SCENE II.

_Enter_ PRINCE PRETTYMAN _and_ PRINCE VOLSCIUS.

Nay, hold, hold; pray by your leave a little. Look you, sir, the drift of this scene is somewhat more than ordinary; for I make 'em both fall out because they are not in love with the same woman.

_Smith._ Not in love? You mean, I suppose, because they are in love, Mr. Bayes?

_Bayes._ No, sir; I say not in love; there's a new conceit for you. Now speak.

_Pret._ Since fate, Prince Volscius, now has found the way For our so long'd-for meeting here this day, Lend thy attention to my grand concern.

_Vols._ I gladly would that story from thee learn; But thou to love dost, Prettyman, incline; Yet love in thy breast is not love in mine.

_Bayes._ Antithesis! thine and mine.

_Pret._ Since love itself's the same, why should it be Diff'ring in you from what it is in me?

_Bayes._ Reasoning! egad, I love reasoning in verse.

_Vols._ Love takes, caméleon-like, a various dye From every plant on which itself doth lie.

_Bayes._ Simile!

_Pret._ Let not thy love the course of nature fright: Nature does most in harmony delight.

_Vols._ How weak a deity would nature prove, Contending with the powerful god of love!

_Bayes._ There's a great verse!

_Vols._ If incense thou wilt offer at the shrine Of mighty Love, burn it to none but mine. Her rosy lips eternal sweets exhale; And her bright flames make all flames else look pale.

_Bayes._ Egad, that is right.

_Pret._ Perhaps dull incense may thy love suffice; But mine must be ador'd with sacrifice. All hearts turn ashes, which her eyes control: The body they consume, as well as soul.

_Vols._ My love has yet a power more divine; Victims her altars burn not, but refine; Amidst the flames they ne'er give up the ghost, But, with her looks, revive still as they roast. In spite of pain and death they're kept alive; Her fiery eyes make 'em in fire survive.

_Bayes._ That is as well, egad, as I can do.

_Vols._ Let my Parthenope at length prevail.

_Bayes._ Civil, egad.

_Pret._ I'll sooner have a passion for a whale; In whose vast bulk, tho' store of oil doth lie, We find more shape, more beauty in a fly.

_Smith._ That's uncivil, egad.

_Bayes._ Yes; but as far-fetched a fancy, tho', egad, as e'er you saw.

_Vols._ Soft, Prettyman, let not thy vain pretence Of perfect love defame love's excellence: Parthenope is, sure, as far above All other loves, as above all is Love.

_Bayes._ Ah! egad, that strikes me.

_Pret._ To blame my Cloris, gods would not pretend--

_Bayes._ Now mark--

_Vols._ Were all gods join'd, they could not hope to mend My better choice: for fair Parthenope Gods would themselves un-god themselves to see.[46]

_Bayes._ Now the rant's a-coming.

_Pret._ Durst any of the gods be so uncivil, I'd make that god subscribe himself a devil.[47]

_Bayes._ Ay, gadzookers, that's well writ! [_Scratching his head, his peruke falls off._

_Vols._ Could'st thou that god from heaven to earth translate, He could not fear to want a heav'nly state; Parthenope, on earth, can heav'n create.

_Pret._ Cloris does heav'n itself so far excel, She can transcend the joys of heav'n in hell.

_Bayes._ There's a bold flight for you now! 'sdeath, I have lost my peruke. Well, gentlemen, this is what I never yet saw any one could write, but myself. Here's true spirit and flame all through, egad. So, so, pray clear the stage.

[_He puts 'em off the stage._

_Johns._ I wonder how the coxcomb has got the knack of writing smooth verse thus.

_Smith._ Why, there's no need of brain for this: 'tis but scanning the labours on the finger; but where's the sense of it?

_Johns._ Oh! for that he desires to be excus'd: he is too proud a man to creep servilely after sense, I assure you.[48] But pray, Mr. Bayes, why is this scene all in verse? _Bayes._ Oh, sir, the subject is too great for prose.

_Smith._ Well said, i'faith; I'll give thee a pot of ale for that answer; 'tis well worth it.

_Bayes._ Come, with all my heart. I'll make that god subscribe himself a devil; That single line, egad, is worth all that my brother poets ever writ. Let down the curtain. [_Exeunt._

* * * * *

ACT. V.--SCENE I.

BAYES, _and the two Gentlemen_.

_Bayes._ Now, gentlemen, I will be bold to say, I'll show you the greatest scene that ever England saw: I mean not for words, for those I don't value; but for state, show and magnificence. In fine, I'll justify it to be as grand to the eye every whit, egad, as that great scene in "Harry the Eighth," and grander too, egad; for instead of two bishops, I bring in here four cardinals.

[_The curtain is drawn up_, _the two usurping Kings appear in state with the four Cardinals,_ PRINCE PRETTYMAN, PRINCE VOLSCIUS, AMARYLLIS, CLORIS, PARTHENOPE. _&c._, _before them_, _Heralds and Sergeants-at-arms_, _with maces_.

_Smith._ Mr. Bayes, pray what is the reason that two of the cardinals are in hats, and the other in caps?

_Bayes._ Why, sir, because---- By gad I won't tell you. Your country friend, sir, grows so troublesome--

_K. Ush._ Now, sir, to the business of the day.

_K. Phys._ Speak, Volscius.

_Vols._ Dread sovereign lords, my zeal to you must not invade my duty to your son; let me entreat that great Prince Prettyman first to speak; whose high pre-eminence in all things, that do bear the name of good, may justly claim that privilege.

_Bayes._ Here it begins to unfold; you may perceive, now, that he is his son.

_Johns._ Yes, sir, and we are very much beholden to you for that discovery.

_Pret._ Royal father, upon my knees I beg, That the illustrious Volscius first be heard.

_Vols._ That preference is only due to Amaryllis, sir.

_Bayes._ I'll make her speak very well, by-and-by, you shall see.

_Ama._ Invincible sovereigns---- [_Soft music._

_K. Ush._ But stay, what sound is this invades our ears?[49]

_K. Phys._ Sure 'tis the music of the moving spheres.

_Pret._ Behold, with wonder, yonder comes from far A god-like cloud, and a triumphant car; In which our two right kings sit one by one, With virgins' vests, and laurel garlands on.

_K. Ush._ Then, brother Phys., 'tis time we should be gone. [_The two Usurpers steal out of the throne, and go away._

_Bayes._ Look you now, did not I tell you, that this would be as easy a change as the other?

_Smith._ Yes, faith, you did so; tho' I confess I could not believe you: but you have brought it about, I see.

[_The two right kings of Brentford descend in the clouds, singing, in white garments; and three fiddlers sitting before them, in green._

_Bayes._ Now, because the two right kings descend from above, I make 'em sing to the tune and style of our modern spirits.

_1st King._ Haste, brother king, we are sent from above.

_2nd King._ Let us move, let us move; Move to remove the fate Of Brentford's long united state.[50]

_1st King._ Tarra, ran, tarra, full east and by south.

_2nd King._ We sail with thunder in our mouth, In scorching noon-day, whilst the traveller stays; Busy, busy, busy, busy, we bustle along, Mounted upon warm Phoebus's rays, Through the heavenly throng, Hasting to those Who will feast us at night with a pig's petty-toes.

_1st King._ And we'll fall with our plate In an _ollio_ of hate.

_2nd King._ But now supper's done, the servitors try, Like soldiers, to storm a whole half-moon pie.

_1st King._ They gather, they gather hot custards in spoons: But alas, I must leave these half-moons, And repair to my trusty dragoons.

_2nd King._ Oh, stay, for you need not as yet go astray: The tide, like a friend, has brought ships in our way, And on their high ropes we will play Like maggots in filberts we'll snug in our shell, We'll frisk in our shell, We'll frisk in our shell, And farewell.

_1st King._ But the ladies have all inclination to dance, And the green frogs croak out a coranto of France.

_Bayes._ Is not that pretty, now? The fiddlers are all in green.

_Smith._ Ay, but they play no coranto.

_Johns._ No, but they play a tune that's a great deal better.

_Bayes._ No coranto, quoth-a! that's a good one, with all my heart. Come, sing on.

_2nd King._ Now mortals that hear How we tilt and career, With wonder will fear The event of such things as shall never appear.

_1st King._ Stay you to fulfil what the gods have decreed.

_2nd King._ Then call me to help you, if there shall be need.

