THE THEATRES. A POETICAL DISSECTION.
[PRICE THREE SHILLINGS.]
THE THEATRES. A POETICAL DISSECTION. By Sir NICHOLAS NIPCLOSE, Baronet.
Suppose JOB living 'midst the Critic train,
Our Theatres would ope his angry vein.
Behold the Muses ROSCIUS sue in Vain,
Taylors & Carpenters usurp their Reign.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR JOHN BELL, IN THE STRAND, AND C. ETHERINGTON, AT YORK. M.DCC.LXXII.
TO MRS . ABINGTON, AS A CORDIAL TRIBUTE OF RESPECT, FOR SUCH SINGULAR MERIT, AS WOULD HAVE BEEN AN ORNAMENT TO THE STAGE, EVEN AT IT'S BRIGHTEST AERA; MERIT, WHICH THE PUBLIC WISH, AND OUGHT OFTENER TO ENJOY: MERIT, HIGHLY CONSPICUOUS, THO' INJURED BY WANT OF PROPER SUPPORT: THE FOLLOWING SATIRE, THE FRUIT OF HONEST INDIGNATION, IS DEDICATED, BY ONE WHO DARES SIGN HIMSELF AN UNPREJUDICED CRITIC, AND THE LADY'S WELL-WISHING HUMBLE SERVANT, NICHOLAS NIPCLOSE.
NIPCLOSE-HALL, Nov. 1771.
ADVERTISEMENT.
IT may be depended upon, that the following piece appeals more to Facts than Fancy; however strong the Colouring may appear, unattach'd judgement will pronounce it not exaggerated; the Author has particularly dwelt on sordid Management, as that is the polluted source of all Theatrical dullness and deficiency: Mr GARRICK is exceedingly blameable, and, therefore, particularly noticed. About the time he got a share in Drury-Lane Patent, our present Laureat wrote him a letter,
Vide
2d Volume of DODSLEY's Collection of POEMS.
in which, among other passages, we find Thalia speaking thus:
No more the poor polluted scene
Shall teem with births of Harlequin;
Or vindicated stage shall feel
The insults of the dancer's heel;
Such idle trash we'll kindly spare
To Op'ras now: they'll want them there.
Afterwards, addressing Mr. Garrick, the poet says:
Consult your own good sense in all,
Be deaf to Fashion's fickle call;
Nor e'er descend to reason's laws
To court, what you command, applause.
How far Roscius has fulfilled the prophecy, or consulted his own DISINTERESTED good sense, experience sadly tells. Some hireling news-paper friends say, if the public will follow such trash, the managers are right to furnish it; but will common sense allow, that those public purveyors should, like common prostitutes, be allowed to pick young and unwary pockets by false glaring colours. Public complaint has been loud; yet the tide of avarice and folly most audaciously flows on.—The theatres have been likened to taverns, where, if you don't like the provision or wines, you may stay away, or go to another; true; but there are MANY taverns; only TWO theatres: a
third
of the latter, would make essential difference; allow a small anecdote: QUEEN ELIZABETH, having received remarkable instances of ardent loyalty from a small country town, said; if they would ask any reasonable grant, in her power, they should be indulged. Licence for an alehouse was the demand. Surprised, me asked the reason; because, said they, we have but one, and they give us such wretched trash we can't drink it; if there was another, emulation would produce us something worth money: the application is obvious.
One half the money, that either INSTALLATION has cost, nightly extra expences included, would have genteely paid Mr. MOSSOP, who is intrinsically worth a thousand such Christmas-Holliday Productions.
As to the performers, we know they, like a nest of disturbed hornets, will buzz and whet their stings; it will be called cruelty to attack bread; how absurd an assertion: if a shoemaker, or taylor, executes, what he is paid for, badly, have not customers a right to complain? nothing is more true than the following lines of CHURCHILL, with which we shall conclude;
The stage I chuse—a subject fair and free;
'Tis your's—'tis mine—'tis public property:
All public exhibitions open lie,
To praise, or censure, of the public eye.
THE THEATRES. A POETICAL DISSECTION.
GODS of the stage! if any gods there be,
Who deign to glance on modern tragedy;
Or comic strains, which barely serve to keep
The slumb'ring audiences from perfect sleep,
Inspire the muse—provide a whip of steel,
To make e'en av'rice, pride, and dullness feel,
Pervade the Grub-street gloom, which wraps around
Our ROYAL SHOW SHOPS, and their guides profound:
For SAINT BARTHOLOMEW let conquest run;
To Smithfield give their tinsel glare and FUN:
For that we cannot humour justly stile,
Which scarcely should in barns create a smile;
Grant us correction both for great and small,
For authors, actors, managers and all:
'Till they with pallid tremor shrink and faint,
Sunk into captives of the
sausage
saint.
Where is the blush, oh DRURY! for thy shame,
Without a remnant of thy ancient fame;
Tho' tears still fall, and laughter still may roar,
Ev'n mighty ROSCIUS is
himself
no more:
And for the rest, some few exceptions made,
They sink to criticism's darkest shade;
Scarce more respectable than Falstaff's crew,
Whom SHAKESPEARE paints so laughably to view.
Think not, tho' on a golden column rais'd,
Tho' often justly and unjustly prais'd;
Tho' servile authors kiss thy mighty hand,
And cringing actors at wide distance stand;
Tho' valiant BRATHWAITE
Master taylor at Drury-Lane.
, arm'd with steel and goose,
Lets all a taylor's mighty genius loose;
Tho' SAWNEY JOHNSTON
This
gentleman,
once proprietor of a puppet show in Edinburgh, is house and box book-keeper, remarkable for OECONOMY, obsequiousness and taste in decorations by which he has accumulated some thousands.
, that designing Scot,
Who once mov'd PUNCH—now doom'd to fairer lot,
Makes gain of darling siller, just defence
For the fell murder of poor common sense;
Tho' great BEN VICTOR
This laurel-crowned
Esquire,
was a barber, attempted to be an actor, became a treasurer, then a manager in Dublin; where, in fortune's frolics, though not able to write a dying speech, he was appointed
Birth-day Ode Man,
and—oh poor Ireland!—his wife complimented with a pension. He is now treasurer of Drury-Lane.
,—the Hibernian bard—
Had they no native blockhead?—wond'rous hard—
To wear the laurel, and—oh task sublime!—
Weave birth-day sonnets into barb'rous rhime;
That here they came a tonsor to misplace,
And put a shaver in the poet's place;
Tho' BEN, who in his biographic flights,
Just like the ordinary of Newgate
Vide
his Lives of the Actors.
writes;
Applauds thy management without rebuff,
Grinning assent with consequence and snuff;
Tho' LACY, swearing shadow of a shade,
Thy most obedient stalking horse is made;
Think not thy crimes, oh GARRICK, shall escape,
Thy crimes, as manager, of monst'rous shape;
One as a man—didst thou not ent'ring life,
With real merit wage illiberal strife?
Did not DELANE
Mr. DELANE, an actor of great merit, and a valuable member of society, had two peculiarities on the stage, which Mr. GARRICK took off, and rendered him so ridiculous, that he was constantly laughed at; having generous, though week feelings, Mr. DELANE took to drinking, and in reality broke his heart.
—a bright thea
ic star—
Fall by the shock of paltry mimic war?
Hast thou not since assail'd that art with blame
Mr. GARRICK when attacked in the same stile by Mr. FOOTE, declared his disapprobation of such exhibitions in strong terms.
,
Which, to assassinate a rival's fame,
Was us'd without remorse?—make no reply,
Knock at thy heart, and let repentance sigh.
By royal patent constituted 'SQUIRE,
To what great purpose did thy soul aspire?
Not with true taste to dignify the stage,
In grateful sense of such a gen'rous age;
Whose favours flow'd upon thee in a tide
Unknown before; to swell thy purse and pride:
To trick the public, and become supreme,
Were the sole objects of thy selfish scheme.
BARRY was banish'd when his powers could shine,
Now ta'en to sneer at in his sad decline;
Or, what is worse, upon the verge of life,
View'd as a mere appendage to his wife.
MOSSOP
This excellent performer was originally refused by Mr. GARRICK, as unfit for the stage; and immediately after brought out by that ready encourager of merit Mr. SHERIDAN.
, too great a fav'rite of the town,
Like the Turk's brothers stood too near the crown;
Therefore avaunt—you knew the man has pride,
And thro' that foible stabb'd his weakest side;
On self-destruction's wings he fled the field,
And must, we fear, thro' adverse fortune yield:
Yet be advised, nor cruel terms impose,
Lest friends of merit should become thy foes.
Hast thou e'er giv'n young genius due reward?
Hast thou not rather pinch'd and grip'd it hard?
POWELL and HOLLAND,
These two performers were brought out under the most avaricious terms, and according to their stations did not receive half of what their performance and the receipts of the theatre intitled them to.
both, for seasons, felt
The poor, penurious pittance which you dealt:
You taught the latter, and by teaching spoil'd;
You travell'd, and the first grew nature's child;
From his own source his stock of merit drew,
And earn'd just praise by not resembling you
This is not meant to depreciate Mr. GARRICK's indisputable original merit; but the sad, adulterated imitations of it; of which Mr. HOLLAND, who had superior requisites to Mr. POWELL was a stiff and painful instance.
