Canto III

UPON a Card, as white as snow,
Fairer than message cards below;
Fairer than those, on which the belle,
Sends by her Hermes to PALL-MALL
The modish message of the day,
To make a party for the play,
Or fix the hour of dear quadrille,
That not a moment may stand still:
The MUSES sign'd a soft address,
Which COLEY, carried off express.

WHILE MEL. and THA, are gone to heaven,
We, your admirers, sisters seven,
Send this, to beg you may not sell,
Till he who buys, can act as well;
But, such a bidder, when you find,
Pray let us hear, that you've resign'd:
Consent, we have a right to claim;
Obey, and trust to us your fame;
From each, a compliment receive,
And cherish, what the MUSES give.
I CLIO, in the immortal page,
Will bid you live thro' every age:
And I, CALLIOPE the fair,
Will make your harmony my care;
Your various powers of voice, record,
And tell the music of each word.
ERATO and TERPSICHORE,
Your dancing, and your poetry,
Ours it shall oft be, to rehearse
Your knack at epilogue, and verse:
PHOEBUS neglects the epigram,
And sounds the trump of EPIC fame;
The gentle sallies of a morning,
His godship trusts, to our adorning:
EUTERPE, though you seldom sing,
Pays you the honours of a king:
I, POLYHYMN. your memory love,
URANIA, marks the whole, above,
She, with a sunbeam, writes your name,
And consecrates the word to fame:
And we, the sister GRACES, vow,
Not to forget, your air, and bow.
Given at our court, PARNASSUS mountain,
By us—Princesses of the fountain:
By us, your friends, the MUSES seven,
While THA. and MEL. are gone to heaven.

OUR poet now, his hobby strode,
And briskly took the London road:
But, ere he came to DRURY-LANE,
THALIA, press'd the OLYMPIAN plain.
For, as no turnpikes tax the air,
The sisters, presently were there:
When on the earth we go, 'tis gravel,
But debonair, to heav'n, you travel;
The path is cut thro' aether clear,
A mild and milky atmosphere:
And, as you reach the realms of day,
There's not a pebble in the way;
When once you get beyond the sun,
So smooth, and rapidly you run,
All is so gentle, fair, and even,
You glide on feather-beds to heaven.
Hence, VENUS, with, a thousand LOVES,
Yokes, but a single pair of doves,
Which, manag'd, with a silken rein,
Skim up and down the rich domain:
CUPID, to fly beside her chooses;
A brace of peacocks, JUNO uses:
And as 'tis all an easy flight,
Their chariots, are exceeding light,

MERCURIUS, summon'd by the MUSE,
Flew to ELISIUM with the news,
And lighting on the poets' Walk,
The circle found, in various talk.

SHAKESPEARE, majestic in his mien,
Superior to the rest was seen,
" HYPERION'S curls, the front of JOVE,
An eye like MARS," the lip of LOVE,
Mark'd him, from all the lofty band:
A laurel wreath, was in his hand,
A wreath, by all the MUSES wove,
Where each, in rival emblems strove;
A tribe of Grecians, view'd his grace,
With all the Romans, of the place;
The fathers of th' ATHENIAN stage,
Poets sublime, of every age:
VIRGIL, stood gazing on his face,
"The characters of truth to trace;"
Sagacious PLATO, with surprize,
Saw inspiration in his eyes;
The pierceing SOPHOCLES, was struck,
At rays of glory in his look;
Ev'n ARISTOTLE, bent the knees,
And half forgot his unities;
HOMER himself, to fight restor'd,
Embrac'd him, as an equal lord;
APOLLO—Who that day was there,
Proclaim'd the bard his favourite care.
JOHNSON was near, in learned state,
Severe in look, in step sedate,
Much circumspection in his air,
With all an anxious scholar's care:
The TUNEFUL TWINS together sat,
Like brother—bards, in friendly chat;
THOMSON, on beds of roses laid,
Was twisting chaplets in the shade;
His harp to heavenly subjects strung,
Bespoke the hand of solemn YOUNG;
The gentle OTWAY press'd the green,
Still sovereign of the tender scene,
An angel—audience, own'd his sway,
From polish'd ROWE, to pleasing GAY;
MILTON, whom all with reverence view,
POSSEST the scenes, that once he DREW;
Known by his gait, and sounding lyre,
Poor LEE was there, with eye of fire,
Hurrying he went, from grove, to grove,
And ranted rage, or sung of love.