_1st King._ So firmly resolv'd is a true Brentford king, To save the distress'd, and help to 'em to bring, That ere a full pot of good ale you can swallow, He's here with a whoop, and gone with a holla. [BAYES _fillips his finger, and sings after them._

_Bayes._ "He's here with a whoop, and gone with a holla." This, sir, you must know, I thought once to have brought in with a conjuror.[51]

_Johns._ Ay, that would have been better.

_Bayes._ No, faith, not when you consider it; for thus it is more compendious, and does the thing every whit as well.

_Smith._ Thing! what thing?

_Bayes._ Why, bring 'em down again into the throne, sir. What thing would you have?

_Smith._ Well, but methinks the sense of this song is not very plain!

_Bayes._ Plain! why, did you ever hear any people in clouds speak plain? They must be all for flight of fancy at its full range, without the least check or control upon it. When once you tie up spirits and people in clouds, to speak plain, you spoil all.

_Smith._ Bless me, what a monster's this!

[_The two Kings light out of the clouds, and step into the throne._

_1st King._ Come, now to serious counsel we'll advance.

_2nd King._ I do agree; but first, let's have a dance.

_Bayes._ Right. You did that very well, Mr. Cartwright. But first, let's have a dance. Pray remember that; be sure you do it always just so: for it must be done as if it were the effect of thought and premeditation. But first, let's have a dance; pray remember that.

_Smith._ Well, I can hold no longer, I must gag this rogue, there's no enduring of him.

_Johns._ No, prithee make use of thy patience a little longer, let's see the end of him now. [_Dance a grand dance._

_Bayes._ This, now, is an ancient dance, of right belonging to the Kings of Brentford; but since derived, with a little alteration, to the Inns of Court.

_An Alarm. Enter two Heralds._

_1st King._ What saucy groom molests our privacies?

_1st Her._ The army's at the door, and in disguise, Desires a word with both your majesties.

_2nd King._ Bid 'em attend awhile, and drink our health.

_Smith._ How, Mr. Bayes, the army in disguise!

_Bayes._ Ay, sir, for fear the usurpers might discover them, that went out but just now.

_Smith._ Why, what if they had discover'd them?

_Bayes._ Why, then they had broke the design.

_1st King._ Here take five guineas for those warlike men.

_2nd King._ And here's five more, that makes the sum just ten.

_1st Her._ We have not seen so much, the Lord knows when.

[_Exeunt Heralds._

_1st King._ Speak on, brave Amaryllis.

_Ama._ Invincible sovereigns, blame not my modesty, if at this grand conjuncture---- [_Drum beats behind the stage._

_1st King._ What dreadful noise is this that comes and goes?

_Enter a Soldier with his sword drawn._

_Sold._ Haste hence, great sirs, your royal persons save, For the event of war no mortal knows:[52] The army, wrangling for the gold you gave, First fell to words, and then to handy-blows. [_Exit._

_Bayes._ Is not that now a pretty kind of a stanza, and a handsome come-off?

_2nd King._ O dangerous estate of sovereign power! Obnoxious to the change of every hour.

_1st King._ Let us for shelter in our cabinet stay; Perhaps these threatning storms may pass away. [_Exeunt._

_Johns._ But, Mr. Bayes, did not you promise us just now, to make Amaryllis speak very well?

_Bayes._ Ay, and so she would have done, but that they hinder'd her.

_Smith._ How, sir, whether you would or no?

_Bayes._ Ay, sir, the plot lay so, that I vow to gad, it was not to be avoided.

_Smith._ Marry, that was hard.

_Johns._ But, pray, who hinder'd her?

_Bayes._ Why, the battle, sir, that's just coming in at the door: and I'll tell you now a strange thing; tho' I don't pretend to do more than other men, egad, I'll give you both a whole week to guess how I'll represent this battle.

_Smith._ I had rather be bound to fight your battle, I assure you, sir.

_Bayes._ Whoo! there's it now: fight a battle! there's the common error. I knew presently where I should have you. Why, pray, sir, do but tell me this one thing: can you think it a decent thing, in a battle before ladies, to have men run their swords thro' one another, and all that?

_Johns._ No, faith, 'tis not civil.

_Bayes._ Right; on the other side, to have a long relation of squadrons here, and squadrons there: what is it, but dull prolixity?

_Johns._ Excellently reason'd, by my troth!

_Bayes._ Wherefore, sir, to avoid both those indecorums, I sum up the whole battle in the representation of two persons only, no more: and yet so lively, that, I vow to gad, you would swear ten thousand men were at it really engag'd. Do you mark me?

_Smith._ Yes, sir: but I think I should hardly swear tho', for all that.

_Bayes._ By my troth, sir, but you would tho', when you see it: for I make 'em both come out in armour _cap-a-pie_, with their swords drawn, and hung with a scarlet ribbon at their wrist; which, you know, represents fighting enough.

_Johns._ Ay, ay; so much, that if I were in your place, I would make 'em go out again, without ever speaking one word.

_Bayes._ No, there you are out; for I make each of 'em hold a lute in his hand.

_Smith._ How, sir, instead of a buckler?

_Bayes._ O Lord, O Lord! instead of a buckler? pray, sir, do you ask no more questions. I make 'em, sirs, play the battle _in recitativo_. And here's the conceit just at the very same instant that one sings, the other, sir, recovers you his sword, and puts himself into a warlike posture: so that you have at once your ear entertain'd with music and good language, and your eye satisfied with the garb and accoutrements of war.

_Smith._ I confess, sir, you stupefy me.

_Bayes._ You shall see.

_Johns._ But, Mr. Bayes, might not we have a little fighting? for I love those plays where they cut and slash one another upon the stage for a whole hour together.

_Bayes._ Why, then, to tell you true, I have contriv'd it both ways: but you shall have my _recitativo_ first.

_Johns._ Ay, now you are right: there is nothing that can be objected against it.

_Bayes._ True: and so, egad, I'll make it too a tragedy in a trice.[53]

_Enter at several doors the_ GENERAL _and_ LIEUTENANT-GENERAL, _arm'd cap-a-pie_, _with each of them a lute in his hand_, _and a sword drawn_, _and hung with a scarlet ribbon at his wrist_.[54]

_Lieut.-Gen._ Villain, thou liest!

_Gen._ Arm, arm, Gonsalvo,[55] arm, what, ho! The lie no flesh can brook, I trow.

_Lieut.-Gen._ Advance from Acton with the musqueteers.

_Gen._ Draw down the Chelsea cuirassiers.[56]

_Lieut.-Gen._ The band you boast of Chelsea cuirassiers, Shall, in my Putney pikes, now meet their peers.[57]

_Gen._ Chiswickians, aged and renown'd in fight, Join with the Hammersmith brigade.

_Lieut.-Gen._ You'll find my Mortlake boys will do them right, Unless by Fulham numbers over-laid.

_Gen._ Let the left wing of Twick'nam foot advance, And line that eastern hedge.

_Lieut.-Gen._ The horse I rais'd in Petty-France Shall try their chance, And scour the meadows, overgrown with sedge.

_Gen._ Stand: give the word.

_Lieut.-Gen._ Bright sword.

_Gen._ That may be thine. But 'tis not mine.

_Lieut.-Gen._ Give fire, give fire, at once give fire, And let those recreant troops perceive mine ire.[58]

_Gen._ Pursue, pursue; they fly That first did give the lie. [_Exeunt._

_Bayes._ This now is not improper, I think; because the spectators know all these towns, and may easily conceive them to be within the dominions of the two Kings of Brentford.

_Johns._ Most exceeding well design'd!

_Bayes._ How do you think I have contriv'd to give a stop to this battle?

_Smith._ How?

_Bayes._ By an eclipse; which, let me tell you, is a kind of fancy that was yet never so much as thought of, but by myself, and one person more, that shall be nameless.

_Enter_ LIEUTENANT-GENERAL.

_Lieut.-Gen._ What midnight darkness does invade the day, And snatch the victor from his conquer'd prey? Is the sun weary of this bloody fight, And winks upon us with the eye of light! 'Tis an eclipse! this was unkind, O moon, To clap between me and the sun so soon. Foolish eclipse! thou this in vain hast done; My brighter honour had eclips'd the sun: But now behold eclipses two in one. [_Exit._

_Johns._ This is an admirable representation of a battle as ever I saw.

_Bayes._ Ay, sir; but how would you fancy now to represent an eclipse?