.
What ballances the mischiefs you have done?
Giving us CAUTHERLY and BRERETON:
Illustrious pair!—inimitably fine!
Who with an equal share of
dimness
shine—
Hold, let us own, amidst satyric rage,
You have improv'd the
lighting
Taking away the candle rings, and lighting from behind—the only advantage we have discovered from Mr. GARRICK's tour abroad.
of the stage:
Yet oh! what man of sense but sighs and stares,
When rags and sticks supply the place of play'rs?
To all but
recommended blockheads
blind,
Has budding genius ever prov'd thee kind?
Obsequious to
right honourable
taste,
(A lord must be discerning, wise and chaste)
You never kindly op'd the way to fame,
Unless sustain'd by some enobled name;
Or such, whose Pens o'ercharg'd with ranc'rous spite,
Have put thy tim'rous nature in a fright;
Ev'n HOME's
Mr. HOME's Douglas was refused till persecution gave it a name in Scotland, and the thane patronized its author; then two much worse plays were obsequiously produced.
amazing talents could not suit,
'Till handed forward by the GREAT LORD BUTE.
Agis and Aquilcia came in play,
Tho' each a nerveless dialogue essay;
Flatt'ry, indeed, that sweetmeat to the vain,
Has found success in thy theatric reign;
While modest worth, tho' known, if poor,
Might bootless shiver at thy churlish door;
And hope as soon encouragement to meet,
In Asia's wilds as in SOUTHAMPTON-STREET.
Mr. GARRICK's residence.
The want of leisure, pitiful pretence,
Apologizes for rejected sense;
Previous engagements too are made a plea,
Engagements known full well to you and me;
Such as to name would make a cynic laugh,
Perhaps to CUMBERLAND or BICKERSTAFF.
Oh, had kind fortune of my father made
An Irish bishop,
Mr. Cumberland's father is in that station. An excellent reason for the son's being a genius, which he modestly avouches himself to be, in his prologue to the
Brothers.
or as good a trade;
Had she, when at my mother's breast I hung,
With thriving Blarney
A phrase in Ireland for gross, ignorant, sycophantic flattery.
tipp'd my supple tongue;
Then of thy smiles secure I might have shone,
As many equal simpletons have done.
Go on, great sir, acquiring praise and pelf,
Take care that none write better than thyself—
FOOTE—let that name ne'er wound thy jealous ear,
His wit and satire rise above thy sphere;
He too possesses what thou ne'er could'st find,
Judicious taste and elegance of mind.
Go on, great sir, and scribble to the last.
You cannot give us worse than what is past;
Unless your prologue-forging
Mr. GARRICK stiles himself a prologue smith.
itch remains,
Which throws, relentless, common sense in chains.
Thus of the manager I take my leave,
And, while I view the faithful picture, grieve;
Truth should be told of all in public station,
The monarch of a theatre or nation;
Truth, that bright beacon, which, with just alarm,
May folly, vice, and insolence disarm;
If one, or all of these, in thee are found,
Oh that my pen the rotten part may wound;
May probe to heal—deriving peace from strife,
And make thy private, match thy public life.
COVENT—alas!—for many years has been
Of pantomime and frippery the scene;
Like the piazza females, trick'd with show,
Most meanly high, most eminently low;
Gods, devils, ostriches, and such a train,
As ne'er were jumbled into human brain
'Till RICH existed, have usurp'd this spot,
Of childish insipidity the lot;
RICH mark'd a path, and BEARD pursu'd his plan,
Now tiny GEORGE, that mere poetic span,
In nought but human Fantoccini dealing,
Wages fell war 'gainst genius, sense, and feeling;
Bold in patch'd coat and pageantry alliance,
Taste and his colleagues
Since this piece has been composed, we hear that Mr. Colman's brother patentees, after having
wisely
spent some thousands in litigation, have tamely submitted to move under his
leaden
sceptre.
sets at bold defiance;
Fenc'd with a shield of subtle legal cunning,
Kindly produc'd by shrewd, sarcastic DUNNING,
Throws down goose quills, takes up the wooden sword,
A Mede or Persian law his ev'ry word;
Works wonders with the thunder of his tongues,
And, miller like, converts the old to young;
Makes harrass'd VINCENT, verg'd on sixty-three,
Smirk, cant, and trip thro' girls in tragedy;
Makes SAVIGNY—but soft—let him appear
In proper season, and his destin'd sphere—
Field officer—oh scandal of the age!—
Amidst our wretched train bands of the stage.
Manes of CIBBER, PRITCHARD, QUIN, DELANE;
Rise from the shades—take human shape again;
See, hear, feel, judge with most impartial thought,
And frown our
spouting cyphers
into nought.
Hark! to our ear the tragic muse complains,
And pours peculiar grief in melting strains;
Hark to her voice, she well deserves the smile
Of all the great and virtuous in our isle;
Since she depicts such characters and things,
As suit the minds and dignity of kings;
See how she bends her tender, tear-fill'd eye
On distant, cold, neglecting majesty:
Hear her remonstrance—hear her humble pray'r
To him who should caress the melting fair.
The TRAGIC MUSE's PETITION and REMONSTRANCE.
Oh mighty GEORGE, this nation's tender sire,
Whose virtues, more than rank, the good admire;
Why, when unbending from the painful weight
Of cumb'rous monarchy, and toilsome state;
Why, sometimes in my laughing sister's place,
Am I not honour'd with your royal grace?
The actions and the sentiments I yield
Afford reflection, sure the nobler field;
And ought to rank me, on some kind occasion,
Before such trash as HARLEQUIN's INVASION.
Where not one ray of real merit shines,
To gild the gingerbread of school-boy lines.
While FRED'RIC
Late prince of Wales.
breath'd, tho' not a BRITON BORN,
Words used by his present majesty in his first speech to parliament, which intimated, with magnanimity, that natural affection would cause him, not only to maintain the constitution, but patronize ALL the useful arts and sciences, as well as painting, watch-making, and button-making.
He ne'er insulted me with abject scorn;
Ne'er turn'd against me FASHION's
Which always springs from court.
pow'rful tide,
But led me forth with all the pomp of pride;
And took a feeling, sensible delight
To trace
my
SHAKESPEARE thro' each nobler flight;
Whether he sung ambition's righteous fall,
Or wav'd his pen at freedom's pow'rful call;
Whether he mov'd in high, or humble sphere,
With Juliet sigh'd, or rav'd with frantic Lear;
SHAKESPEARE, so little countenanc'd by you,
Unless in sprightly tale of MUCH ADO.
The comedy of MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, though far from one of SHAKESPEARE's best plays, is almost the only one countenanced by commands; and was rather whimsically fixed on two nights after the funeral of that deliverer of his country, WILLIAM, DUKE of CUMBERLAND.
Early great FRED'RIC gave thee my embrace;
His late royal highness had formed a design to bespeak all SHAKESPEARE's acting plays, one a week, which was partly put in practice; he, also, caused the princes his sons to act in Cato, Lady Jane Gray, &c. to give them an idea of public speaking: if the present young branches of royalty should be placed in such a situation, we are fearful of hearing that they are to exhibit Dogberry and Verges—
set me down an ass,
would have a sad ominous sound.
I shew'd thy talents with peculiar grace;
Let her not then in vain thy favour seek,
Who taught thee like an orator to speak.
Oft' have I seen thee in thy infant state,
Weep for the havoc made by partial fate;
And tears of pity, from a royal breast,
Should still humanely wait on the distrest:
Like Heav'n's impartial dew should ever flow
For real worth beneath the clouds of woe.
Fear not to view me—hear the truths I tell,
Such truths as ne'er from cringing courtiers fell;
Give me your grace, I'll limit my design,
And yield up LIBERTY to RIGHT DIVINE;
No WILKES, thro' me, shall wound your awful eye,
Presuming wretch, to
squint
at majesty:
With titled knaves and fools I will not sport,
But shew all great and virtuous at thy court;
Thrice happy spot! where ev'ry thing is good,
Where no vice taints the streams of noble blood,
Within whose verge corruption ne'er could steal,
And ev'ry statesman toils for public weal;
For public weal employs his honest care,
Nor lets self-int'rest claim the smallest share;
Feels sleepless nights—stands popular abuse—
When all the horrid rage of slander's loose.
Witness, oh NORTH, the facts which I relate,
You guide, ill-paid, this most ungrateful state;
You have no brother bishop'd
A phrase we have conveniently used for episcopated.
ere
few have reached a mitre so soon as the present bishop of Litchfield and Coventry.
his time;
You have no wife made ranger—post sublime—
Wiser than all who in your post have sat:
Braver than all—for once you lost a HAT.
The
scum
of the
earth
being in a violent ferment, attacked the
gentle
premier, and, oh lamentable tale! tore—his hat in pieces.
Witness them, SANDWICH, noble, wise and
chaste,
With ev'ry moral, pious virtue grac'd;
SANDWICH, who ne'er in
Rochesterian
John, earl of Rochester, to whom the present earl of Sandwich is an exemplary contrast.
way,
On helpless woman made one vile essay.
There is a couched meaning here, which we leave to the intellegent reader.