ANOTHER part, adorn'd with bowers,
Contain'd THALIA'S lively powers;
HORACE, appear'd as king of wit,
And SWIFT, maintain'd a regal seat:
Of play-house bards, a numerous train;
Were still disputing who should reign:
The brilliant stroke, the satire smart,
And keen retort, around they dart:
Even here, they seem'd to hate a brother,
And tore the laurel from each other.
Old WYCHERLY assum'd the head,
But matchless DRYDEN took the lead:
Whene'er the mighty poet sung,
The paradise responsive rung:
Ev'n PHILLIP'S godlike son, to hear,
Would list'ning, lean upon his spear,
And sooth'd by sound, even yet, was vain,
Then sigh'd to have his ODE again.
CONGREVE now thought it no disgrace,
But wore a smile upon his face,
And yet, I've heard, would now and then,
Say a soft thing, to Mrs. BEHN.
The bard could ne'er his forte forget,
But lov'd to joke about it, yet:
The courtly VANBRUGH too, was near,
And CIBBER, whispering in his ear;
With many a merry bard beside,
THALIA'S honour, boast, and pride.

SIR MERCURY, now spoke aloud,
(But settled first his wings, and bow'd)
His message told, with godlike grace,
And beg'd their judgment on the case:
He added too, that Mrs. THA.
Had not once smil'd, since dawn of day,
That Madam MEL. was still in tears,
And might be so, these twenty years,
Unless their poetships, could rule
Friend ROSCIUS, still to play the fool:
He thought that ROSCIUS should agree,
For sake of all stage poesy,
To act one more theatric session—
" HERMES you're right—I say, possession;
Cried SHAKESPEARE loud (and while he spoke,
No other bard the accents broke)
Is all to perish then of mine,
Must SHAKESPEARE, be no more divine?
Tho' fame may here, her clarion blow,
Pray who must manage it below? "
He said;—ELYSIUM heard the sound,
And all its tenants throng'd around:
The story in a moment flew,
Till every bard the matter knew,
One told the tydings to another,
Till SOL himself was in a pother.
ELYSIUM, reader, is a name,
Not only, for these sons of fame,
But, a fine place, by JOVE ordain'd,
For all, who've figur'd, fought, or reign'd:
'Tis for the wise, the great, the fair,
And every constant lover's there:
It is, in short, for all the good,
When they have done with flesh and blood;
And yet, the beauty, when a ghost,
There, as on earth, remains a toast;
Th' Elysians, to her charms pay court,
And amorous shadows, round her sport:
The human shape, we sure retain,
Else, could sons know their sires again?
Now, strange as this may seem to you,
AENEAS, found it vastly true,
Who (as DAN VIRGIL'S legends go)
Once, took a pious trip below;
Walk'd round the charming garden twice,
And own'd ANCHISES in a trice;
Made without toil, th' important tour,
And got to earth, within the hour.

THE characters that ROSCIUS play'd,
Were now assembled—to a shade.
Poor BENEDICT, began to stare:
And tho' 'tis odd how he got there
MACBETH, protested he was glad,
ROSCIUS, too oft' had made him mad,
His crimes so painted to the life,
As—PRITCHARD, us'd to paint his wife:
The pensive HAMLET, smote his breast,
And on poor YORRICK'S shoulder press'd:
Even DRUGGER, seem'd to feel the blow,
Then took a quid, to ease his woe:
OTHELLO, little seem'd to care,
And JAFFIER, was not in despair:
Yet royal LEAR, sustain'd the stroke,
Tho', BARRY—at the bottom broke:
If all were well as 'tis above,
That form, that face, might well improve,
My scenes, said LEE—ah ALEXANDER,
That BARRY was a better stander!
Then might'st thou still unrivall'd run,
And claim alliance with the sun!
An hero of the MOORISH race,
Had a new guest, in his embrace:
Near whom, the stately WOLSEY stood,
To give him welcome from the flood:
Even CAIIUS MARCIUS, hail'd his friend,
And PIERRE, was eager to attend;
CATO, to grieve, saw little cause;
SHERIDAN gives his senate laws;
But princely JOHN, declin'd the head,
And wish'd, that SHERIDAN was dead,
Then dropt a tear, and hid his face,
As conscious still, of his disgrace;
RANGER, with nectar almost mellow,
SWORE ROSCIUS, was a noble fellow,
Then turning to unfriended STEPHEN,
Wish'd NED and DAVY both in heaven.