_Smith._ Why, that's to be suppos'd.

_Bayes._ Suppos'd! ay, you are ever at your suppose: ha, ha, ha! why, you may as well suppose the whole play. No, it must come in upon the stage, that's certain; but in some odd way, that may delight, amuse, and all that. I have a conceit for't, that I am sure is new, and I believe to the purpose.

_Johns._ How's that?

_Bayes._ Why, the truth is, I took the first hint of this out of a dialogue between Phoebus and Aurora, in the "Slighted Maid," which, by my troth, was very pretty; but I think you'd confess this is a little better.

_Johns._ No doubt on't, Mr. Bayes, a great deal better.

[BAYES _hugs_ JOHNSON, _then turns to_ SMITH.

_Bayes._ Ah, dear rogue! But--a--sir, you have heard, I suppose, that your eclipse of the moon is nothing else but an interposition of the earth between the sun and moon; as likewise your eclipse of the sun is caus'd by an interlocation of the moon betwixt the earth and the sun.

_Smith._ I have heard some such thing indeed.

_Bayes._ Well, sir, then what do I but make the earth, sun, and moon come out upon the stage, and dance the hey. Hum! and of necessity, by the very nature of this dance, the earth must be sometimes between the sun and the moon, and the moon between the earth and sun: and there you have both eclipses by demonstration.

_Johns._ That must needs be very fine, truly.

_Bayes._ Yes, it has fancy in't. And then, sir, that there may be something in't, too, of a joke, I bring 'em in all singing; and make the moon sell the earth a bargain. Come, come out, eclipse, to the tune of "Tom Tyler."

_Enter_ LUNA.

_Luna._ Orbis, O Orbis! Come to me, thou little rogue, Orbis.

_Enter the_ EARTH.

_Orb._ Who calls Terra-firma, pray?[59]

_Luna._ Luna, that ne'er shines by day.

_Orb._ What means Luna in a veil?

_Luna._ Luna means to show her tail.

_Bayes._ There's the bargain.

_Enter_ SOL, _to the tune of_ "Robin Hood."

_Sol._ Fie, sister, fie; thou makest me muse, Derry down, derry down, To see thee Orb abuse.

_Luna._ I hope his anger 'twill not move; Since I show'd it out of love. Hey down, derry down.

_Orb._ Where shall I thy true love know, Thou pretty, pretty moon?

_Luna._ To-morrow soon, ere it be noon, On Mount Vesuvio.[60]

_Sol._ Then I will shine [_To the tune of_ "Trenchmore." _Bis._

_Orb._ And I will be fine.

_Luna._ And I will drink nothing but Lippara wine.[61]

_Omnes._ And we, &c. [_As they dance the hey_, BAYES _speaks_.

_Bayes._ Now the earth's before the moon: now the moon's before the sun: there's the eclipse again.

_Smith._ He's mightily taken with this, I see.

_Johns._ Ay, 'tis so extraordinary, how can he choose?

_Bayes._ So, now, vanish eclipse, and enter t'other battle, and fight. Here now, if I am not mistaken, you will see fighting enough.

[_A battle is fought between foot and great hobby-horses. At last_, DRAWCANSIR _comes in and kills them all on both sides. All the while the battle is fighting_, BAYES _is telling them when to shout_, _and shouts with 'em_.

_Draw._ Others may boast a single man to kill; But I the blood of thousands daily spill. Let petty kings the names of parties know: Where'er I come, I slay both friend and foe. The swiftest horse-men my swift rage controls, And from their bodies drives their trembling souls. If they had wings, and to the gods could fly, I would pursue and beat 'em through the sky; And make proud Jove, with all his thunder, see This single arm more dreadful is than he. [_Exit._

_Bayes._ There's a brave fellow for you now, sirs. You may talk of your Hectors, and Achilles's, and I know not who; but I defy all your histories, and your romances too, to show me one such conqueror, as this Drawcansir.

_Johns._ I swear, I think you may.

_Smith._ But, Mr. Bayes, how shall all these dead men go off? for I see none alive to help 'em.

_Bayes._ Go off! why, as they came on, upon their legs: how should they go off? Why, do you think the people here don't know they are not dead? he is mighty ignorant, poor man: your friend here is very silly, Mr. Johnson; egad, he is. Ha, ha, ha! Come, sir, I'll show you how they shall go off. Rise, rise, sirs, and go about your business.[62] There's go off for you now; ha, ha, ha! Mr. Ivory, a word. Gentlemen, I'll be with you presently.

[_Exit._

_Johns._ Will you so? Then we'll be gone.

_Smith._ Ay, prithee let's go, that we may preserve our hearing. One battle more will take mine quite away. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ BAYES _and_ PLAYERS.

_Bayes._ Where are the gentlemen?

_1st Play._ They are gone, sir.

_Bayes._ Gone! 'sdeath, this act is best of all. I'll go fetch 'em again. [_Exit._

_1st Play._ What shall we do, now he is gone away?

_2nd Play._ Why, so much the better; then let's go to dinner.

_3rd Play._ Stay, here's a foul piece of paper. Let's see what 'tis.

_3rd or 4th Play._ Ay, ay, come, let's hear it. [_Reads. The argument of the fifth act._

_3rd Play._ "Cloris, at length, being sensible of Prince Prettyman's passion, consents to marry him; but just as they are going to church, Prince Prettyman meeting, by chance, with old Joan, the chandler's widow, and remembering it was she that first brought him acquainted with Cloris; out of a high point of honour, breaks off his match with Cloris, and marries old Joan. Upon which, Cloris, in despair, drowns herself; and Prince Prettyman, discontentedly, walks by the river-side."----This will never do: 'tis just like the rest. Come, let's be gone.

_Most of the Players._ Ay, plague on't, let's go away.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ BAYES.

_Bayes._ A plague on 'em both for me! they have made me sweat, to run after 'em. A couple of senseless rascals, that had rather go to dinner, than see this play out, with a plague to 'em. What comfort has a man to write for such dull rogues! Come, Mr.--a--where are you, sir? Come away, quick, quick.

_Enter_ STAGE-KEEPER.

_Stage-keep._ Sir: they are gone to dinner.

_Bayes._ Yes, I know the gentlemen are gone; but I ask for the players.

_Stage-keep._ Why, an't please your worship, sir, the players are gone to dinner too.

_Bayes._ How! are the players gone to dinner? 'tis impossible: the players gone to dinner! egad, if they are, I'll make 'em know what it is to injure a person that does them the honour to write for 'em, and all that. A company of proud, conceited, humorous, cross-grain'd persons, and all that. Egad, I'll make 'em the most contemptible, despicable, inconsiderable persons, and all that, in the whole world, for this trick. Egad, I'll be revenged on 'em; I'll sell this play to the other house.

_Stage-keep._ Nay, good sir, don't take away the book; you'll disappoint the company that comes to see it acted here this afternoon.

_Bayes._ That's all one, I must reserve this comfort to myself, my play and I shall go together; we will not part, indeed, sir.

_Stage-keep._ But what will the town say, sir?

_Bayes._ The town! why, what care I for the town? Egad, the town has us'd me as scurvily as the players have done: but I'll be reveng'd on them too; for I'll lampoon 'em all. And since they will not admit of my plays, they shall know what a satirist I am. And so farewell to this stage, egad, for ever.

[_Exit_ BAYES.

_Enter_ PLAYERS.

_1st Play._ Come, then, let's set up bills for another play.

_2nd Play._ Ay, ay; we shall lose nothing by this, I warrant you.

_1st Play._ I am of your opinion. But before we go, let's see Haynes and Shirley practise the last dance; for that may serve us another time.

_2nd Play._ I'll call 'em in: I think they are but in the tyring-room.

[_The dance done._]

_1st Play._ Come, come; let's go away to dinner.

[_Exeunt omnes._

EPILOGUE.

The play is at an end, but where's the plot? That circumstance our poet Bayes forgot. And we can boast, tho' 'tis a plotting age, No place is freer from it than the stage. The ancients plotted, tho', and strove to please With sense that might be understood with ease; They every scene with so much wit did store, That who brought any in, went out with more. But this new way of wit does so surprise, Men lose their wits in wond'ring where it lies. If it be true, that monstrous births presage The following mischiefs that afflict the age, And sad disasters to the state proclaim; Plays without head or tail may do the same. Wherefore for ours, and for the kingdom's peace, May this prodigious way of writing cease. Let's have at least, once in our lives, a time When we may hear some reason, not all rhyme. We have this ten years felt its influence; Pray let this prove a year of prose and sense.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: The usual language of the Honourable Edward Howard, Esq., at the rehearsal of his plays.]