Witness them, ROCHFORT,
The first of these four statesmen has done—
nothing
; the second has divorced his wife, married her cousin, and got a blue ribband; chancellorship of Cambridge; and now privy-seal, for avoiding the storm, which himself had, in a great measure, raised; the third is an excellent judge of French wine; and the fourth, president of the council,
under direction of his wife.
GRAFTON, WEYMOUTH, GOWER;
Oh truly patriot, most illustrious four!
Whose very names with utmost rev'rence strike,
Whom Britain, or her foes, must surely like.
Witness them, BARRINGTON,
Our able secretary at war, whose humanity is well known.
of gentle mind,
The bloodless, tender friend of human kind;
Whose grateful letter perfect pleasure yields,
For the great conquest gain'd in GEORGE's FIELDS.
Witness them, TALBOT,
A peerless steward of the houshold; who had put Dr. Cadogan's abstemious scheme in practice, before his pamphlet came out.
thriftiest of the great,
A most superb oeconomist of state;
Who so much rich superfluous viands slights,
That all St. JAMES's are
Cadoganites.
Witness, proud POMFRET, that bed-chamber lord,
That
sun-shine
A beautiful figurative expression of that resistless orator.
of the sun, in every word;
Who languishes, alas! for Yorkshire mines,
Oh cruel SMITH! to thwart a peer's designs.
Witness, oh WESTMINSTER, where, from the bench,
Sage MANSFIELD
This upright chief justice, in the Grosvenor cause, acted quite different from his predecessor, in Henry the IVth's time; the latter confined the prince of Wales, only for an affront to his dignity; the former palliated an affront offered to the law of GOD, by his royal confidant.
ne'er would law from justice wrench,
But holds her scales with such an equal hand,
He may be deem'd the MINOS of our land.
Witness the glorious melting kind THIRTEEN,
So many, as we remember, petitioned for the Kennedy's, without the shadow of exculpation.
Who, by a handmaid urg'd of beauty's queen,
For murd'rers begg'd, and gracious pardon won:—
No reign e'er mercy shew'd as this has done.
Witness our BISHOPS, and ARCHBISHOPS too,
Who worship lawn, without one worldly view.
Witness, sage GLOSTER, rev'rend with a right,
That holy, mitred, criticising
Commentator on Shakespeare; one of the most amiable, humble, humane creatures breathing; wherefore, we have singled him out as an ornament to the woolsack gentry; not but there are several of nearly equal merit.
wight,
Who still forgives, as he would be forgiv'n;
Can such an humble prelate miss of Heav'n?
Oh glorious proofs of GEORGE's patriot reign,
SEJANUS
The infamous minister of that infamous monarch Tiberius Caesar; a prince depraved by nature, yet rendered worse by his overgrown favourite.
ne'er shall mount the stage again;
No monster like him lurks behind thy throne;
Advising actions which he dares not own:
Still conscious virtue thy calm conscience keeps,
And MAGNA CHARTA on thy pillow sleeps;
Magna Charta seems to have been slumbering several years; but of late has fallen fast asleep: should the liberty of the press fall into the same lethargic state, then, with Razor in the upholsterer, we may cry, poor old England.
In thee the stream of policy refines,
And with inimitable lustre shines.
Why should proud armaments, prepar'd around,
Disturb our peace so solidly profound?
Let not such objects stir thy mighty mind,
Conquests at home are of the nobler kind:
What are seiz'd ships, or men in bondage cast?
Perhaps, all mankind may be slaves at last.
Heed not the SPANIARDS, treat their threats as sport,
But oh, keep stedfast eye on PRINCE's COURT;
Mr. Wilkes's residence, that political Leviathan, who should be strictly guarded against, lest to him, like the dragon of Wantley, houses and churches should be mere geese and turkies.
Smile on a civil parliament, and be
At least,
thyself
possessed of liberty.
Smile on me too, as formerly, again,
Grant me, oh grant, a Thursday
The day commonly honoured with royal commands.
now and then;
So shall again my consequence arise,
To captivate the heart and flood the eyes;
So shall I hold the state my rank demands,
And gain due tribute at the public hands.
Thus sues the queen of tears—may she obtain
That favour citizens have sought in vain.
Pardon, kind reader, that the wand'ring muse
Should in her subject mingle diff'rent views;
Unfrown'd upon, permit her to return,
Nor let a critic indignation burn;
Since all agree the real and mimic state,
In many points, each other nearly mate;
Since blunders, partialities, and pride,
At present, rule the roast on either side;
And merit, without meanness, or a friend,
In both may unsuccessfully attend;
Seek and deserve protection, but in vain,
Herein St. JAMES's joins with DRURY-LANE:
Let any person who doubts this most disgraceful assertion, only go through the irksome task of attendance and dependance, which SWIFT emphatically stiled a curse, and he will be feelingly convinced, that we only advance truth in a modest garb.
Who then, with patience, either spot can see,
Unless who hate desert, and liberty.
Authors come forth—most venerable tribe—
Whom we not fear to censure—nor will bribe
With paltry praise—come all around,
With self-sufficiency and dullness crown'd;
At satire's call here blushing bend your way,
Solemn and farcical as LORD MAY'R's DAY.
The poet's brain, how whimsical a spot;
How strange a jumble is the author's lot!
How rich, how poor, how pitiful, how great!
The world his field, and nature his estate:
This day a pamper'd PEGASUS he rides,
The next, one bare as ROSINANTE's sides;
Like QUIXOTE too, he often takes delight
To brave mankind in fruitless windmill fight;
By him what vast variety is shewn,
From the plain cottage to the gilded throne:
Sometimes his thunder shakes a wooden sphere,
Nay, all the elements by turns appear;
Now rosin light'nings blast the desart scene,
Then blooms stage groves, with beauteous vernal green;
He calls the TRAGIC MUSE in pompous woe,
While tears from sympathising passions flow;
'Till yielding to her blither sister, she
Resigns her groans to laughing COMEDY.
Sweet WILLY WHITEHEAD, who, with medium stile,
Can never force a tear, or win a smile;
Most simply chaste—most delicately dull,
Nearly o'erflowing, and yet never full.
Sweet WILLY WHITEHEAD, first in rhiming sphere,
Who smoothly BALLADIZES
We have coined this word, as not knowing any in the language adequate to our ideas of the laureat's annual productions.
twice a year,
Teaching his laurell'd, pension'd muse to sing
The milkwarm praises of a milkwarm king;
Welcomes the infant year, as custom claims,
And hails, in creeping measure, royal names.
Bold ARTHUR MURPHY, a dramatic wight,
Whom taste must wish had never learn'd to write;
Who, BRITON like, attacks our Gallic foes,
And, deck'd in English garb, his plunder shews;
The literary smuggler of this isle,
Whose works from genuine genius claim a smile,
Not of applause; for dullness' self must own,
That modest ARTHUR shares her gloomy throne,
And has, by various labours, fairly won
The glorious title of her eldest son.
Stand clear, ye critics! at due distance stand!
While we produce great DOCTOR CUMBERLAND,
The witty son of a RIGHT REV'REND sire,
Touch'd with such glow of true Parnassian fire;
That he has given three pieces
Summer's Tale, Brothers, and West-Indian, to which applauded incongruities we refer for proof of the changes brought against this author, who, as we hear, teems with many more of the same kind. Dreadful idea!
to our stage,
The pride, the joy, the wonder of the age.
Let probability such authors bind,
As pour productions from a narrow mind;
Let those who wish to merit being read,
Avoid absurd assaults on PRISCIAN's head;
Our DOCTOR scorns to own such narrow views,
Defies all grammar and no theme pursues:
Of incidents supplied with plenteous store,
Off sets his muse and never seeks for more:
Let him go on amidst the public praise,
And proudly gild his never-blooming bays;
Let him proceed with most relentless heart,
'Till nature and the stage for ever part.
Stiff as the stays
We do not, by mention of Mr. Kelly's original profession, mean an illiberal reflection; as it is our candid opinion, that a good stay-maker may be deemed a more respectable member of society, than a middling author: though it must be confessed, he cannot so soon commence ESQUIRE.
which once his needle made—
What strange transactions chance from trade to trade;
How wonderful the various turns of men,
Who now a bodkin wield, and now a pen;
Stiff as the whalebone which he once admir'd,
Behold HUGH KELLY with the muse inspir'd!
Vending in dialogue
sermonic
scenes,
THALIA knows not what such preaching means;
And grieves to walk abroad in such disguise
As that dull WORD projected for the WISE.
Though Mr. Kelly's comedy of a Word to the Wise, was treated in a most illiberal manner, yet certain it is, that the riot did him great service, since, without opposition, the piece would have had a speedy
natural
death, without the advantage of a subscription; for such a phlegmatic affair was never composed before, and we hope never may again.
KELLY between the sister muses steers,
Too grave for laughter, and too light for tears;
If CLEMENTINA claims thee for her sire,
To pastry-cooks consign her, or the fire;
Nor dare to play the double dealer's part,
In sentiments so foreign from thy heart.
Several impotent attempts at patriotic strokes were made in this impotent tragedy; which, if derived from the Ledger essayist, must be double dealing with a witness.
Wherefore—oh HUGH!—with belly fair and round,
With city luxury and dullness crown'd;
Wilt thou aspire to hold an author's name?
