſuch pretty fellows.
He ſkip'd the country o'er,
And then return'd,
With what he learn'd,
A greater MONKEY than before.
[23]THE Fable told, the Moral comes;—
GARRICK, don't fret, and bite your thumbs,
But take the MONKEY's place;
The ſame's your caſe,
The ſame preſcription we adviſe:
Should Spleen and Spite,
Nay, though Critic Truth ſhould write,
(For who is always in the right?)
Shut your ears, and cloſe your eyes:
Whate'er is publiſh'd, buy the heap,
You'll have it cheap,
But not to read, or hear it read:
Would you ſtrike detraction dead,
The Doctor's method cannot fail;
Keep the poiſon from your HEAD,
And clap it to your TAIL.
The END.