[Footnote 2:

He who writ this, not without pain and thought, From French and English theatres has brought Th' exactest rules, by which a play is wrought. The unity of action, place, and time; The scenes unbroken; and a mingled chime, Of Johnson's humour, with Corneille's rhyme. _Prologue to the Maiden Queen._ ]

[Footnote 3: See the two prologues to the "Maiden Queen."]

[Footnote 4: There were printed papers given the audience before the acting the "Indian Emperor;" telling them that it was the sequel of the "Indian Queen," part of which play was written by Mr. Bayes, &c.]

[Footnote 5: "Persons, egad, I vow to Gad, and all that," is the constant style of Failer in the "Wild Gallant:" for which, take this short speech, instead of many:

"_Failer._ Really, madam, I look upon you, as a person of such worth, and all that, that I vow to Gad, I honour you of all persons in the world; and tho' I am a person that am inconsiderable in the world, and all that, madam, yet for a person of your worth and excellency I would," &c.--"Wild Gallant," p. 8.]

[Footnote 6: He contracted with the King's company of actors, in the year 1668, for a whole share, to write them four plays a year.]

[Footnote 7: In ridicule of this:

"So two kind turtles, when a storm is nigh, Look up, and see it gathering in the sky; Each calls his mate to shelter in the groves, Leaving, in murmurs, their unfinish'd loves; Perch'd on some dropping branch, they sit alone, And coo, and hearken to each other's moan." "Conquest of Granada," Part ii. p. 48. ]

[Footnote 8: "I am the evening dark as night."--"Slighted Maid," p. 49.]

[Footnote 9:

"Let the men 'ware the ditches. Maids look to their breeches, We'll scratch them with briars and thistles."--"Slighted Maid," p. 49. ]

[Footnote 10: Abraham Ivory had formerly been a considerable actor of women's parts; but afterwards stupefied himself so far, with drinking strong waters, that, before the first acting of this farce, he was fit for nothing but to go of errands; for which, and mere charity, the company allowed him a weekly salary.]

[Footnote 11:

_Drake, Sen._ "Draw up our men; And in low whispers give our orders out." "Play House to be Let," p. 100.

See the "Amorous Prince," pp. 20, 22, 39, 69, where all the chief commands, and directions, are given in whispers.]

[Footnote 12: Mr. William Wintershull was a most excellent, judicious actor; and the best instructor of others; he died in July, 1679.]

[Footnote 13: He was a great taker of snuff; and made most of it himself.]

[Footnote 14: "The Lost Lady," by Sir Robert Stapleton.]

[Footnote 15: Compare this with Prince Leonidas in "Marriage A-la-mode."]

[Footnote 16: In imitation of this passage:--

"As some fair tulip, by a storm opprest, Shrinks up, and folds its silken arms to rest; And, bending to the blast, all pale, and dead, Hears from within the wind sing round its head: So shrouded up your beauty disappears; Unveil, my love, and lay aside your fears: The storm, that caus'd your fright, is past and gone."

"Conquest of Granada," Part i. p. 55.]

[Footnote 17: Such easy turns of state are frequent in our modern plays; where we see princes dethroned, and governments changed, by very feeble means, and on slight occasions: particularly in "Marriage A-la-mode;" a play writ since the first publication of this farce. Where (to pass by the dulness of the state-part, the obscurity of the comic, the near resemblance Leonidas bears to our Prince Prettyman, being sometimes a king's son, sometimes a shepherd's; and not to question how Amalthea comes to be a princess, her brother, the king's great favourite, being but a lord) it is worth our while to observe, how easily the fierce and jealous usurper is deposed, and the right heir placed on the throne; and it is thus related by the said imaginary princess:--

"_Amalth._ Oh, gentlemen! if you have loyalty, Or courage, show it now. Leonidas, Broke on a sudden from his guards, and snatching A sword from one, his back against the scaffold, Bravely defends himself; and owns aloud He is our long lost king, found for this moment; But, if your valours help not, lost for ever. Two of his guards mov'd by the sense of virtue, Are turn'd for him; and there they stand at bay, Against a host of foes."--"Marriage A-la-mode," p. 61.

This shows Mr. Bayes to be a man of constancy, and firm to his resolution, and not to be laughed out of his own method; agreeable to what he says in the next act: "As long as I know my things are good, what care I what they say?"]

[Footnote 18:

"I know not what to say, or what to think! I know not when I sleep, or when I wake!"-- "Love and Friendship," p. 46.

"My doubts and fears my reason do dismay: I know not what to do, or what to say."--"Pandora," p. 46. ]

[Footnote 19: Prince Prettyman and Tom Thimble; Failer, and Bibber his tailor, in the "Wild Gallant," pp. 5, 6.]

[Footnote 20: "Nay, if that be all, there's no such haste. The courtiers are not so forward to pay their debts."--"Wild Gallant," p. 9.]

[Footnote 21:

"Take a little Bibber, And throw him in the river; And if he will trust never, Then there let him lie ever.

_Bibber._ Then say I, Take a little Failer, And throw him to the jailer, And there let him lie Till he has paid his tailor."--"Wild Gallant," p. 12. ]

[Footnote 22: A great word with Mr. Edward Howard.]

[Footnote 23: In imitation of this:--

"On seas, and in battles, through bullets and fire, The danger is less, than in hopeless desire; My death's wound you gave me, tho' far off I bear My fall from your sight, not to cost you a tear: But if the kind flood on a wave would convey, And under your window my body would lay; When the wound on my breast you happen to see, You'll say with a sigh, it was given by me."

This is the latter part of a song, made by Mr. Bayes on the death of Captain Digby, son of George, Earl of Bristol, who was a passionate admirer of the Duchess Dowager of Richmond, called by the author Armida. He lost his life in a sea-fight against the Dutch, the 28th of May, 1672.]

[Footnote 24: Mr. Edward Howard's words.]

[Footnote 25: See the two kings in "The Conquest of Granada."]

[Footnote 26: "_Albert._ Curtius. I've something to deliver to your ear.

_Cur._ Anything from Alberto is welcome."--"Amorous Prince," p. 39.]

[Footnote 27: See the Prince in "Marriage A-la-mode."]

[Footnote 28: "Let my horses be brought ready to the door, for I'll go out of town this evening.

Into the country I'll with speed, With hounds and hawks my fancy feed, &c. Now I'll away, a country life Shall be my mistress, and my wife."

"English Monsieur," pp. 36, 38, 39. ]

[Footnote 29: "And what's this maid's name?"--"English Monsieur," p. 40.]

[Footnote 30: "I bring the morning pictur'd in a cloud."--"Siege of Rhodes," part i. p. 10.]

[Footnote 31: "Mr. Comely in love."--"English Monsieur," p. 49.]

[Footnote 32: Sir William D'Avenant's play of "Love and Honour."]

[Footnote 33: "But honours says not so."--"Siege of Rhodes," part i. p. 19.]

[Footnote 34: "Love in a Nunnery," p. 34.]

[Footnote 35: Col. Henry Howard, son of Thomas, Earl of Berkshire, made a play called the "United Kingdoms," which began with a funeral; and had also two kings in it. This gave the duke a just occasion to set up two kings in Brentford, as it is generally believed; tho' others are of opinion, that his grace had our two brothers, King Charles and the Duke of York, in his thoughts. It was acted at the Cockpit, in Drury Lane, soon after the Restoration; but miscarrying on the stage, the author had the modesty not to print it; and therefore, the reader cannot reasonably expect any particular passages of it. Others say, that they are Boabdelin and Abdalla, the two contending kings of Granada; and Mr. Dryden has, in most of his serious plays, two contending kings of the same place.]

[Footnote 36: "Conquest of Granada," in two parts.]

[Footnote 37:

"On seas I bore thee, and on seas I died, I died: and for a winding-sheet, a wave I had; and all the ocean for my grave."

"Conquest of Granada," part ii. p. 113. ]

[Footnote 38: Almanzor in the "Conquest of Granada."]