If thou
art
bent on literary fame,
Forego the city's father,
That brilliant, sensible, polite knight, Sir Robert Ladbroke, at whose instance, it is asserted, Mr. Kelly writes.
left his head
Should thicken thine with sympathetic lead.
Observe examples—they instruct the wise;
Observe those maxims—none but fools despise:
Breathe freer air—resign a civic crown,
Ev'n WILKES is made much duller by his gown.
The morning after Mr. WILKES was chosen alderman, a gentleman in the Somerset Coffee-House, who had read his address of thanks to the livery; remarked, that it was the dullest production he had ever seen from the new magistrate's pen: to which, a person in the same box, not unaptly replied, Do you wonder at that sir? consider he was made an ALDERMAN yesterday.
JOHNSON, that huge Leviathan of wit,
Made once a turgid, tasteless tragic hit;
Told a soft tale in such laborious strains,
As damn'd the fair IRENE for his pains.
A literary warehouse, well supply'd
With learning's lore, and not a little pride;
Who, in his own opinion, sits supreme,
Whatever stile he takes, whatever theme;
Who never yet his own applause has miss'd,
Poet, philosopher, philologist.
JOHNSON, who once, beneath a virtuous face,
Gave venal pensioners to vile disgrace;
JOHNSON, who since, more prudent grown, and old,
Obeys the touch of all-converting gold;
Of a court scribbler takes the paltry sphere,
And damns his fame—for what?—three hundred pounds a year.
JOHNSON, thrice happy in a new-coin'd word,
Reigns in full state, most pompously absurd;
In a sad fit of dotage takes up arms,
And crams the public with his FALSE ALARMS;
What pity that a man who knows nothing of practical life, who is a mere bookworm, should expose himself floundering like an unskillful swimmer in the unfathomable depths of policy, for the sake of a pension, which, while he had power to enjoy life, he did without; and for which, when obtained, he had very little, if any, occasion.
Defends a ministry, in whose defence
He murders virtue, liberty, and sense.
GARRICK, the friend of DOCTORS, right or wrong,
Most aptly here adorns satyric song;
GARRICK, who titles loves almost as life,
And nearly well as his beloved wife;
GARRICK, by multitudes so much ador'd,
Like sir JOHN ENGLISH, worships ev'ry lord.
We have heard a circumstance of Mr. GARRICK, which, if not strictly true, is so like him, that we venture to set it down; being indisposed, he asked his servant what enquiries after his health; some complimentary cards were presented; he looked over them, and finding they were only from some esquires, and a baronet or two, he cried, What! has no lord sent, John!—no sir; then throw these paltry compliments into the fire: the nobility must all be sick too, or they could not have neglected me.
Were all indeed like Hagley's
LORD LYTTLETON.
learned peer,
Taste would herself become their worshipper;
But Drury's lord, on greatness only set,
Head or no head, admires a coronet.
Why wilt thou, DAVY, harrass out thy pen?
Oh may it never judgement wound again;
No ear so dull, but what must surely tingle
To hear the jargon of thy dear Sir Dingle.
Bless'd be the sire, but hold—this starts a doubt—
'Tis a wise son can find his father out;
But what of this? legitimacy's fire
Equals not that catch'd from illegal sire;
Then blest be he, with warmth we speak the word,—
Should he perchance a footman be, or lord,
That gave us COLY
George Column,
Esq
the
ruling
pattentee of Covent-Garden.
—oh luxurious grant!—
That pretty, peevish, pert annuitant:
Oh may he follow still parental path,
And, mother like, give all his love to BATH!
We don't mean by this, and the preceding lines, any ungenerous reflection; a man of merit we esteem, however born, but think arrogance sullies even bright abilities, and the noblest descent.
Here may he cry, let wounded withers wince,
I'm an invulnerable FAIRY PRINCE;
Such troops I pay, such management I claim,
As never grac'd before theatric name:
I've wrote enough; what needs there any more,
To gain fame's temple, and the public roar?
The LONDON PACKET
Two evening papers, of which the managers are proprietors; therefore every defence of their impositions and absurdities, however vague, is greedily admitted: indeed we believe every thing favourable is written by
themselves,
for certainly no other person, save a fool or a flatterer, would undertake so impracticable a justification.
, the St. JAMES's join
To vend the puffs which I and DAVY coin:
We, pleaders like, though at the public bar
We wrangle fiercely, wage no hostile war;
Behind the curtain we shake hands and smile,
United BUBBLE MASTERS of this isle.
Why should I write? it costs a world of pains
To drag ev'n dialogue from hard-bound brains:
Then as for wit—my scull may be its tomb,
Upon my brows no laurel e'er can bloom,
They both forswore me in my mother's womb.
GOLDSMITH, who teems with sentiments refin'd,
Speaks in his works a pregnant, lib'ral mind;
And shew'd, tho' we condemn his gen'ral plan,
Strong tints of life in his GOOD NATUR'D MAN;
Yet don't we wish to meet him on the stage,
'Twill spoil the foremost poet of our age;
Nor would we view him in historic path,
His politics may rouse up patriot wrath;
No writer can in many points excell;
We prize not writing much, but writing well;
Then, DOCTOR, stick to what we call thy own,
And sport in fields of poesy alone.
Come HOOLE, thou gentlest of the tragic tribe,
Thou modest, temp'rate, unaffecting scribe;
In METASTASIO all thy genius lies,
Where nature fails, to borrow wit is wise;
CYRUS, TIMANTHES, pretty little tales,
Outweigh'd by Gossamore in judgment's scales:
Like tinkling rills, thy rippling verses sound,
And yet with Mexican
Alluding to the gold mines, some produce of which Mr. Hoole has luckily fingered, for his feeble theatrical translations.
applause are crown'd:
Oh kindly age, that swallows good and bad,
Oh simple age, gone critically mad!
Witness—but wherefore should we witness call,
Review our drama and confess it all.
KENRICK, we think, may stand, beyond dispute,
As sensible, discerning, and acute;
But so engross'd with mathematic notion,
His thoughts all center in PERPETUAL MOTION.
This author has been long riding a chimerical hobby horse, which we fear, will at last throw him.
Without a question, born to live by rule,
He ne'er can shine in a poetic school;
And with the drama still must be at strife,
Unless he greatly mends his WIDOW'D WIFE.
A comedy by Mr. Kenrick.
Come BICKERSTAFF, tho' late, not least in love;
Full in review thou patch-work author move;
Who, with such front, a brother's thoughts assumes:
Thou scribbling jay, deck'd forth with borrow'd plumes.
In second-hand none can thy equals be;
Thy works the Monmouth-street of poetry.
Some steal one half—but that for thee's too small,
Thy mighty mind has stomach for it all:
Cut, slice, and pilfer, profit is thy own,
Whilst thou liest prostrate 'fore King DAVID's
Mr. Garrick.
throne;
He, like most other kings, can never want
Some subtle, soothing, servile sycophant;
In such a case it would be wond'rous hard
Not to repay a fawning, flatt'ring bard.
Come FRANKY GENTLEMAN, from LIFFEY's
The river which runs through Dublin.
side,
What frenzy can thee, as an author, guide?
Appear to swell our literary list,
Thou namby pamby, ROYAL FABULIST:
This adventurous bard, about five years ago, produced a volume of fables for the prince of Wales: In this his policy and poetry keep equal pace; if it would not seem a national reflection, we might call it a palpable blunder to carry verse and some truth to a court, where neither was ever welcome.
Might'st thou not hope more prudently to thrive,
By clinking songs on WILKES and FORTY-FIVE?
Thou more than RUSSIAN
Alludes to a sleepy tragedy, with some good lines, barbarously murdered at the Haymarket, and afterwards printed for the use of pastry-cooks, &c.
conqueror—whose pen—
O may we never meet its rage again!
Has forc'd the DARDANELLES with hostile speed,
And laid an hapless SULTAN low indeed;
Thou art another prologue-smith, still fit
To shew, like DAVY, plenteous lack of wit.
HULL has good feelings, and possesses sense,
Yet to an author's fame shews small pretence;
Much better must he write, who hopes to rise,
Than SPANISH LADIES, or PERPLEXETIES;
Two very lukewarm pieces by Mr. Hull.
To turn a period, or to clink a rhime,
With little wit, and less of the sublime,
May be call'd writing, yet is waste of time.
With much collegiate buckram stiff, and prim,
FRANKLIN
Who knows not the reverend translator of Socrates &c. &c. &c? Who seems better acquainted with Greek than English poetry.
appears—it must, it must be him;
Great WARWICK's ghost pursues his steps, and cries,
Why was I made the worst of tragedies?
Is there a muse existing could inspire,
So cold a scribe with mine or MARG'RATE's fire!
With thee we both have found a wretched fate,
I roar a bully, she a Billingsgate:
Oh, may contempt afford thee just reward,
Thou coxcomb preacher, and more coxcomb bard!
Rough as a rope-maker, lo! REED
This gentleman is so tenacious of an author's name, and withal so choleric, that it is a service of some danger to find even the slightest fault; however, impartiality leads on to the charge; and we hope he won't return the lash of criticism, by assailing us with a cat-o'-nine-tails formed of his own manufacture.
comes forth;
In his own mind, of much poetic worth:
Yet DIDO sure, and eke his TOMMY JONES,
A flimzy Tragedy, and drowsy Comic Opera, engendered and brought forth by Mr. REED.