THE multitude now talk'd so fast,
The matter was so like to last;
So little hope remain'd of hearing;
Sir HERMES, spread his wings for steering:
When SHAKESPEARE, thus preferr'd his prayer,
To HIM who darts his rays from far.
" I see I feel the tempest brewing,
Dark o'er my stage, impends the ruin.
Let me to earth, a ramble take,
And I will expedition make;
Thou bearer of the brilliant bow,
This favour, on thy bard bestow. "

DEAR SHAKESPEARE, thy request is odd,
Replied the silver-shafted god,
And yet I know not to deny—
Then here, good friend, said MERCURY;
This winged cap, I'll lend to thee,
A flying foot, will do for me:
So short the way is to the king,
One might go there with half a wing.

CONSENT thus gain'd, and full in feather,
The bard and HERMES, flew together.

As friendly towards earth, they went,
To see what these strange tidings meant,
They freely chatted on the road,
And SHAKESPEARE thus bespoke the god.

" HERMES, no toil that man engages;
Not making verses, to make pages;
Not all the logic of the laws;
Nor knot, that ties the gordian cause;
Not all the navigator's art;
Nor even the warrior's wily part;
Not methodistical devotion;
Nor secret of perpetual motion:
Not the dull road to classic knowledge;
Nor hum-drum labours of a college;
Not the fierce spirit of debate;
That works the whirligig of state:
Nor jarring jargon of physician;
Not science of geometrician;
Not fluxions, fractions, or finance,
Not both on heel and head to dance
Not Coptic, Algebra, or Erse,
Not dignity, without a purse;
Nor ought on earth such talents ask,
Such powers, as the theatric task;
At once, to move and mend the heart,
A master of the Thespian art;
For even I, with all my boast,
Was deem'd unfit to make a ghost;
Yet HERMES, I could scribble things,
As easy, as you work your wings;
Could very decent dukes create,
And make a minister of state;
Dubb one a lord, a second sir,
And half compleat a character,
Sooner than get that phantom's talk,
Or e'en be perfect in my stalk:
It is not acting, to rehearse,
Some hundred lines of florid verse;
It is not comedy, to frisk,
To trip, to titter, and look brisk;
The wood and wire, can dance and caper,
A very mountebank, can vapour.
It is not tragedy, to roar,
And flounce the body on the floor;
Then to spring upward with a bound,
And cast the goggling eyeballs round;
To writhe the joints, or shake the head,
Then quiver, and burlesque the dead;
It is not tragedy, to pout,
Or, in a fume to jump about;
To slap the forehead, thump the chest,
And screw the face to seem distrest;
Nor sweat an hour upon the stage,
Or twich the mantle, in a rage.
Hence I infer, my worthy friend,
Nature peculiar gifts must lend;
And after all her favours, Care,
And Industry, must make the player."
Quoth MERCURY, " my noble poet,
You're a great man, and often shew it;
But now you miss the matter quite:
Since you, dear WILL, began to write,
Affairs have had a modern turn,
Actors have little now to learn,
The deuce a difficulty in it,
The hocus-pocus of a minute;
At least, the folks who teach to speak,
Dispatch a dozen in a week.
ROSCIUS indeed, and three or four,
(Haply thro' BRITAIN half a score)
The subject, study as a science;
The rest, to study bid defiance.
He who is to the stage inclin'd,
Tells to Sir Manager his mind;
"To be, or not to be" rehearses,
And tries his compass in the curses;
His bosom beats with tragic rage,
And so he jumps upon the stage:
A time he takes to con his part,
(Since he must get the words by heart)
His leisure at the GLASS employs,
And scares the landlady with noise;
Then, all in rubric capitals,
He flames resplendent on the walls:
At every corner of the street,
The new young gentleman, you meet;
And that he may the better bellow,
Sometimes he chooses your OTHELLO;
Changes his face to Moorish black,
Or else, a bunch upon his back—
He aims at grin, and glare, and posture,
And takes a tug of Master GLOSTER:
At length, upon a solemn night,
The hero, is to fume, and fight;
In Romish triumph, lo! he comes,
And stalks, to the tattoo of drums;
He never play'd the king, before,
And haply ne'er shall play it more:
Observe him the succeeding eve,
With a vile livery on his sleeve:
Sunk to the servant's lowest place,
Yet mean enough to bear disgrace.
But if his lungs the task sustain,
He plays the character again;
The strange attraction casts around,
And works his way by dint of sound:
The papers circulate the puff,
He is a diamond in the rough;
And by the force of mighty jaws,
He storms awhile, and wins applause;
Now with success quite feverish grown,
He'll have a playhouse of his own;
The manager and actor join,
And then he fills, the hero's line;
Afar he travels, on the hoof:
His theatre without a roof:
In a vile barn, he butchers LEAR,
And stabbs the regimental'd PIERRE:
But ev'n if all his toils succeed,
Prithee, dear WILLIAM, mark the meed:
Full oft he bustles half the night,
Yet scarcely gets a supper by't;
On thy fine thoughts he feeds by day;
The famish'd sovereign—of a play;
The vagrant hut, rewards his pains,
And the world frowns upon his gains:
Not pedlar, gipsy, jesuit,
Not ballad-wenches, in the street;
Not base buffoon, on scaffolding;
Not bullock, baited at the ring;
Nor beggar dieting at door;
Nor the chance children of the poor;
A lot so hard "—I prithee stop;
Return'd the bard—the subject drop,
For if their private life be good,
Blest they may be, whate'er their food.
"The ship boy on the giddy mast"
My worthy BILLY, not so fast,
Said MAIA'S son—Philosophy.
Is a fine thing, when plenty's nigh;
As to their goodness, I confess,
They are the types of holiness;
Tho' I, sometimes, pass to and fro,
I hear no trips, where'er I go;
So much to deal in sentiment,
Inspires, pure love, esteem, content;
Tho' grocers will their figs neglect,
Actors, will noble thoughts respect;
And hence it is, the real player,
Will live on virtue and the air:
To no one ill is he inclin'd,
Unspotted, both in form and mind.
To do the ladies right, their dress,
Even in a morn, is cleanliness,
So spruce, you at a glance would swear,
In every pin you saw the player:
With rumpled cap, and towzled head,
They never breakfast on the bed,
But, as at night, they love parade,
At day, each fair shall match a maid.
In short, the heroines of the scene,
Are full as chaste, as they are clean.

