Each on himself determines to rely;
Be Yates disbanded, and let Elliot fly.
Never did play'rs fo well an author fit,
To Nature dead, and foes declar'd to wit.
So loud each tongue, fo empty was each head,
So much they talk'd, so very little faid,
So wond'rous dull, and yet fo wond'rous vain,
At once fo willing and unfit to reign,
That Reason swore, nor would the oath recal,
Their mighty mafter's foul inform'd them all.
As one with various disappointments fad,
Whom dulnefs only kept from being mad,
Apart from all the rest great Murphy came-
Common to fools and wits the rage of fame.
His reftlefs foul's ambition ftops not there;
What tho' the fons of Nonsense hail him Sire,
Auditor, Author, Manager, and Squire?
To make his triumphs perfect, dub him Play'r.
In perfon tall, a figure form'd to please,
If fymmetry could charm, depriv'd of ease:
When motionlefs he ftands, we all
approve;
What pity 'tis the thing was made to move!
His voice, in one dull, deep, unvary'd found,
Seems to break forth from caverns under ground;
From hollow cheft the low fepulchral note
Unwilling heaves, and struggles in his throat.
Could authors butcher'd give an actor grace,
All must to him refign the foremost place.
When he attempts, in fome one fav'rite part,
To ape the feelings of a manly heart,
His honeft features the difguife defy,
And his face loudly gives his tongue the lye.
Still in extremes, he knows no happy mean,
Or raving mad, or ftupidly ferene:
In cold-wrought fcenes the lifeless actor flags;
In paffion, tears the paffion into rags.
Can none remember? Yes, I know all muft,
When in the Moor he ground his teeth to duft,
When o'er the ftage he Folly's standard bore,
Whilft Common Senfe ftood trembling at the door.
How few are found with real talents blefs'd!
Fewer with Nature's gifts contented rest.
Man from his sphere eccentrick starts aftray;
All hunt for fame, but most mistake the way.
Bred at St. Omer's to the fhuffling trade,
The hopeful youth a Jefuit might have made,
With various readings ftor'd his empty fcull,
Learn'd without fenfe, and venerably dull;
Or at fome banker's desk, like many more,'
Content to tell that two and two make four,
His name had flood in city annals fair,
And prudent dulness mark'd him for a may❜r.
What then could tempt thee, in a critick age,
Such blooming hopes to forfeit on a stage?
Could it be worth thy wondrous waste of pains,
To publish to the world thy lack of brains?
Or might not Reason e'en to thee have shown,
Thy greatest praise had been, to live unknown?
Yet let not vanity like thine defpair;
Fortune makes Folly her peculiar care.
A vacant throne high-plac'd in Smithfield view,
To facred Dulness and her firft-born due,
Thither with hafte in happy hour repair,
Thy birth-right claim, nor fear a rival there;
Shuter himself shall own thy jufter claim,
And venal Ledgers puff their Murphy's name;
Whilft Vaughan or Dapper, call him which you will,
Shall blow the trumpet, and give out the bill.
There rule fecure from criticks and from sense,
Nor once fhall Genius rife to give offence;
Eternal peace fhall blefs the happy fhore,
And little factions break thy reft no more.
From Covent Garden crowds promifcuous go,
Whom the Muse knows not, nor defires to know:
Vet'rans they feem'd, but knew of arms no more
Than if, till that time, arms they never bore:
Like Westminster militia, train'd to fight,
They scarcely knew the left hand from the right:
Afham'd among fuch troops to fhew the head,
Their chiefs were scatter'd, and their heroes fled.
Sparks, at his glafs fat comfortably down,
To fep'rate frown from fmile, and smile from frown.
Smith, the genteel, the airy, and the smart,
Smith was just gone to school to say his part.
Rofs (a misfortune which we often meet)
Was fast asleep at dear Statira's feet;
Statira, with her hero to agree,
Stood on her feet as fast asleep as he.