Instead of laurels, cry for broken bones:
But Madrigal with fair Trulletta join'd,
Shew they not brilliant parts, and mighty mind?
Burlesque at best we deem a bankrupt trade,
The worst attempt which genius ever made;
A brat of envy born, of dullness bred,
Which ne'er can credit yield to heart or head;
A twist of thoughts, contortion of the brain,
That gives to decent taste unequall'd pain;
May hemp of all such poets be the prize,
Ev'n MIDAS, though we laugh, we must despise.
The muse, at length, with painful censure tir'd,
Meets with an author worthily admir'd;
Rival'd in strength of character by few,
Rich in a fund of humour ever new;
Whose pregnant pencil takes from life each tint,
Whose thoughts are stamp'd in brilliant Fancy's mint;
Who never makes a vain, or feeble hit;
Terse in his stile, and polish'd in his wit:
Copious in subject, yet compact in scenes,
Dull explanation never intervenes:
Each line, each person, under just controul,
Speaks to the heart, and beautifies the whole:
Laughter attends—spleen flies the house of joy,
Where GENIUS FOOTE and NATURE never cloy.
Acting, which now becomes a wretched trade,
We deem a science—yet alas! betray'd
To sordid views: while poor neglected Fame
Sinks into nothing but an empty name.
Should one, too dull to fill a footman's place,
Chance to obtain RIGHT HONOURABLE grace,
The kindly master writes a kindly line,
And thinks the
blockhead
may an
actor
shine;
Kind managers most cringingly receive,
And credit to the awkward mandate give;
Afford to one, who cannot walk or speak,
Perhaps, the sum of TWENTY HOG
A theatrical, and St. Giles's phrase for twenty shillings.
a week;
And complaisantly bid him
get by heart
A gentleman's, a beau's, or prince's part:
Indeed if princes on the stage are like
Some that we know; such may a semblance strike:
For sad experience tells—say all we can,
What makes a PRINCE, can't make a GENTLEMAN.
Such patrons CHELSEA
There are several methods which the great have of quartering domestics on the public; if they can write, the customs and the excise; if they cannot; Chelsea, Greenwich, or the stage: though they never carried a musquet, wore trousers, nor can distinguish Shakespeare from a news-paper.
oft and GREENWICH stain,
With the low voidings of their servile train,
As Covent-Garden deck and Drury-Lane.
How vast the requisites which serve to frame,
That man who would deserve the player's name;
Yet ev'ry coxcomb fancies he is fit,
The complicated, arduous task to hit:
If taught
Mr. Garrick has been ever remarkably fond of teaching; we wonder he does not equip every male performer with cloaths of his own size, they would mostly fit as well as his manner—he found the stage with good actors, how many will he leave on it—then what has teaching done?
by GARRICK he must sure succeed,
Of useless nature he can little need;
Oh wretched doctrine, baneful to the stage!
Let ev'ry parrot keep its proper cage.
A graceful person, and a feeling mind,
An education of the lib'ral kind:
Deportment easy, and conception clear,
A well-tun'd voice, and a discerning ear;
Fire in his eyes and meaning in his face,
That may discriptively each passion trace;
With solid judgement to conduct the whole—
Judgement of merit the essential soul.—
Must grace the theatre and please the croud,
Without such
mumming
as is now allow'd;
Without such low chicane, such paltry art,
As tricks the eyes, but can't affect the heart.
Oh GARRICK! 'tis with honest, social pain
That we have prob'd thee in the failing vein;
But had our dearest brother been to try,
We should maintain impartiality:
Had all thy flatterers, in early life,
Set thee and critic niceties at strife;
They might have made thy
techy
feelings sore,
But errors had been less, and merit more.
Bold we approach and paint each public fault,
Without reserve, or bitterness of thought;
Howe'er we seem, on truth you may depend;
Would
ev'ry
monarch had so just a friend:
What thou
hast
been, with rapture we allow,
Yet, rather grieve to see thee acting now;
QUIN found his failing, in just time, and swore;
He ne'er for gain would whistle FALSTAFF more:
Victorious CHURCHILL
John, duke of Malbro', who, in his latter days, like Swift, lapsed into a lamentable childishness.
turn'd a child at last,
And with weak dotage stain'd his conquests past.
Some twenty, or perhaps, ten years ago,
The world knew not thy equal: but how low
Have failing pow'rs reduc'd thee since that time?
Description would ev'n wound satiric rhyme.
Those eyes which then could animate the stage,
Now shew the glaze of swift declining age;
That voice, which once could pierce the dullest ear,
Drops its best notes, less musically clear;
That person, short by nature, made more short
By corpulence; affords proportion sport:
And criticism laughs, tho' not most strict,
To see a butter-firkin BENEDICK.
Shall it be said, that DAVID GARRICK shines;
When COMIC MAJESTY itself declines
To grace his merits by some kind commands:
Rather content with common vulgar hands?
No, let him cry, and shake a well-stuff'd purse,
Bad as I am, my followers are worse;
The fact is granted, weeping judgement says,
Yet by the grant yields very feeble praise.
Thy carpenters, thy sycophants and tools,
A set of artful knaves, or wretched fools;
Headed by brother GEORGE,
Mr. George Garrick was, by his brother's interest, several years since, elevated to the high station of stablekeeper at the royal Mews; and is, if fame says true, first puff trumpet to king David.
from royal Mews,
With fulsome stuff thy plyant ears abuse;
Rather trust those who plainly, roughly chide,
And let infirmities suppress thy pride.
BARRY, who vegetated fair and long,
In person graceful, and in feelings strong;
With voice harmonious, yet too apt to whine,
Music of sound his principal design;
Measure of verse not sense bespoke his care,
And rants were catch'd at, to make groundlings stare;
Without variety of action, still
His arms and legs obey'd
mechanic
will;
Yet, with all faults, none more could flood each eye,
None better form'd to make the ladies sigh;
Now, after various gallantries, devote
To that most paltry prop, a petticoat.
So a tall oak the glory of the grove,
Whom Sylvan deities have view'd with love;
Feeling the gripe of all-devouring time,
No longer shews its stately head sublime;
Shrinks at each blast, of ev'ry storm afraid,
And bending, seeks a willow's feeble aid.
REDDISH, alike by nature and by art,
Is form'd incapable to touch the heart;
He strives, indeed, through various shapes to please,
Without expression, dignity or ease;
A voice so bounded, it was never meant,
To rise above a moral sentiment;
A figure clumsy, and a vulgar face,
Devoid of spirit as of pleasing grace;
Action unmeaning, often misapply'd,
Bless'd with no perfect attribute but pride;
Take heed, bold sir, nor friendly caution slight,
In FRAMPTON, and that path, we deem thee right;
But when a hero takes thy awkward gait,
We laugh at both his passions, and his state.
PALMER, compos'd of more than common size,
With languid features, and more languid eyes;
Stalks a tall gauky on perception's rays,
Too slight for censure, and too dull for praise;
From hollow lungs he rumbles forth a sound,
Enough all sense and feeling to confound:
Emphasis! oh vain, superfluous word,
All rules for speaking, actors deem absurd;
None but a pedant would attempt to teach
By grammar ties, or paltry parts of speech;
This GARRICK knows, and only plies with tricks,
Commonly call'd stage business, often essential, but oftner used as a take in, to those who have more eyes than understanding.
But leaves the meaning for themselves to fix;
Or, fond of something critical and new,
A meaning gives beyond the author's view.
What is a voice, tho' bless'd with silver tone,
If love's soft notes in sing-song are made known?
What is a mellow medium, if each line
In dull monotony shews dull design?
Or what QUIN's deep-mouth'd base, if with a growl
It wounds each tender feeling of the soul?
Rightly to rule, is truly to possess;
And, pow'rs well manag'd please us more, tho' less
Than those luxuriances which weed like shew,
And serve to choak the gardens where they grow.
Who has not seen, upon rejoicing night,
Squibs sputter, fret and bounce by partial light?
So elder AICKIN shatters tragic strains,
And fritters nature with uncommon pains;
Struts, foams and roars; good lack! what noise he makes,
While sense and harmony condemn his breaks;
Most cracker like he moves, a short-liv'd joke,
Shines with false fire, and soon concludes with smoke.
Soft pair of youths, whom we must ne'er divide,
As best, or worst, no mortal can decide:
MORPHEUS o'er both his leaden mace has cast,
They sleep, and walk, and talk, and sleep at last;
Yet be not CAUTHERLEY, in doleful dumps,
Are you not happy in a QUEEN
Mr. Cautherly married, last summer, a daughter of Mr. Blanchard, Card-maker, with several thousand pounds to her fortune: as GREAT personages very seldom say good things; we are prompted to record, that one of the first characters in this kingdom, seeing a handsome house built by Mr. Blanchard, ask'd who own'd it? being inform'd the royal card-maker; why then, says he, I think all his CARDS have turned up TRUMPS.
of TRUMPS?
And thou, oh, BRERETON! haste to get another,
Then Cypher kindly may call Cypher brother.
