With full consent of all she chang'd her state;
Re istless in her love, as in her hate.
By her example warn'd, the rest beware;
More easy, less imperious, were the fair;
And that one hunting, which the devil design'd
For one fair female, lost him half the kind."
$31. The Rosciad. Churchill.
Roscius deccas'd, each high aspiring play'r
Push'd all his int'rest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favor of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserv'd mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume,
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd

war,

And show where honor bled in ev'ry scar.
But though bare merit might in Roine appear
The strongest plea for favor, 'tis not here":"
We form our judgement in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay;
Those who would gain the votes of British
tribes,

Must add to force of merit force of bribes.

What can an actor give? in ev'ry age Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage; Monarchs themselves, to grief of ev'ry play'r, Appear as often as their image there: They can't, like candidate for other seat, Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat. Wine! they could bribe you with the world as

soon,

And of roast beef, they only know the tune: But what they have they give; could Clive do

more,

Though for each million he had brought home four?

Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair, And hopes the friends of humor will be there; In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat For those who laughter love instead of meat; Foote, at Old House, for even Foote will be, In self-conceit, an actor, bribes with tea; Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives, And at the New, pours water on the leaves. The town divided, each runs sev'ral ways, As passion, humor, int'rest, party sways. Things of no moment, color of the hair, Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair, A dress well chosen, or a patch misplac'd, Conciliate favor, or create distaste.

From galleries loud peals of laughter roll, And thunder Shuter's praises-he's so droll. Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

Palmer! Oh! Palmer tops the janty part. Seated in pit, the dwarf, with aching eyes, Looks up, and vows that Barry's out of size; Whilst to six feet the vig'rous stripling grown, Declares that Garrick is another Coan.

And our opinions have their rise in pride;
WWhen, in discoursing on each mimic elf,
We praise and censure with an eye to self;
All must meet friends, and Ackman bids as fair
In such a court, as Garrick, for the chair.

At length agreed, all squabbles to decide,
By some one judge the cause was to be tried;
But this their squabbles did afresh renew,
Who should be judge in such a trial:-Who?

For Johnson some, but Johnson, it was fear'd, Would be too grave; and Sterne too gay appear'd:

Others for Francklin voted; but 'twas known,
He sicken'd at ali triumphs but his own:
For Colman many, but the peevish tongue
Of prudent Age found out that he was young:
For Murphy some few pilf ring wits declar'd,
Whilst Folly clapp'd her hands, and Wisdom
[womb,

star'd.

To mischief train'd, e'en from his mother's Grown old in fraud, though yet in manhood's bloom,

Adopting arts, by which gay villains rise,
And reach the heights which honest men de-
spise :

Mute at the bar, and in the senate loud,
Dull'inongst the dullest, proudest of the proud;
A pert, prim prater of the northern race,
Guilt in his heart, and famine in his face,
Stood forth-and thrice he wav'd his lily hand-
And thrice he twirl'd his eye-thrice strok'd his
band-

"At Friendship's call (thus oft with trait'rous aim,

Men void of faith usurp faith's sacred name)
At Friendship's call I come, by Murphy seut,
Who thus by me develops his intent.
But lest, transfus'd, the spirit should be lost,
That spirit which in storms of rhet'ric tost,
Bounces about, and flies like bottled beer,
In his own words his own intentions hear.
"Thanks to my friends—But to vile fortunes
born,

No robes of fur these shoulders must adorn.
Vain your applause, no aid from thence I draw;
Vain all my wit, for what is wit in law ?
Twice (curs'd remembrance!) twice I strove to
gain

Admittance 'mongst the law-instructed train,
Who, in the Temple and Gray's Inn, prepare
For clients' wretched feet the legal snare:
Dead to those arts, which polish'd and refine,
Deaf to all worth, because that worth was mine,
Twice did those blockheads startle at my name,
And foul rejection gave me up to shame.
To law and lawyers then I badé adieu,
And plans of far more lib'ral note pursue.
Who will may be a judge-my kindling breast
Burns for that chair which Roscius once pos-
sess'd.

Here give your votes, your int'rest here exert,
And let success for once attend desert.”

pace,

And, type of vacant head, with vacant face,
The Proteus Hill put in his modest plea,-
"Let favor speak for others, worth for me."
For who, like him, his various powers could call
Into so many shapes, and shine in all?
Who could so nobly grace the motley list,
Actor, inspector, doctor, botanist?
Knows any one so well-sure no one knows,-
At once to play, prescribe, compound, compose?
Who can-But Woodward caine,-Hill slipp'd

away,

Melting, like ghosts, before the rising day.