[Footnote 39: In ridicule of this:--

"My earthly part, Which is my tyrant's right, death will remove; I'll come all soul and spirit to your love. With silent steps I'll follow you all day; Or else before you in the sunbeams play. I'll lead you hence to melancholy groves, And there repeat the scenes of our past loves; At night, I will within your curtains peep, With empty arms embrace you, while you sleep. In gentle dreams I often will be by, And sweep along before your closing eye. All dangers from your bed I will remove; But guard it most from any future love. And when at last in pity you will die, I'll watch your birth of immortality: Then, turtle like, I'll to my mate repair, And teach you your first flight in open air."--"Tyrannic Love," p. 25. ]

[Footnote 40: See the scene in the "Villain." Where the host furnishes his guests with a collation out of his clothes; a capon from his helmet, a tansey out of the lining of his cap, cream out of his scabbard, &c.]

[Footnote 41: In ridicule of this:--

"_Almah._ Who dares to interrupt my private walk?

_Alman._ He who dares love, and for that love must die; And, knowing this, dares yet love on, am I."

"Granada," part ii. pp. 114, 115. ]

[Footnote 42: It was at first, "dares die."--_Ibid._]

[Footnote 43:

"_Alman._ I would not now, if thou wouldst beg me, stay; But I will take my Almahide away."--"Conquest of Granada," p. 32. ]

[Footnote 44: In ridicule of this:--

"_Alman._ Thou dar'st not marry her, while I'm in sight; With a bent brow, thy priest and thee I'll fright: And, in that scene, which all thy hopes and wishes should content, The thoughts of me shall make thee impotent."--_Ibid._ p. 5. ]

[Footnote 45:

"Spite of myself, I'll stay, fight, love, despair; And all this I can do, because I dare."--"Tyrannic Love," part ii. p. 89. ]

[Footnote 46: In ridicule of this:--

"_Max._ Thou liest. There's not a god inhabits there, But, for this Christian, would all heaven forswear: Even Jove would try new shapes her love to win, And in new birds, and unknown beasts would sin; At least, if Jove could love like Maximin."--

"Tyrannic Love," p. 17.]

[Footnote 47:

"Some god now, if he dare relate what pass'd; Say, but he's dead, that god shall mortal be."--_Ibid._ p. 7.

"Provoke my rage no farther, lest I be Reveng'd at once upon the gods, and thee."--_Ibid._ p. 8.

"What had the gods to do with me, or mine."--_Ibid._ p. 57. ]

[Footnote 48:

"Poets, like lovers, should be bold, and dare; They spoil their business with an over-care: And he, who servilely creeps after sense, Is safe; but ne'er can reach to excellence."--

"Prologue to Tyrannic Love." ]

[Footnote 49:

"What various noises do my ears invade; And have a concert of confusion made?"--"Siege of Rhodes," p. 4. ]

[Footnote 50: In ridicule of this:--

"_Naker._ Hark, my Damilcar, we are call'd below.

_Dam._ Let us go, let us go: Go to relieve the care, Of longing lovers in despair.

_Naker._ Merry, merry, merry, we sail from the east, Half tippled at a rainbow feast.

_Dam._ In the bright moonshine, while winds whistle loud, Tivy, tivy, tivy, we mount and we fly, All racking along in a downy white cloud; And lest our leap from the sky should prove too far, We slide on the back of a new-falling star.

_Naker._ And drop from above, In a jelly of love.

_Dam._ But now the sun's down, and the element's red, The spirits of fire against us make head.

_Naker._ They muster, they muster, like gnats in the air: Alas! I must leave thee, my fair; And to my light-horsemen repair.

_Dam._ O stay! for you need not to fear 'em to-night; The wind is for us, and blows full in their sight: And o'er the wide ocean we fight. Like leaves in the autumn, our foes will fall down, And hiss in the water....

_Both._ And hiss in the water, and drown.

_Naker._ But their men lie securely intrench'd in a cloud, And a trumpeter-hornet to battle sounds loud.

_Dam._ Now mortals that spy How we tilt in the sky, With wonder will gaze; And fear such events as will ne'er come to pass.

_Naker._ Stay you to perform what the man will have done.

_Dam._ Then call me again when the battle is won.

_Both._ So ready and quick is a spirit of air, To pity the lover, and succour the fair, That silent and swift, that little soft god, Is here with a wish, and is gone with a nod."--

"Tyrannic Love," pp. 24, 25. ]

[Footnote 51: See "Tyrannic Love," act iv. sc. 1.]

[Footnote 52: In ridicule of this:--

"What new misfortunes do these cries presage?

_1st Mess._ Haste all you can, their fury to assuage: You are not safe from their rebellious rage.

_2nd Mess._ This minute, if you grant not their desire, They'll seize your person, and your palace fire."-- "Granada," part ii. p. 71. ]

[Footnote 53: "Aglaura," and the "Vestal Virgin," are so contrived by a little alteration towards the latter end of them, that they have been acted both ways, either as tragedies or comedies.]

[Footnote 54: There needs nothing more to explain the meaning of this battle, than the perusal of the first part of the "Siege of Rhodes," which was performed in recitative music, by seven persons only: and the passage out of the "Playhouse to be Let."]

[Footnote 55: The "Siege of Rhodes" begins thus:--

"_Admiral._ Arm, arm, Valerius, arm." ]

[Footnote 56: The third entry thus:--

"_Solym._ Pyrrhus, draw down our army wide; Then, from the gross, two strong reserves divide, And spread the wings, As if we were to fight, In the lost Rhodians' sight, With all the western kings. Each with Janizaries line; The right and left to Haly's sons assign; The gross, to Zangiban; The main artillery To Mustapha shall be: Bring thou the rear, we lead the van." ]

[Footnote 57:

"More pikes! more pikes! to reinforce That squadron, and repulse the horse."--"Playhouse to be Let," p. 72. ]

[Footnote 58:

"Point all the cannon, and play fast; Their fury is too hot to last. That rampire shakes; they fly into the town.

_Pyr._ March up with those reserves to that redoubt; Faint slaves, the Janizaries reel! They bend! they bend! and seem to feel The terrors of a rout.

_Must._ Old Zanger halts, and reinforcement lacks.

_Pyr._ March on!

_Must._ Advance those pikes, and charge their backs."--"Siege of Rhodes." ]

[Footnote 59: In ridicule of this:--

"_Phoeb._ Who calls the world's great light!

_Aur._ Aurora, that abhors the night.

_Phoeb._ Why does Aurora, from her cloud, To drowsy Phoebus cry so loud?"-- "Slighted Maid," p. 8. ]

[Footnote 60: "The burning mount Vesuvio."--"Slighted Maid," p. 81.]

[Footnote 61: "Drink, drink wine, Lippara wine."--_Ibid._]

[Footnote 62: Valeria, daughter to Maximin, having killed herself for the love of Porphyrius; when she was to be carried off by the bearers, strikes one of them a box on the ear, and speaks to him thus:--

"Hold, are you mad, confounded dog? I am to rise, and speak the epilogue."--"Tyrannic Love." ]

THE SPLENDID SHILLING.

"Sing, heavenly Muse, Things unattempted yet, in prose or rhyme, A shilling, breeches, and chimeras dire."