LOVE, a soft name, but sadly misapply'd,
When giv'n to paltry petulance and pride;
Where was it found? 'midst gentle Southern gales?
Oh no, where BOREAS rends resisting sails;
In SCOTIA's clime; no wonder then 'tis rude;
That clime with softness never was endu'd.
LOVE, as a serious actor, we detest,
With no one pleasing, proper talent bless'd;
A face, where motionless composure sits,
And short-liv'd meaning only gleams by fits;
A bell-man's hollow voice, a bell-man's drone;
Who does not shudder at his CHRISTMAS tone?
With porter's gait, and action of a bear,
He claims more censure than the muse can spare;
Indeed, when Boniface and Falstaff call,
We sit with patience, tho' the merit's small;
For when the better is compar'd with worse,
As LEAR observes, it lightens any curse.
HURST, a laborious, imitative drudge,
Of whom it gives us poignant pain to judge;
Discordant, stiff, nay, every thing that's bad
An heap of MOSSOP's errors, quite run mad:
Yet is this wretch, so managers will give,
In some parts, HOLLAND's representative:
Oh, what a dreadful falling off is there,
From HOLLAND, who of faults had plenteous share.
PACKER in all, through ev'ry cast the same,
Toils to obtain a useful actor's name;
Oft is he seen, and gives as oft offence,
While his mean pow'rs, unmeaning sounds dispense;
When he assumes, or levity, or state,
He SADDLES
Mr. Packer is a very
reputable Saddler
; though a miserable actor; however, he has so many to keep him in countenance, as to his theatrical deficiency, that he may go on without blushing.
critics with a grievous weight.
AICKIN, the younger, has some gifts to please,
Just sensibility and modest ease;
He aims not there where nature cannot reach,
But lets her guide his gesture and his speech;
The muse concern'd, beholds the place he fills;
But all in vain, while so his tyrant wills;
Wishing she could with such persuasion speak,
To gain him better parts, and add some pounds per week.
When JEFFERSON paints age in tragic strains,
Judgement attends, nor slights his well-meant pains;
'Tis there he shines not with a radiant blaze,
Yet merit decks him with some pleasing rays;
He vainly aims not at gigantic strides,
But with discretion, medium feelings guides;
Much safer 'tis the middle path to run,
Than mount aloft to fall like PHAETON.
MOODY we praise, with all the warmth we can,
When he depicts the IRISH GENTLEMAN;
Nor stop we here, since he possesses sense,
To keep from those attempts might give offence;
May just reward his real merit crown,
Who well deserves the favour of the town.
BURTON and BRANSBY, kindly yok'd together,
Dull, heavy, cold as dark NOVEMBER weather;
Chill ev'ry ear, and puzzle ev'ry eye,
Through clouds their dubious meaning to descry;
And, gentle opiates, with composure blest,
Lull yawning audiences to perfect rest.
INCHBALD, who long on NORFOLK dumplins fed,
Those solid emblems of his solid head;
Imported to the capital, was shewn,
Mr. Inchbald, though many years an itinerant hero, was, according to the modern paltry stage-policy, introduced under that stale device, a first appearance: this is a trick to gain, from curiosity, what may pay by one night the whole season's pitiful salary of such actors; several mushrooms have vegetated thus; but none more worthless, or short-lived, than Mr. Owenson; brought modestly forward in Tamerlane, some weeks since; without even the requisites of a grown-up school-boy.
As one well-form'd to mount the Tragic throne;
A
first appearance
smooth'd the thorny way,
Yet, candid judgement damn'd his wild essay;
The shade of CONGREVE felt each jarring strain,
And fled ere Osmyn could appear again.
DAVIS, a sing-song man, of little worth,
The critic muse relentingly brings forth;
Such feeble objects should her lash escape,
She should not combat with a human ape.
VERNON, in music, gains unbounded praise,
We to his
acting
yield applausive lays;
Like GREENLAND's sun, too little seen, he shines
Scarce half his time; but when he does, refines
The clouds of dullness which around him gloom,
Nonsense avaunt, and give true merit room!
PARSONS and HARTRY, with strong pow'r of face,
Give sportive humour oft successful chace;
Yet each too feeble for a foremost station,
Courts rather than commands our approbation.
WESTON, but wherefore need we speak of him,
Begot by MOMUS upon Lady WHIM;
While laughing multitudes declare, with glee,
His face the essence of true comedy;
Nor does mechanic manner stiffly spoil
The pleasure of involuntary smile;
SCRUB, ABEL-DRUGGER, SNEAK, and DOCTOR LAST,
Must stand unrival'd his peculiar cast;
Tho' in MEDEA's kettle boil'd anew,
GARRICK would lose by parallel review:
Then happ'ly plac'd, beyond all public strife,
Use, TOM, some caution in thy private life;
So shall not creditors enjoyment damp,
Nor sordid MANAGERS thy income cramp.
DIBDIN, alas! we nearly had forgot,
Perhaps oblivion were the kindest lot:
How he
composes,
'tis not fit, we say,
But grant kind stars that he may never
play
:
Nor, to enlarge our wish, may ever sing;
MUNGO in this, in that, and ev'ry thing.
Why shares not BANNISTER, a fairer light?
He gives no umbrage unto critic sight;
In many parts of weight he might be shewn,
With more than usual pleasure to the town;
Let him the task he's equal to approve,
And fill the vacant place of lumpish LOVE.
Who trips it, jantée, o'er the sprightly scene,
A pretty, pert, significant PANTINE?
DODD, who gives pleasure both to ears and eyes,
Tho'
duodecimo
of human size.
We think that BADDELEY can never miss,
A crouching
Frenchman,
or a flatt'ring
Swiss
;
Yet, for aught else, his talents are but small;
This praise, perhaps, he cruelty may call:
But critics never justice should retrench;
Let that be left to JUDGES on the bench:
They, in the quibble of almighty law,
At any time can find a ready flaw.
A flaw! what's that? a loophole
This term is taken from Mr. FOOTE's
Devil on sticks.
to escape,
Where wrong of right may take the pleasing shape;
A ready passage litigation finds,
To pilfer pockets and impose on minds;
Oh, that the long-rob'd gentry would beware,
And yield poor honesty a better share!
Come last, tho' first, come pleasant, sprightly KING,
Of whom 'tis pleasure, or to hear, or sing;
From whose extended merit thousands find,
The transports which attend a joyous mind:
Void of all art, with genius on thy side,
Genius thy never-failing friend and guide;
Mimic of none, originally just,
Judgement approves thee—right—because it must.
Thy ease, thy spirit, and thy features wrought,
Pregnant with sensibility of thought;
Thy just conception, and thy utt'rance free,
A pleasing, matchless volubility:
All, all unite to give thy valued name,
The laughter-bearing stamp of comic fame.
Late may the STAGE thy loss, oh! KING, lament,
Year after years in public service spent;
May'st thou enjoy, retir'd, a life serene,
And meet with comfort thy conclusive scene;
That cannot fail, to him who keeps thy plan,
Ev'n death is pleasure to an honest man.
The ladies!— soft!— a tender, ticklish theme,
'Tis rudeness, of their faults to think or dream;
Weakness avaunt! truth must send forth her dart,
Though it should glance a flutt'ring, female heart;
Politeness may condemn—complain who list—
But truth becomes an honest satirist;
And we, jealous as any king who lives,
Claim this the first of our prerogatives.
Beauty we worship, and the sex admire;
Their frowns must damp us, and their smiles inspire;
Yet ANTONY's submission ne'er shall prove
In us, that criticism's lost for love:
He to Aegyptian charms resign'd a world,
In beauty's sad despight our bolts are hurl'd.
Wherefore, oh time, shouldst thou bring on decay,
Nor let ripe women, girls for ever play?
POPE was, ten years ago, a sprightly lass;
But will increase of flesh now let her pass?
Why not? plump DAVY, near on fifty-six,
Still perseveres to play his boyish tricks;
Thro' ranger waddles, and is fond to dance,
Learn'd he such tricks in Italy or France?—
CLAIRON
A mad French actress, of whose excellence Mr. Garrick not only chose to prophecy; but put his infallible opinion at the bottom of an ostentatious print— though it is an undoubted fact, that there never was a
natural
FRENCH actor or actress.
herself must at her prophet sneer,
To see his age and size in youthful sphere,
And policy, we freely own, should find,
Somewhat that's fatly similar of kind;
For if, like rabbits, coupled fat and lean,
Defects of figure would be quickly seen;
Hence to those tastes, which are not very nice,
POPE may in CHERRY please, and BEATRICE:
We grant that CLIVE, when past Meridian life,
Too often wag'd with fit appearance strife;
But nature could forgive her size and face,
For apt expression, and well-suited grace;
Let's not recall the sad remembrance past,
That losing her, we've lost her murder'd cast.
Having thus said, when HOPKINS comes in sight,
That bane of laughter; poison of delight:
We grieve, and wonder that a lump so dull,
Should ever rise beyond the Collier's
Collier's wife, Recruiting Officer.
trull:
Should murder ladies— nay, sometimes a queen;
'Till e'en good-nature falls into the spleen:
Whoever
prompts
This word we use because the lady's husband is Prompter; and, as we are informed, the Lord Bute of Drury-Lane theatre.
her to attempts so wild,
Must think the public easily beguil'd.