* With that low cunning, which in fools supAnd amply too, the place of being wise, [plies, Which nature, kind, indulgent parent, gave To qualify the blockhead for a knave; With that smooth falsehood, whose appearance charms,

And reason of each wholesome doubt disarms,
Which to the lowest depths of guile descends,
By vilest means pursues the vilest ends,
Wears friendship's mask for purposes of spite,
Fawns in the day, and butchers in the night;
With that malignant envy, which turns pale,
And sickens, even if a friend prevail,
Which merit and success pursues with hate,
And damns the worth it cannot imitate;
With the cold caution of a coward's spleen,
Which fears not guilt but always seeks a screen;
Which keeps this maxim ever in her view-
What's basely done, should be done safely too;
With that dull, rooted, callous impudence,
Which dead to shame, and ev'ry nicer sense,
Ne'er blush'd, unless, in spreading Vice's snares,
She blunder'd on some virtue unawares;
With all these blessings, which we seldom find
Lavish'd by Nature on one happy mind,
A motley figure, of the Fribble tribe, [scribe,
Which heart can scarce conceive, or pen de-
Came simp'ring on; to ascertain whose sex
Twelve sage impanell'd matrons would per-
plex:

Nor male, nor female; neither, and yet both;
Of neuter gender, though of Irish growth;
A six-foot suckling, mincing in its gait;
Affected, peevish, prim, and delicate;
Fearful it seem'd, though of athletic make,
Lest brutal breezes should too roughly shake
Its tender form, and savage motion spread,
O'er its pale cheeks the horrid manly red.

Much did it talk, in its own pretty phrase,
Of genius and of taste, of play'rs and plays;
Much too of writings, which itself had wrote,
Of special merit, though of little note;
For Fate, in a strange humor, had decreed
That what it wrote, none but itself should read:
Much too it chatter'd of dramatic laws,
Misjudging critics, and misplac'd applause;

It smil'd, it smirk'd, it wriggled to the chair; And, with an awkward briskness, not its own, Looking around, and perking on the throne, Triumphant seem'd, when that strange savage dame,

Known but to few, or only known by name, Plain Common Sense appear'd, by Nature there Appointed, with plain Truth to guard the chair. The pageant saw, and blasted with her frown, To its first state of nothing melted down.

Nor shall the muse (for even there the pride
Of this vain nothing shall be mortified),
Nor shall the muse (should fate ordain her
rhymes,

Fond, pleasing thought to live in after-times)
With such a trifler's name her pages blot;
Known be the character, the thing forgot;
Let it, to disappoint each future aim,
Live without sex, and die without a name!
Cold-blooded critics, by enervate sires
Scarce hammer'd out, when nature's feeble fires
Glimmer'd their last; whose sluggish blood,
half froze,

Creeps lab'ring through the veins; whose heart ne'er glows

With fancy-kindled heat,―a servile race, Who in mere want of fault, all merit place; Who blind obedience pay to ancient schools, Bigots to Greece, and slaves to musty rules; With solemn consequence declar'd that none Could judge that cause but Sophocles alone. Dupes to their fancied excellence, the crowd, Obsequious to the sacred dictate, bow'd.

When, from amidst the throng, a youth stood

forth,

Unknown his person, not unknown his worth!
His look bespoke applause; alone he stood,
Alone he stemm'd the mighty critic flood.
He talk'd of ancients, as the man became
Who priz'd their own, but envy'd not their fame;
With noble rev'rence spoke of Greece and Rome,
And scorn'd to tear the laurel from the tomb.

"But more than just to other countries grown, Must we turn base apostates to our own? Where do these words of Greece and Rome excel,

That England may not please the ear as well?
What mighty magic's in the place or air,
That all perfection needs must centre there?
In states, let strangers blindly be preferr'd;
In state of letters, merit should be heard.
Genius is of no country, her pure ray
Spreads all abroad, as gen'ral as the day;
Foe to restraint, from place to place she flies,
And may hereafter e'en in Holland rise.
May not (to give a pleasing fancy scope
And cheer a patriot heart with patriot hope),
May not some great extensive genius raise
The name of Britain 'boye Athenian praise;

And, whilst brave thirst of fame his bosom warms, Make England great in letters as in arms? There may-there hath-and Shakspeare's muse aspires

Beyond the reach of Greece; with native fires Mounting aloft, he wings his daring flight, While Sophocles below stands trembling at his height.

wrote.