Who wantonly tranfgreffes Nature's bounds,
Macklin, who largely deals in half-form'd founds,
Whose acting's hard, affected, and constrain'd,
Whose features, as each other they difdain'd,
At variance fet, inflexible and coarse,
Ne'er know the workings of united force,
Ne'er kindly soften to each other's aid,
Nor fhew the mingled pow'rs of light and fhade;
No longer for a thankless stage concern'd,
To worthier thoughts his mighty genius turn'd,
Harangu'd, gave lectures, made each fimple elf
Almost as good a speaker as himself;
Whilft the whole town, mad with mistaken zeal,
An aukward rage for elocution feel,
Dull cits and grave divines his praise proclaim,
And join with Sheridan's their Macklin's name.
Shuter, who never car'd a single pin,
Whether he left out nonfenfe, or put in;
Who aim'd at wit, tho' levell'd in the dark,
The random arrow feldom hit the mark,
At Iflington, all by the placid ftream,
Where city fwains in lap of dulness dream;
Where quiet as her ftrains their strains do flow,
That all the patron by the bards may know,
Secret as night, with Rolt's experienc'd aid,
The plan of future operations laid,
Projected schemes the summer months to chear,
And spin out happy folly thro' the year.
But think not, tho' these daftard chiefs are fled,,
That Covent Garden troops fhall want a head:
Harlequin comes, their chief!-See, from afar,
The hero feated in fantaftick car!
Wedded to Novelty, his only arms
Are wooden fwords, wands, talifmans, and charms:
On one fide Folly fits, by fome call'd Fun;
And, on the other, his arch patron, Lun;
Behind, for liberty athirst in vain,
Senfe, helpless captive! drags the galling chain;
Six rude mis-shapen beasts the chariot draw,
Whom Reason loaths, and Nature never faw!
Monsters with tails of ice, and heads of fire,
Gorgons and Hydras, and Chymæras dire.
Each was beftrode by full as monstrous wight,
Giant, Dwarf, Genius, Elf, Hermaphrodite.
The town, as usual, met him in full cry;
The town, as ufual, knew no reason why:
But fashion fo directs, and moderns raise,
On fashion's mould'ring base, their tranfient praise.
Next, to the field a band of females draw
Their force, for Britain owns no Salique law :
Just to their worth, we female rights admit,
Nor bar their claim to empire, or to wit.
Firft, giggling, plotting chamber-maids arrive,
Hoydons and romps, led on by Gen'ral Clive;
In fpite of outward blemishes fhe fhone,
For humour fam'd, and humour all her own :
Eafy, as if at home, the ftage fhe trod,
Nor fought the critick's praife, nor fear'd his rod :
Original in fpirit, and in ease,
She pleas'd, by hiding all attempts to please:
No comick actress ever yet could raise,
On humour's bafe, more merit or more praise.
With all the native vigour of fixteen,
Among the merry troop confpicuous feen,
See lively Pope advance in jig, and trip
Corinna, Cherry, Honeycomb, and Snip;
Not without art, but yet to Nature true,
She charms the town with humour juft, yet new:
Chear'd by her promise, we the lefs deplore
The fatal time when Clive fhall be no more.
Lo! Vincent comes-with fimple grace array'd,
She laughs at paltry arts, and scorns parade :
Nature thro' her is by reflection shown,
Whilft Gay once more knows Polly for his own.
Talk not to me of diffidence and fear-
I fee it all, but muft forgive it here;
Defects like thefe, which modeft terrors caufe,
From impudence itself extort applause.
Candour and Reason still take Virtue's part;
We love e'en foibles in fo good a heart.
Let Tommy Arne, with ufual pomp of style,
Whose chief, whofe only merit's to compile,
Who, meanly pilf'ring here and there a bit,
Deals mufick out, as Murphy deals out wit,
Publish proposals, laws for tafte prescribe,
And chaunt the praise of an Italian tribe;
Let him reverse kind Nature's first decrees,
And teach e'en Brent a method not to please ;
But never shall a truly British age
Bear a vile race of eunuchs on the stage:
The boafted work's call'd National in vain,
If one Italian voice pollutes the ftrain.
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