REDDISH, without a relish, we produce,
As profitless for pleasure, as for use;
Worse than a
cypher
— why? because we find,
She moves a FIGURE of obnoxious kind:
Mere water-gruel, made most simply small,
Of which one taste sufficiently will pall.
LOVE has some merit, yet of little strength,
She ne'er should rise above a single length:
A length, in the language of a Theatre is, as we are told, two sides, manuscript, of a quarter of a sheet of paper.
And BRADSHAW, likewise, was by nature meant
To stand within the same predicament;
Tho' we confess her AUDREY is a store
Of Comic humour, makes us wish for more.
AMBROSE and EGERTON, a dismal pair,
Not worth the critic's or the poet's care.
YOUNGE, who set out,
It was rather a breach of female delicacy, and diffidence for this lady, to make a first appearance in this character.
as few will do again,
And boldly breeches seiz'd in IMOGEN;
Wants not good pow'rs for kindled love or rage,
Yet, can she not in either much engage;
In action stiff, oft dissonant in tone,
Her requisites ungraciously are shewn;
Yet, as our Theatres at present stand,
A post of honour she may well command:
She too was banish'd by a pittance small,
'Till, list'ning to HIBERNIA's friendly call,
That kindly soil to dawning merit true,
Improv'd, return'd her to the public view;
GARRICK awak'd, who,
pining,
gave her more,
Than his pinch'd soul deny'd to her before.
BARRY has long a pleasing fav'rite reign'd,
And warm applause, by sterling merit gain'd;
So much in serious scenes she gives delight,
We wish to see her each returning night:
Mark her, enraptur'd, tread th' enliven'd stage,
Weep with her grief, and shudder with her rage;
In all her various passions sympathize,
And even gaze with transport on her EYES.
The author of Thespis, because Mrs. Barry is near-sighted, and has rather a peculiarity of look, was cruelly rude enough to call her a
wall-ey'd Idiot.
Here let us pause— to breathe a wish sincere,
That she may keep within her proper sphere;
Nor venture COMEDY of lighter kind;
With laughter she can never touch the mind:
Her Tragic walk is striking, rich and wide,
Enough to gratify e'en female pride:
Why then intrude on spirited compeers?
Is't not enough to shine the queen of tears?
Come at our call, whom all with joy must see,
The gay Theatrical EUPHROSYNE:
Whose ev'ry movement shews peculiar grace,
Whose arch expression cheers the dullest face;
Whose elegance and spirit, aptly join'd,
Pour matchless pleasure on each critic mind;
Ask you her name?—who has not view'd the sun?
Such only should be told — 'tis ABINGTON;
And yet, this foremost merit of our time,
Merit, which CHURCHILL scarce could paint in rhime;
Merit, with gen'ral approbation crown'd,
Treads but a narrow, a penurious round:
Clarinda, Beatrice and Townly claim,
Th' enliv'ning honour of her fav'rite name;
With many more; yet, vainly plead their cause,
For managers will make th' absurdest laws;
But let them blunder— tho' we seldom view,
Yet, ABINGTON must charm us when we do.
Of DRURY's long
et cetera
we say,
That some much better, in their stations, play;
Than plume-crown'd heroes of superior rank,
And such for their endeavours we must thank;
Yet, being placed too low for public same,
'Twould be but superfluity to name.
THE VIEW OF COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE.
Bad has begun, and worse remains behind.
View COLMAN in the lap of Mother Shiptonl
A better Subject Satire never whipt on.
TO COVENT-GARDEN, reader, turn thy eyes,
With painful feelings and increas'd surprize;
For, who would think the stage could yet produce,
On public favour, still more rank abuse,
Than what we've shewn? yet, oh! sad truth to tell,
DRURY, 'midst wretchedness, yet bears the belle;
Shines o'er her sister, tho' with feeble light,
And, tho' deplorable, is still more bright.
See curious COLMAN, negligent of merit,
Of Tragic energy, and comic spirit;
Palm on his servile partners, and the town,
Abject and vile dependants of his own;
Let him of friends and mistresses have store,
We kindly wish he had as many more;
But, why should he, like some amongst the great,
Make whores and fav'rites pensioners of state;
Or, why should we, obedient to his whim,
Glibly take down whatever pleases him?
Taste is, indeed, reduc'd to dismal pass,
Beneath controul of this assuming ass.
For ass he is, who so mistakes his station,
As to affront th' indulgence of a nation;
The time may come, nor can be distant far,
When judgment must commence successful war:
When Genius will revive from second birth,
And crush this pigmy tyrant into earth.
The lowest muse must suffer pain, to stoop
To such a motley, indigested group;
Where lights are all so faint, and shades so strong,
Where right so seldom takes the place of wrong;
Where ignorance prevails, with boundless pride,
And talents, which might please, are misapply'd;
Where each man thinks he amply does his duty,
And ev'ry woman thinks herself a beauty;
'Tis a hard task to paint them as we ought,
Almost beyond the stretch of words, or thought;
And if we should per-chance make dullness feel,
"'Tis breaking butterflies upon a wheel."
Ross, whom we cannot, take him all in all,
With poignant CHURCHILL, a misfortune call,
Wants but the spur of diligence to please,
Bless'd with uncommon harmony and ease;
Sometimes we own, his words confess a dose;
And kindly call an audience to repose:
Sometimes on GREEN BOXES, he turns his eyes,
When some affecting passion ought to rise;
Faults we admit, of aggravated kind,
To sensibility of eyes and mind:
Yet, when from dronish indolence he breaks,
And to the meaning of his author wakes,
We must applaud; tho' still we may regret,
A gem of nature, negligently set:
Bad as he is, we shall not stop to own,
At COVENT he should mount the ROSCIAN throne;
For still more excellence, we boldly deem,
Found in his sleep than other's waking dream.
Oh SAVIGNY! poor SAVIGNY! alas! and oh!
Who could a creature of thy fabric shew?
Made of such dross, that not a ray of soul,
No spark PROMETHEAN animates the whole:
Why, at the full meridian of thy days,
Didst thou so vainly seek for public praise?
Why, as an ACTOR, at such point of age,
Attempt to strut thy hour upon the stage?
Why madly make so terrible a choice,
Of judgement void— of figure!— features!— voice?
Why to contempt spur on, with matchless speed?
A fool at forty, is a fool indeed.
Could not the temp'ring honest steel suffice?
Let surgeons' instruments sustain thy rise:
For spouting— insignificant as thine—
Will never make thy fame or pocket shine;
If by impartial audiences disdain'd,
Tho' by a selfish manager retain'd;
Shake off the monkey's mean, designing claw;
Nor, cat-like, furnish a convenient paw:
'Tis pitiful, whatever GEORGE may say,
To march a colonel with an ensign's pay
This, we are told, is Mr. Savigny's case.
What shade of merit comes— so void of pith?
'Tis simp'ring, spirited, and squalling SMITH:
Perch'd on the utmost summit of his voice,
Utt'rance proclaims Monotony his choice;
RICHARD, CASTALIO are but change of name,
We find him everlastingly the same:
Smooth-sounding sing-song issues from his throat—
Regard not emphasis, observe the note:
Seek ye, oh, cruel auditors! for sense?
A shrill-ton'd voice makes ample recompense:
No actor, sure, was e'er more vilely class'd,
None e'er so faulty, with such fortune pass'd;
If thou hast modesty, SMITH, ne'er presume,
To step beyond the path of CAPTAIN PLUME:
For scenes genteel, give up all Tragic rage,
A gentleman both on and off the stage.
BENSLEY— good heav'ns! what language shall we find
To paint this strangest creature of his kind:
This old, this new, this rumble jumble play'r,
This prince of strides, and monarch of wild stare:
This awkward thing, which neither chaunts, nor says,
But by a kind of blund'ring instinct plays.
Mark how his peevish features, strain and strive,
In vain, to keep his characters alive;
See long, ungraceful, wide expanded arms,
With a large catalogue of equal charms;
Join'd to a voice— oh wonderful alliance!
That music sets, and meaning at defiance.
Most, in a wide diversity will shew,
Some gleams of merit, if they cannot glow:
But this strange ACTOR, for we strange must call,
One who shews like deficiency in all;
Was form'd by nature on peculiar plan,
Or rather by some bungling
journeyman
;
Yet, he's a fav'rite, and as such must pass;
Thus COLMAN makes each auditor an ass.
Whom should the muse in due succession mark?
'Tis that same tolerable third-rate CLARKE:
Oh, may he never rise to higher place,
Who wants fit feelings, and essential grace;
In medium stile, where nought affecting's meant,
We think him capable to give content;
And warmly wish, an honest truth to tell,
The flimzy leaders fill'd their posts as well.
Patience is shock'd, and reason render'd dull:
Yield them some succour, modest, feeling HULL.
'Tis true, thy pow'rs, by nature are but slight;
Yet, well-dispos'd, they often give delight:
Thou dost not mouth, nor rant, nor strut, nor stare,
Nature's thy guide— each author's sense thy care:
Yet, sad necessity, sometimes we find,
Imposes tasks of prejudicial kind;
From walking gentlemen keep ever free,
Nor sigh soft plaints of love in tragedy:
Gain parts, which to the verge of nature last,
Paternal feelings are thy proper cast:
Possess'd of such, it will compleat thy plan,
And match the ACTOR with the WORTHY MAN.