Why should we then abroad for judges roam,
When abler judges we may find at home?
Happy in tragic and in comic pow'rs,
Have we not Shakspeare?-Is not Jonson ours?
For them, your nat'ral judges, Britons, vote;
They'll judge like Britons, who like Britons
[sway,
He said, and conquer'd-Sense resum'd her
And disappointed pedants stalk'd away.
Shakspeare and Jonson, with deserv'd applause,
Joint judges were ordain'd to try the cause.
Meantime the stranger ev'ry voice employ'd,
To ask or tell his name-Who is it?-Lloyd.
Thus, when the aged friends of Job stood
mute,

And, tamely prudent, gave up the dispute,
Elihu, with the decent warmth of youth,
Boldly stood forth the advocate of truth;
Confuted falsehood, and disabled pride,
Whilst baffled age stood snarling at his side.
The day of trial's fix'd, nor any fear
Lest day of trial should be put off here.
Causes but seldom for delay can call
In courts where forms are few, fees none at all.
The morning came; nor find I that the sun,
As he on other great events hath done,
Put on a brighter robe than what he wore
To go his journey in the day before.

Full in the centre of a spacious plain,
On plan entirely new, where nothing vain,
Nothing magnificent appear'd, but Art
With decent modesty perforin'd her part,
Rose a tribunal: from no other court
It borrow'd ornament, or sought support:
No juries here were pack'd to kill or clear,
No bribes were taken, nor oaths broken here;
No gownsmen, partial to a client's cause,
To their own purpose turn'd the pliant laws.
Each judge was true and steady to his trust,
As Mansfield wise, and as old Foster* just.

In the first seat, in robes of various dyes, A noble wildness flashing from his eyes, Sat Shakspeare-in one hand a wand bore,

he

For mighty wonders fam'd in days of yore;
The other held a globe, which to his will
Obedient turn'd, and own'd the master's skill:
Things of the noblest kind his genius drew,
And look'd through nature at a single view;
A loose he gave to his unbounded soul;
And taught new lands to rise, new seas to roll;
Call'd into being scenes unknown before,
And, passing nature's bounds, was something

more.

Next Jonson sat, in ancient learning train'd, His rigid judgement fancy's flights restrain'd; Correctly prun'd each wild luxuriant thought, Mark' out her course, nor spar'd a glorious fault.

The book of man he read with nicest art,
And ransack'd all the secrets of the heart;
Exerted penetration's utmost force,

And trac'd each passion to its proper source;
Then strongly mark'd, in liveliest colors drew,
And brought each foible forth to public view.
The coxcomb felt a lash in ev'ry word,
And fools, hung out, their brother fools deterr'd.
His comic humor kept the world in awe,
And laughter frighten'd folly more than law.
But, hark! the trumpet sounds, the crowd
give way,

And the procession comes in just array.
Now should I, in some sweet poetic line,
Offer up incense at Apollo's shrine;
Invoke the muse to quit her calm abode,
And waken mem'ry with a sleeping ode.
For how should mortal man, in mortal verse,
Their titles, merits, or their names rehearse?
But give, kind Dullness, memory and rhyme,
We'll put off genius till another time. [slow,

First, Order came,-with solemn step, and
In measur'd time his feet were taught to go.
Behind, from time to time, he cast his eye,
Lest this should quit his place, that step awry.
Appearances to save his only care;

So things seem right no matter what they are. In him his parents saw themselves renew'd, Begotten by Sir Critic on Saint Prude.

Then came drum, trumpet, hautboy, fiddle,
Aute;

Next snuffer, sweeper, shifter, soldier, mute ;
Legions of angels all in white advance;
Furies, all fire, come forward in a dance;
Pantomime figures then are brought to view,
Fools hand in hand with fools go two by two.
Next came the treasurer of either house;
One with full purse, t' other with not a sous.
Behind, a groupe of figures awe create,
Set off with all th' impertinence of state;
By lace and feather consecrate to fame,
Expletive kings, and queens without a name.

Here Havard, all serene, in the same strains, Loves, hates, and rages, triumphs, and complains:

His easy vacant face proclaim'd a heart Which could not feel emotions, nor impart. With him came mighty Davies. On my life, That Davies hath a very pretty wife :Statesman all over!-In plots famous grown! He mouths a sentence, as curs mouth a bone.

Next Holland came.-With truly tragic stalk, He creeps, he flies a hero should not walk. As if with heav'n he warr'd, his eager eyes Planted their batteries against the skies; Attitude, action, air, pause, start, sigh, groan, He borrow'd, and made use of as his own.