Happy the man, who void of cares and strife, In silken, or in leathern purse retains A Splendid Shilling. He nor hears with pain New oysters cry'd, nor sighs for cheerful ale; But with his friends when nightly mists arise, To Juniper's Magpye, or Town Hall[63] repairs: Where, mindful of the nymph, whose wanton eye Transfix'd his soul, and kindled amorous flames, Cloe, or Philips, he each circling glass Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love. Meanwhile, he smokes, and laughs at merry tale, Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint. But I, whom griping penury surrounds, And hunger, sure attendant upon want, With scanty offals, and small acid tiff, Wretched repast! my meagre corps sustain: Then solitary walk, or doze at home In garret vile, and with a warming puff Regale chill'd fingers; or from tube as black As winter-chimney, or well polish'd jet, Exhale Mundungus, ill perfuming scent: Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size Smokes Cambro-Briton, vers'd in pedigree, Sprung from Cadwalador and Arthur, kings Full famous in romantic tale, when he O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff, Upon a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese, High over-shadowing rides, with a design To vend his wares, or at th' Arvonian mart, Or Maridunum, or the ancient town Ycleped Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil! Whence flows nectareous wine, that well may vie With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern. Thus, while my joyless minutes tedious flow With looks demure, and silent pace, a Dun, Horrible monster! hated by gods and men, To my aërial citadel ascends. With vocal heel, thrice thund'ring at my gate, With hideous accent thrice he calls; I know The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound. What should I do? or whither turn? Amaz'd, Confounded to the dark recess I fly Of woodhole; straight my bristling hairs erect Thro' sudden fear; a chilly sweat bedews My shudd'ring limbs, and, wonderful to tell! My tongue forgets her faculty of speech; So horrible he seems! his faded brow Entrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard, And spreading band, admir'd by modern saints, Disastrous acts forebode. In his right hand Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves, With characters and figures dire inscrib'd, Grievous to mortal eyes; ye gods avert Such plagues from righteous men! Behind him stalks Another monster not unlike himself, Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar call'd A Catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods With force incredible and magic charms First have endu'd: if he his ample palm Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay Of debtor, straight his body, to the touch Obsequious as whilom knights were wont, To some enchanted castle is convey'd, Where gates impregnable, and coercive chains In durance strict detain him till, in form Of money, Pallas sets the captive free. Beware, ye debtors, when ye walk, beware! Be circumspect; oft with insidious ken This caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave, Prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch With his unhallow'd touch. So, poets sing, Grimalkin to domestic vermin sworn An everlasting foe, with watchful eye Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap, Protending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice Sure ruin. So her disembowell'd web Arachne in a hall, or kitchen, spreads, Obvious to vagrant flies: she secret stands Within her woven cell; the humming prey, Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils Inextricable, nor will aught avail Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue; The wasp insidious, and the buzzing drone, And butterfly proud of expanded wings Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares, Useless resistance make: with eager strides, She tow'ring flies to her expected spoils; Then, with envenom'd jaws the vital blood Drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave Their bulky carcasses triumphant drags. So pass my days. But when nocturnal shades This world envelop, and th' inclement air Persuades men to repel benumbing frosts With pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of wood; Me, lonely sitting, nor the glimmering light Of make-weight candle, nor the joyous talk Of loving friend delights; distress'd, forlorn, Amidst the horrors of the tedious night, Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts My anxious mind, or sometimes mournful verse Indite, and sing of groves and myrtle shades, Or desp'rate lady near a purling stream, Or lover pendant on a willow-tree. Meanwhile I labour with eternal drought, And restless wish, and rave, my parchéd throat Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose: But if a slumber haply does invade My weary limbs, my fancy's still awake, Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dream, Tipples imaginary pots of ale, In vain; awake I find the settled thirst Still gnawing, and the pleasant phantom curse. Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarr'd, Nor taste the fruits that the sun's genial rays Mature, John Apple, nor the downy Peach, Nor Walnut in rough-furrow'd coat secure, Nor Medlar fruit delicious in decay: Afflictions great! yet greater still remains. My Galligaskins that have long withstood The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts, By time subdu'd, what will not time subdue! An horrid chasm disclos'd with orifice Wide, discontinuous; at which the winds Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves, Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasts, Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship, Long sail'd secure, or thro' th' Ægean deep, Or the Ionian, till cruising near The Lilybean shore, with hideous crush On Scylla, or Charybdis, dang'rous rocks! She strikes rebounding, whence the shatter'd oak, So fierce a shock unable to withstand, Admits the sea; in at the gaping side The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage, Resistless, overwhelming; horrors seize The mariners, death in their eyes appears, They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear, they pray; Vain efforts! still the batt'ring waves rush in, Implacable, till delug'd by the foam, The ship sinks found'ring in the vast abyss.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 63: Two noted alehouses in Oxford, 1700.]

TWO "ODES."

BY AMBROSE PHILIPS, ESQ.,

_From among those which suggested the next following Burlesque._

TO MISS MARGARET PULTENEY, DAUGHTER OF DANIEL PULTENEY, ESQ., IN THE NURSERY.

_April_ 27, 1727.

Dimply damsel, sweetly smiling, All caressing, none beguiling, Bud of beauty, fairly blowing, Every charm to nature owing, This and that new thing admiring, Much of this and that enquiring, Knowledge by degrees attaining, Day by day some virtue gaining, Ten years hence, when I leave chiming, Beardless poets, fondly rhyming (Fescu'd now, perhaps, in spelling), On thy riper beauties dwelling, Shall accuse each killing feature Of the cruel, charming creature, Whom I knew complying, willing, Tender, and averse to killing.

TO MISS CHARLOTTE PULTENEY, IN HER MOTHER'S ARMS.

_May_ 1, 1724.

Timely blossom, infant fair, Fondling of a happy pair, Every morn, and every night, Their solicitous delight, Sleeping, waking, still at ease, Pleasing, without skill to please, Little gossip, blithe and hale, Tatling many a broken tale, Singing many a tuneless song, Lavish of a heedless tongue, Simple maiden, void of art, Babbling out the very heart, Yet abandon'd to thy will, Yet imagining no ill, Yet too innocent to blush, Like the linlet in the bush, To the mother-linnet's note Moduling her slender throat, Chirping forth thy petty joys, Wanton in the change of toys, Like the linnet green, in May, Flitting to each bloomy spray, Wearied then, and glad of rest, Like the linlet in the nest. This thy present happy lot, This, in time, will be forgot. Other pleasures, other cares, Ever-busy time prepares; And thou shalt in thy daughter see, This picture, once, resembled thee.

NAMBY PAMBY:

OR, A PANEGYRIC ON THE NEW VERSIFICATION ADDRESSED TO A---- P----, ESQ.

"Nauty Pauty Jack-a-dandy Stole a piece of sugar-candy From the Grocer's shoppy-shop, And away did hoppy-hop."

All ye poets of the age, All ye witlings of the stage, Learn your jingles to reform: Crop your numbers, and conform: Let your little verses flow Gently, sweetly, row by row. Let the verse the subject fit, Little subject, little wit. Namby Pamby is your guide, Albion's joy, Hibernia's pride. Namby Pamby Pilli-pis, Rhimy pim'd on missy-mis; Tartaretta Tartaree From the navel to the knee; That her father's gracy-grace Might give him a placy-place. He no longer writes of mammy Andromache and her lammy, Hanging panging at the breast Of a matron most distrest. Now the venal poet sings Baby clouts, and baby things, Baby dolls and baby houses, Little misses, little spouses; Little playthings, little toys, Little girls, and little boys. As an actor does his part, So the nurses get by heart Namby Pamby's little rhymes, Little jingle, little chimes. Namby Pamby ne'er will die While the nurse sings lullaby. Namby Pamby's doubly mild, Once a man, and twice a child; To his hanging-sleeves restor'd, Now he foots it like a lord; Now he pumps his little wits, All by little tiny bits. Now methinks I hear him say, Boys and girls, come out to play, Moon does shine as bright as day. Now my Namby Pamby's found Sitting on the Friar's ground, Picking silver, picking gold, Namby Pamby's never old. Bally-cally they begin, Namby Pamby still keeps in. Namby Pamby is no clown, London Bridge is broken down: Now he courts the gay ladee, Dancing o'er the Lady-lee: Now he sings of lick-spit liar Burning in the brimstone fire; Liar, liar, lick-spit, lick, Turn about the candle-stick. Now he sings of Jacky Horner Sitting in the chimney corner, Eating of a Christmas pie, Putting in his thumb, oh, fie! Putting in, oh, fie! his thumb, Pulling out, oh, strange! a plum. Now he acts the Grenadier, Calling for a pot of beer. Where's his money? he's forgot, Get him gone, a drunken sot. Now on cock-horse does he ride; And anon on timber stride, See-and-saw and Sacch'ry down, London is a gallant town. Now he gathers riches in Thicker, faster, pin by pin. Pins apiece to see his show, Boys and girls flock row by row; From their clothes the pins they take, Risk a whipping for his sake; From their frocks the pins they pull, To fill Namby's cushion full. So much wit at such an age, Does a genius great presage. Second childhood gone and past, Should he prove a man at last, What must second manhood be, In a child so bright as he! Guard him, ye poetic powers, Watch his minutes, watch his hours: Let your tuneful Nine inspire him, Let poetic fury fire him: Let the poets one and all To his genius victims fall.

A WORD UPON PUDDING.

_From_ "A LEARNED DISSERTATION UPON DUMPLING," _to which the preceding Poem was appended_.

What is a tart, a pie, or a pasty, but meat or fruit enclos'd in a wall or covering of pudding? What is a cake, but a bak'd pudding; or a Christmas pie, but a minc'd-meat pudding? As for cheese-cakes, custards, tansies, &c., they are manifest puddings, and all of Sir John's own contrivance; custard being as old, if not older, than Magna Charta. In short, pudding is of the greatest dignity and antiquity; bread itself, which is the very staff of life, being, properly speaking, a bak'd wheat pudding.