HERE HERMES paus'd, and rubb'd his eye.
And why friend MERCURY, so sly,
Rejoin'd the poet—in these days,
Actors, I hear, get pence, and praise;
Fashion it seems, hath chang'd her plan,
TOWN-PLAYER, is a GENTLEMAN.
And surely men of art, and sense,
Have justly to the name pretence;
But, as I scent the city smoak,
Prithee good HERMES spare thy joke,
And, if thou lov'st me, quickly say,
Should ROSCIUS go, who's left to play?
For, since I've been a ghost, my friend,
I little, to such points attend.

'TIS long, quoth HERMES, Sir, since I,
To either house, have had a fly;
There's little call for you or me.
The news you'll hear from POMINB:
There's SHERIDAN, the old and young,
One fam'd for speech, and one for song:
But, ah dear WILL, a-lack a-day!
'Tis all to sing, and nought to say!
His airs full seventy nights have run,
And yet the game is just begun:
Why Sir, I'm told, this wicked elf,
Has thrown your lordship, on the shelf:
In vain you growl forth, list, oh, list,
Your favorite phantom is not mist;
And when the mob resign their ghost,
Judge how much footing you have lost:
Uncall'd, old BARRY limps about,
Gets a long sabbath for his gout;
And 'tis with much ado, I hear,
His wife can draw, one tragic tear:
Methinks the age is operatiz'd:
SWEET WILLY—you seem much surpriz'd:
HERMES stopt short—the poet frown'd,
And tore the bays his temples bound;
The chaplet, thrice, indignant, shook;
Tost it air, then angry spoke:
"ROSCIUS resign'd! why had he stay'd,
I would go forward, to upbraid—
Oh had I known, what SHAKESPEARE wrote
Would fly, before the sidler's note,
By yonder—but I will not swear,
Why didst thou lead me on thus far?
HERMES your hand—dear friend adieu."
He turn'd about, and backward flew.

THE God of errands, left alone,
Now bent his course towards HELICON.
Told every MUSE th' appeal was vain,
And in a huff, sought heaven again.