WROUGHTON! what soil gave this same strippling birth?
We know not, nor will call it fertile earth;
For such a weed theatrical ne'er grew,
Unless where dullness sheds her heavy dew:
They must have keener optics, who can trace
One gleam of meaning in his vacant face,
Than we can boast of; and his voice, we own,
To us marks insipidity of tone;
Wretched, indeed, we think that author's doom;
Whose sense in his conception finds a tomb;
Yet he, like BENSLEY meets from GEORGE
Colman, Esquire.
support;
Thus blockheads make their way at ev'ry court.
We ne'er have seen, and happ'ly never may,
A more correct, or chaste performer play
Than YATES; who, in his proper stile,
A cynic of some laughter must beguile;
Without one gleam of paltry, trickful art,
By nature led, he glides upon the heart;
Traces the path, where judgement strikes a line,
And justly scorns by low finesse to shine;
Dispassionate applause rewards his toils,
And reason titles him the KING of SMILES.
For approbation, why does SHUTER
soar
?
Is all his aim to hear the gall'ries roar?
'Tis pitiful ambition— worthless fame—
Tho' all St. GILES's ecchoes with his same:
'Tis true, each man enjoys peculiar taste,
Nor males, nor females, can be always chaste;
Yet, ev'ry sphere of life should take for guide,
A decent quantum of becoming pride.
Good-natur'd NED, with public favour drunk,
Ne'er frowns upon a gambler, or a punk;
In public, and in private, speaks his jokes;
Laughs at the sun, and thinks them witty strokes:
Let friendship lay this truth before his eyes,
He that's
so
merry, is but seldom wise;
And tell him of a swift-approaching age,
When lost to action, he must quit the stage:
What pain to think, that mirth and pleasure past,
Life should convert to tragedy at last;
Avert the storm, in time; lay by some pence;
They'll yield thee comfort, and proclaim thy sense;
Stick by thee, when the host of midnight friends,
Who laugh and follow, but for private ends;
Stand far aloof and follies past condemn,
Lest thy necessities should call on them:
Excuse this freedom, on these truths depend,
They are the language of a zealous friend.
Old dog-trot DUNSTALL keeps the beaten way,
And very seldom mends, or mars a play;
QUICK rises, with advantage to our view,
Better than most,
ev'n now
surpass'd by few:
Some cultivation, through some seasons more,
His talents will command the jocund roar;
Unless his worth the manager should trace,
And for his merit doom him to disgrace.
KNIVETON, presumptively, should never bring
His talents in comparison with KING;
Yet, he has merit in the comic strain,
Tho' all attempts in tragedy are vain.
In dialogue a dismal, wretched thing,
DU-BELLAMY should never speak, but sing;
The notes of music bear him thro' with ease,
In these alone he may expect to please.
DYER was never any thing to boast,
A sufferable coxcomb, at the most;
Now sinking fast into the vale of years,
The remnant of a remnant he appears.
GARDNER may safely walk the middle way,
A greater compliment we cannot pay;
Stiff in his figure, bounded in his voice,
Seconds or firsts should never be his choice.
YOUNGER! who's that? a Prompter, just broke loose,
To lisp forth characters— what strange abuse!
That one by nature happily design'd,
To guide the business of the stage behind,
Should stalk a spectacle in solemn scenes,
While half the audience knows not what he means;
For shame, keep pride within the bounds of sense,
Nor let such acting madness give offence.
MATTOCKS has little, or to praise, or blame,
If any, he can boast but lukewarm fame;
Unmov'd, we hear him either sing or say;
His pow'rs can never make us grave, or gay.
Come, chearful HAL, whom time, with gentle hand,
Hath kindly strok'd, conclude the comic band;
Lively, descriptive, graceful WOODWARD, come,
With merit that may strike e'en malice dumb;
CHURCHILL— the best absurdities advance,—
When he beheld thee, view'd with eyes askaunce;
Else, had he judg'd impartially thy cause,
He must have honour'd thee with warm applause:
For sure, in Fops, and parts of
outrè
kind,
All thy competitors fall far behind:
All must acknowledge thy superior glee,
In the gay cast of laughing Comedy;
Yet, let us own, and take it as a friend,
We cannot sea-bred IRONSIDES commend;
Too strain'd in attitude, too stiff in speech,
The plain, rough Tar you cannot justly reach;
And we acknowledge, with reluctant will,
Thro' all his scenes we trace thy BOBADIL:
Thy study'd grace is a laborious plan,
And shews too oft the PICTURE of a MAN:
Yet, we behold with pleasure, and admire,
Thy sportful countenance, thy youthful fire;
While some reflections on GEORGE COLMAN
Mr. Woodward was most ignorantly and illiberally excluded by the quarrel between the managers, now restored, not very cordially, we believe, by their reconciliation, which also obtained Mr. Macklin the opportunity of five nights performance.
cease,
For making thee an article of peace.
MACKLIN, now got beyond her youthful bloom,
Why was the stage, she never liked, her doom?
Exerts her stinted pow'rs, with some applause,
Tho' fetter'd with a father's rigid laws:
We cannot mechaniz'd instructions love,
Nature, so trammell'd, cannot freely move;
Hence dull correctness active Genius binds,
And rests insipidly on critic minds.
BULKLEY and BAKER, pretty women both,
To speak against them
gallantry
is loth;
But, howsoe'er good-nature may condole,
To praise their beauty, is to praise the whole.
Next come a pair, with constant pleasure seen,
Tho' plain of persons, PITT we shew, and GREEN;
They move, they speak, they mark, the author's thought,
And prove their merit is from nature caught:
By much the best, as far as they engage,
Of any females now on either stage.
What shall we say of LESSINGHAM, the fair,
She has of managers been long the care;
Oh, that regard would make her all their own,
And snatch a tasteless milksop from the town;
One who for parts eternally would fight,
Without the sense, or talents, to be right.
KNIVETON, a bauble, fit for childish view,
Who scarce to Gipsey
Beau Stratagem.
could afford her due;
KNIVETON, as bad as possible to think,
Irksome to hear, as dead small beer to drink.
VINCENT, whose age cries loudly for the fund
The provision for superannuated performers, planned and humanely promoted, as we have been told, by Mr. HULL.
By ev'ry eye of nice distinction shunn'd;
Abhorr'd by ev'ry tender-feeling ear,
Is yet brought forward in a youthful sphere;
Would, she display'd such worth in public life,
As she has shewn in mother, friend, and wife;
Applauding multitudes might then contend,
Who should stand foremost her assisting friend.
MILLER, by favour more than nature bless'd,
Of foremost characters we see possess'd;
What madness guides, what partial planet reigns.
When insignificance such influence gains?
Judgement, with calmest patience join'd, must frown,
When one hand mounts, to let the other down;
When grief or declamation drooping flags,
And screech-owl screams tear passion into rags:
Give us a sample, gods! of better store,
Or let us never see an actress more.
Once, in FOOTE's pieces, GARDNER gave us joy,
But bawls repeated, all her pow'rs destroy;
No doubt she thinks herself monst'rous fine,
And yet is BILLINGSGATE in ev'ry line.
MATTOCKS, to grant what she may claim as due,
Stands in a favourable point of view;
Spirit, expression, and some pleasing tones,
For comic archness, or for tragic moans;
A figure happily dispos'd, tho' small,
Striking in nought— agreeable in all:
Sometimes too earnest in desire to please,
She steps beyond the boundaries of ease;
Forces her features into painful state,
And rather sinks— attempting to be great:
Yet few, for gen'ral use, can rivals stand;
Or such applause, in various lights, command:
Perhaps, not one— then let our cordial lays
Give, what they joy to give, impartial praise.
When public favour warmly stamps regard,
To criticize is perilous and hard;
The loud-mouth'd multitude rush sweeping by,
And, hound-like, follow as the leaders cry;
Yet, their mad favour, e'en from WILKES to BUTE,
We often find a paltry prostitute;
So, in the mimic state, 'tis fashion's laws,
Not merit, calls forth for popular applause:
Thus justice from her equilibrium swerves,
Hence YATES enjoys more than she deserves.
Puff'd with importance, and a sweeping train,
Behold she comes— insufferably vain;
Observe her countenance uplifted high,
Pride on her brow, and fury in her eye;
Mildness or love she cannot represent,
On haughtier subjects are her feelings bent:
In rage, we freely grant, she can excell,
Who plays a tragic termagant so well?
When grief she struggles for, 'tis harsh and coarse,
Indelicately swell'd with needless force;
Her clock-work action painful study shews,
In speech, or movement, nature never glows:
'Tis true, that plac'd among the bad, she shines,
As feeble lamps may light the womb of mines;
But, should a gleam of sun-shine strike the sight,
Such pallid fires would sink in endless night.
Thus ends our painful task— a task, indeed—
Enough to make good-natur'd bosoms bleed;
Why should we, Caesar
Domitian, remarkable for Fly-killing.
like, anatomize,
And seem to triumph in dissecting flies?
The answer's plain; in such a patient age,
'Tis just to rouze and vindicate the stage.
FINIS.