To the satchel, which is the pudding-bag of ingenuity, we are indebted for the greatest men in church and state. All arts and sciences owe their original to pudding or dumpling. What is a bagpipe, the mother of all music, but a pudding of harmony? Or what is music itself, but a palatable cookery of sounds? To little puddings or bladders of colours we owe all the choice originals of the greatest painters. And indeed, what is painting, but a well-spread pudding, or cookery of colours?

The head of man is like a pudding. And whence have all rhymes, poems, plots, and inventions sprang, but from that same pudding? What is poetry, but a pudding of words? The physicians, tho' they cry out so much against cooks and cookery, yet are but cooks themselves; with this difference only, the cooks' pudding lengthens life, the physicians' shortens it. So that we live and die by pudding. For what is a clyster, but a bag-pudding? a pill, but a dumpling? or a bolus, but a tansy, tho' not altogether so toothsome? In a word: physic is only a puddingizing or cookery of drugs.

The law is but a cookery of quibbles and contentions,[64] * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * is but a pudding of * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Some swallow everything whole and unmix'd;

so that it may rather be call'd a heap than a pudding. Others are so squeamish, the greatest mastership in cookery is requir'd to make the pudding palatable. The suet which others gape and swallow by gobs, must for these puny stomachs be minced to atoms; the plums must be pick'd with the utmost care, and every ingredient proportion'd to the greatest nicety, or it will never go down.

The universe itself is but a pudding of elements. Empires, kingdoms, states and republics, are but puddings of people differently made up. The celestial and terrestrial orbs are decipher'd to us by a pair of globes or mathematical puddings.

The success of war and fate of monarchies are entirely dependent on puddings and dumplings. For what else are cannonballs but military puddings? or bullets, but dumplings; with this difference only, they do not sit so well on the stomach as a good marrow pudding or bread pudding.

In short, there is nothing valuable in art or nature, but what, more or less, has an allusion to pudding or dumpling. Why, then, should they be held in disesteem? Why should dumpling-eating be ridiculed, or dumpling-eaters derided? Is it not pleasant and profitable? Is it not ancient and honourable? Kings, princes, and potentates have in all ages been lovers of pudding. Is it not, therefore, of royal authority? Popes, cardinals, bishops, priests and deacons, have, time out of mind, been great pudding-eaters. Is it not, therefore, a holy and religious institution? Philosophers, poets, and learned men in all faculties, judges, privy councillors, and members of both houses, have, by their great regard to pudding, given a sanction to it that nothing can efface. Is it not, therefore, ancient, honourable, and commendable?

Quare itaque fremuerunt Auctores?

Why do, therefore, the enemies of good eating, the starveling authors of Grub Street, employ their impotent pens against pudding and pudding-headed, _alias_ honest men? Why do they inveigh against dumpling-eating, which is the life and soul of good-fellowship; and dumpling-eaters, who are the ornaments of civil society?

But, alas! their malice is their own punishment. The hireling author of a late scandalous libel, intituled, "The Dumpling-Eaters Downfall," may, if he has any eyes, now see his error, in attacking so numerous, so august, a body of people. His books remain unsold, unread, unregarded; while this treatise of mine shall be bought by all who love pudding or dumpling; to my bookseller's great joy, and my no small consolation. How shall I triumph, and how will that mercenary scribbler be mortified, when I have sold more editions of my books than he has copies of his? I, therefore, exhort all people, gentle and simple, men, women, and children, to buy, to read, to extol these labours of mine, for the honour of dumpling-eating. Let them not fear to defend every article; for I will bear them harmless. I have arguments good store, and can easily confute, either logically, theologically, or metaphysically, all those who dare oppose me.

Let not Englishmen, therefore, be ashamed of the name of Pudding-eaters; but, on the contrary, let it be their glory. For let foreigners cry out ne'er so much against good eating, they come easily into it when they have been a little while in our land of Canaan; and there are very few foreigners among us who have not learn'd to make as great a hole in a good pudding, or sirloin of beef, as the best Englishman of us all.

Why should we then be laughed out of pudding and dumpling? or why ridicul'd out of good living? Plots and politics may hurt us, but pudding cannot. Let us, therefore, adhere to pudding, and keep ourselves out of harm's way; according to the golden rule laid down by a celebrated dumpling-eater now defunct:

"Be of your patron's mind, whate'er he says: Sleep very much; think little, and talk less: Mind neither good nor bad, nor right nor wrong; But eat your pudding, fool, and hold your tongue."--PRIOR.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 64: The cat ran away with this part of the copy, on which the Author had unfortunately laid some of Mother Crump's sausages.]

THE TRAGEDY OF TRAGEDIES: OR, THE LIFE AND DEATH OF

TOM THUMB THE GREAT.

WITH THE ANNOTATIONS OF H. SCRIBLERUS SECUNDUS.

FIRST ACTED IN 1730, AND ALTERED IN 1731.

H. SCRIBLERUS SECUNDUS, HIS PREFACE.

The town hath seldom been more divided in its opinion than concerning the merit of the following scenes. Whilst some publicly affirm that no author could produce so fine a piece but Mr. P----, others have with as much vehemence insisted that no one could write anything so bad but Mr. F----.

Nor can we wonder at this dissension about its merit, when the learned world have not unanimously decided even the very nature of this tragedy. For though most of the universities in Europe have honoured it with the name of "Egregium et maximi pretii opus, tragoediis tam antiquis quàm novis longè anteponendum;" nay, Dr. B---- hath pronounced, "Citiùs Mævii Æneadem quàm Scribleri istius tragoediam hanc crediderim, cujus autorem Senecam ipsum tradidisse haud dubitârim:" and the great Professor Burman hath styled Tom Thumb "Heroum omnium tragicorum facilè principem;" nay, though it hath, among other languages, been translated into Dutch, and celebrated with great applause at Amsterdam (where burlesque never came) by the title of Mynheer Vander Thumb, the burgomasters received it with that reverent and silent attention which becometh an audience at a deep tragedy. Notwithstanding all this, there have not been wanting some who have represented these scenes in a ludicrous light; and Mr. D---- hath been heard to say, with some concern, that he wondered a tragical and Christian nation would permit a representation on its theatre so visibly designed to ridicule and extirpate everything that is great and solemn among us.

This learned critic and his followers were led into so great an error by that surreptitious and piratical copy which stole last year into the world; with what injustice and prejudice to our author will be acknowledged, I hope, by every one who shall happily peruse this genuine and original copy. Nor can I help remarking, to the great praise of our author, that, however imperfect the former was, even that faint resemblance of the true Tom Thumb contained sufficient beauties to give it a run of upwards of forty nights to the politest audiences. But, notwithstanding that applause which it received from all the best judges, it was as severely censured by some few bad ones, and, I believe rather maliciously than ignorantly, reported to have been intended a burlesque on the loftiest parts of tragedy, and designed to banish what we generally call fine things from the stage.

Now, if I can set my country right in an affair of this importance, I shall lightly esteem any labour which it may cost. And this I the rather undertake, first, as it is indeed in some measure incumbent on me to vindicate myself from that surreptitious copy before mentioned, published by some ill-meaning people under my name; secondly, as knowing myself more capable of doing justice to our author than any other man, as I have given myself more pains to arrive at a thorough understanding of this little piece, having for ten years together read nothing else; in which time, I think, I may modestly presume, with the help of my English dictionary, to comprehend all the meanings of every word in it.

But should any error of my pen awaken Clariss. Bentleium to enlighten the world with his annotations on our author, I shall not think that the least reward or happiness arising to me from these my endeavours.

I shall waive at present what hath caused such feuds in the learned world, whether this piece was originally written by Shakespeare, though certainly that, were it true, must add a considerable share to its merit, especially with such who are so generous as to buy and commend what they never read, from an implicit faith in the author only: a faith which our age abounds in as much as it can be called deficient in any other.

