No tricking here, to blunt the edge of law,
Or, damned in equity, escape by flaw:
But judgment given, your sentence must remain ;
No writ of error lies-to Drury-lane :
Yet when so kind you seem, 'tis past dispute
We gain some favour, if not costs of suit.
No spleen is here! I see no hoarded fury ;—
I think I never faced a milder jury!
Sad else our plight! where frowns are transportation,
A hiss the gallows, and a groan damnation !
But such the public candour, without fear
My client waves all right of challenge here.
No newsman from our session is dismissed,
Nor wit nor critic we scratch off the list;
His faults can never hurt another's ease,
His crime, at worst, a bad attempt to please :
Thus, all respecting, he appeals to all,
And by the general voice will stand or fall.
SPOKEN ON THE TENTH NIGHT, BY MRS BULKLEY.
Granted our cause, our suit and trial o’er,
The worthy serjeant need appear no more:
In pleasing I a different client choose,
He served the Poet-I would serve the Muse:
Like him, I'll try to merit your applause,
A female counsel in a female's cause.
Look on this form,*—where humour, quaint and
sly,
Dimples the cheek, and points the beaming eye;
Where gay invention seems to boast its wiles
In amorous hint, and half-triumphant smiles;
While her light mask or covers satire's strokes,
Or hides the conscious blush her wit provokes.
Look on her well does she seem formed to
teach?
you expect to hear this lady preach? Is grey experience suited to her youth?
* Pointing to the figure of Comedy.
Do solemn sentiments become that mouth?
Bid her be grave, those lips should rebel prove
Το every theme that slanders mirth or love.
Yet, thus adorned with every graceful art
To charm the fancy and yet reach the heart,
Must we displace her? And instead advance
The goddess of the woful countenance-
The sentimental Muse!-Her emblems view,
The Pilgrim's Progress, and a sprig of rue!
View her too chaste to look like flesh and blood-
Primly portrayed on emblematic wood!
There, fixed in usurpation, should she stand,
She'll snatch the dagger from her sister's hand:
And having made her votaries weep a flood,
Good heaven! she'll end her comedies in blood- 30
Bid Harry Woodward break poor Dunstal's crown!
Imprison Quick, and knock Ned Shuter down;
While sad Barsanti, weeping o'er the scene,
Shall stab herself-or poison Mrs Green.
Such dire encroachments to prevent in time,
Demands the critic's voice-the poet's rhyme.
Can our light scenes add strength to holy laws!
Such puny patronage but hurts the cause:
Fair virtue scorns our feeble aid to ask;
And moral truth disdains the trickster's mask.
For here their favourite stands,* whose brow severe
And sad, claims youth's respect, and pity's tear;
Who, when oppress'd by foes her worth creates,
Can point a poniard at the guilt she hates.
Enter Thomas; he crosses the Stage; Fag follows, looking
Fag. What! Thomas! sure 'tis he? — What!
Thos. Hey!-Odd's life! Mr Fag!-give us your hand, my old fellow-servant.
Fag. Excuse my glove, Thomas :—I'm devilish
charioteers, you look as hearty-but who the
deuce thought of seeing you in Bath?
Thos. Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs
Kate, and the postillion, be all come.
* Pointing to Tragedy.
Thos. Ay, master thought another fit of the gout
was coming to make him a visit ;
-so he'd a mind to gi't the slip, and whip! we were all
off at an hour's warning.
Fag. Ay, ay, hasty in every thing, or it would not
be Sir Anthony Absolute !
Thos. But tell us, Mr Fag, how does young master?
Odd! Sir Anthony will stare to see the Captain
here!
Fag. I do not serve Captain Absolute now.
Thos. Why sure!
Fag. At present I am employed by Ensign
Beverley.
Thos. I doubt, Mr Fag, you ha'n't changed for the
better.
Fag. I have not changed, Thomas.
Thos. No! Why, didn't you say you had left young
master?
Fag. No.-Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle 30 you no farther:-briefly then-Captain Abso
lute and Ensign Beverley are one and the same
Thos. The devil they are!
Fag. So it is indeed, Thomas; and the ensign half
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