Let it suffice, that "The Tragedy of Tragedies; or, The Life and Death of Tom Thumb," was written in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Nor can the objection made by Mr. D----, that the tragedy must then have been antecedent to the history, have any weight, when we consider that, though "The History of Tom Thumb" printed by and for Edward M--r, at the Looking-glass on London Bridge, be of a later date, still must we suppose this history to have been transcribed from some other, unless we suppose the writer thereof to be inspired: a gift very faintly contended for by the writers of our age. As to this history's not bearing the stamp of second, third, or fourth edition, I see but little in that objection; editions being very uncertain lights to judge of books by: and perhaps Mr. M--r may have joined twenty editions in one, as Mr. C--l hath ere now divided one into twenty.

Nor doth the other argument, drawn from the little care our author hath taken to keep up to the letter of this history, carry any greater force. Are there not instances of plays wherein the history is so perverted, that we can know the heroes whom they celebrate by no other marks than their names? nay, do we not find the same character placed by different poets in such different lights, that we can discover not the least sameness, or even likeness, in the features? The Sophonisba of Mairet and of Lee is a tender, passionate, amorous mistress of Massinissa: Corneille and Mr. Thomson give her no other passion but the love of her country, and make her as cool in her affection to Massinissa as to Syphax. In the two latter she resembles the character of Queen Elizabeth; in the two former she is the picture of Mary Queen of Scotland. In short, the one Sophonisba is as different from the other as the Brutus of Voltaire is from the Marius, jun., of Otway, or as the Minerva is from the Venus of the ancients.

Let us now proceed to a regular examination of the tragedy before us, in which I shall treat separately of the Fable, the Moral, the Characters, the Sentiments, and the Diction. And first of the Fable; which I take to be the most simple imaginable; and, to use the words of an eminent author, "one, regular, and uniform, not charged with a multiplicity of incidents, and yet affording several revolutions of fortune, by which the passions may be excited, varied, and driven to their full tumult of emotion." Nor is the action of this tragedy less great than uniform. The spring of all is the love of Tom Thumb for Huncamunca; which caused the quarrel between their majesties in the first act; the passion of Lord Grizzle in the second; the rebellion, fall of Lord Grizzle and Glumdalca, devouring of Tom Thumb by the cow, and that bloody catastrophe, in the third.

Nor is the Moral of this excellent tragedy less noble than the Fable; it teaches these two instructive lessons, viz., that human happiness is exceeding transient, and that death is the certain end of all men: the former whereof is inculcated by the fatal end of Tom Thumb; the latter, by that of all the other personages.

The Characters are, I think, sufficiently described in the _dramatis personæ_; and I believe we shall find few plays where greater care is taken to maintain them throughout, and to preserve in every speech that characteristical mark which distinguishes them from each other. "But," says Mr. D----, "how well doth the character of Tom Thumb (whom we must call the hero of this tragedy, if it hath any hero) agree with the precepts of Aristotle, who defineth, 'tragedy to be the imitation of a short but perfect action, containing a just greatness in itself?' &c. What greatness can be in a fellow whom history related to have been no higher than a span?" This gentleman seemeth to think, with Serjeant Kite, that the greatness of a man's soul is in proportion to that of his body, the contrary of which is affirmed by our English physiognominical writers. Besides, if I understand Aristotle right, he speaketh only of the greatness of the action, and not of the person.

As for the Sentiments and the Diction, which now only remain to be spoken to, I thought I could afford them no stronger justification than by producing parallel passages out of the best of our English writers. Whether this sameness of thought and expression which I have quoted from them proceeded from an agreement in their way of thinking, or whether they have borrowed from our author, I leave the reader to determine. I shall adventure to affirm this of the Sentiments of our author, that they are generally the most familiar which I have ever met with, and at the same time delivered with the highest dignity of phrase; which brings me to speak of his diction. Here I shall only beg one postulatum, viz., that the greatest perfection of the language of a tragedy is, that it is not to be understood; which granted (as I think it must be), it will necessarily follow that the only way to avoid this is by being too high or too low for the understanding, which will comprehend everything within its reach. Those two extremities of style Mr. Dryden illustrates by the familiar image of two inns, which I shall term the aërial and the subterrestrial.

Horace goes further, and showeth when it is proper to call at one of these inns, and when at the other:--

Telephus et Peleus, cùm pauper et exul uterque, Projicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba.

That he approveth of the _sesquipedalia verba_ is plain; for, had not Telephus and Peleus used this sort of diction in prosperity, they could not have dropped it in adversity. The aërial inn, therefore (says Horace), is proper only to be frequented by princes and other great men in the highest affluence of fortune; the subterrestrial is appointed for the entertainment of the poorer sort of people only, whom Horace advises,

--dolere sermone pedestri.

The true meaning of both which citations is, that bombast is the proper language for joy, and doggrel for grief; the latter of which is literally implied in the _sermo pedestris_, as the former is in the _sesquipedalia verba_.

Cicero recommendeth the former of these: "Quid est tam furiosum vel tragicum quàm verborum sonitus inanis, nullâ subjectâ sententiâ neque scientiâ." What can be so proper for tragedy as a set of big sounding words, so contrived together as to convey no meaning? which I shall one day or other prove to be the sublime of Longinus. Ovid declareth absolutely for the latter inn:

Omne genus scripti gravitate tragoedia vincit.

Tragedy hath, of all writings, the greatest share in the bathos; which is the profound of Scriblerus.

I shall not presume to determine which of these two styles be properer for tragedy. It sufficeth that our author excelleth in both. He is very rarely within sight through the whole play, either rising higher than the eye of your understanding can soar, or sinking lower than it careth to stoop. But here it may perhaps be observed that I have given more frequent instances of authors who have imitated him in the sublime than in the contrary. To which I answer, first, bombast being properly a redundancy of genius, instances of this nature occur in poets whose names do more honour to our author than the writers in the doggrel, which proceeds from a cool, calm, weighty way of thinking. Instances whereof are most frequently to be found in authors of a lower class. Secondly, that the works of such authors are difficultly found at all. Thirdly, that it is a very hard task to read them, in order to extract these flowers from them. And lastly, it is very difficult to transplant them at all; they being like some flowers of a very nice nature, which will flourish in no soil but their own: for it is easy to transcribe a thought, but not the want of one. The "Earl of Essex," for instance, is a little garden of choice rarities, whence you can scarce transplant one line so as to preserve its original beauty. This must account to the reader for his missing the names of several of his acquaintance, which he had certainly found here, had I ever read their works; for which, if I have not a just esteem, I can at least say with Cicero, "Quæ non contemno, quippè quæ nunquam legerim." However, that the reader may meet with due satisfaction in this point, I have a young commentator from the university, who is reading over all the modern tragedies, at five shillings a dozen, and collecting all that they have stole from our author, which shall be shortly added as an appendix to this work.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

KING ARTHUR, _a passionate sort of king, husband to_ QUEEN DOLLALLOLLA, _of whom he stands a little in fear: father to_ HUNCAMUNCA, _whom he is very fond of and in love with_ GLUMDALCA.

TOM THUMB THE GREAT, _a little hero with a great soul, something violent in his temper, which is a little abated by his love for_ HUNCAMUNCA.

GHOST OF GAFFER THUMB, _a whimsical sort of ghost_.

LORD GRIZZLE, _extremely zealous for the liberty of the subject, very choleric in his temper, and in love with_ HUNCAMUNCA.

MERLIN, _a conjuror, and in some sort father to_ TOM THUMB.

NOODLE, DOODLE, _courtiers in place, and consequently of that party that is uppermost_.

FOODLE, _a courtier that is out of place, and consequently of that party that is undermost_.

BAILIFF, AND FOLLOWER, _of the party of the plaintiff_.

PARSON, _of the side of the church_.

QUEEN DOLLALLOLLA, _wife to_ KING ARTHUR, _and mother to_ HUNCAMUNCA, _a woman entirely faultless, saving that she is a little given to drink, a little too much a virago towards her husband, and in love with_ TOM THUMB.

THE PRINCESS HUNCAMUNCA, _daughter to their_ MAJESTIES KING ARTHUR _and_ QUEEN DOLLALLOLLA, _of a very sweet, gentle, and amorous disposition, equally in love with_ LORD GRIZZLE _and_ TOM THUMB, _and desirous to be married to them both_.

GLUMDALCA, _of the giants, a captive queen, beloved by the king, but in love with_ TOM THUMB.

CLEORA, MUSTACHA, _maids of honour in love with_ NOODLE _and_ DOODLE.

Courtiers, Guards, Rebels, Drums, Trumpets, Thunder and Lightning.

SCENE.--THE COURT OF KING ARTHUR, AND A PLAIN THEREABOUTS.

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