ÆäÀÌÁö À̹ÌÁö
PDF
ePub

In Cibber's look commanding forrows fpeak,
And call the tear faft trick'ling down my cheek.
There is a fault which ftirs the critick's rage;
A want of due attention on the stage.

I have feen Actors, and admir'd ones too,

Whofe tongues wound up fet forward from their cue ;
In their own speech who whine, or roar away,
Yet feem unmov'd at what the reft may fay;
Whofe eyes and thoughts on diff'rent objects roam,
Until the prompter's voice recall them home.
Diveft yourself of hearers, if you can,
And strive to speak, and be the very man.
Why should the well-bred Actor wish to know
Who fits above to-night, or who below?

So, 'mid th' harmonious tones of grief or rage,
Italian fquallers oft difgrace the ftage;
When, with a fimp'ring leer, and bow profound,
The fqueaking Cyrus greets the boxes round;
Or proud Mandane, of imperial race,
Familiar drops a curtfey to her grace.

To fuit the dress demands the Actor's art;
Yet there are thofe who over-drefs the part.
To fome prescriptive right gives fettled things;
Black wigs to murd'rers, feather'd hats to kings.
But Michael Caffio might be drunk enough,
Tho' all his features were not grim'd with fnuff.
Why fhould Pol. Peachum fhine in fattin cloaths?
Why ev'ry devil dance in fcarlet hofe?

But in ftage-cuftoms what offends me most,
Is the flip-door, and flowly-rifing ghoft.
Tell me, nor count the queftion too fevere,
Why need the dismal powder'd forms appear?

When chilling horrors shake th' affrighted king,
And Guilt torments him with her fcorpion fting;
When keenest feelings at his bofom pull,
And Fancy tells him that the feat is full;

Why

Why need the ghoft ufurp the monarch's place,
To frighten children with his mealy face?
The king alone fhould form the phantom there,
And talk and tremble at the vacant chair.

If Belvidera her lov'd lofs deplore,

Why for twin spectres burfts the yawning floor?
When with disorder'd ftarts, and horrid cries,
She paints the murder'd forms before her eyes,
And still pursues them with a frantick ftare,
'Tis pregnant madness brings the vifions there.
More inftant horror would enforce the scene,
If all her fhudd'rings were at shapes unseen.
Poet and Actor thus, with blended skill,
Mould all our paffions to their instant will;
'Tis thus, when feeling Garrick treads the stage,
(The speaking comment of his Shakespeare's page)
Oft as I drink the words with greedy ears,

I shake with horror, or diffolve with tears.
O, ne'er may folly seize the throne of tafte,
Nor dulnefs lay the realms of genius wafte!
No bouncing crackers ape the thund'rer's fire,
No tumbler float upon the bending wire!
More natural uses to the ftage belong,
Than tumblers, monsters, pantomime, or song.
For other purpose was that spot defign'd:
To purge the paffions, and reform the mind;
To give to nature all the force of art,

And while it charms the ear, to mend the heart.
Thornton, to thee, I dare with truth commend,

The decent stage, as virtue's natural friend:
Tho' oft debas'd with scenes prophane and loose,
No reafon weighs against it's proper ufe.
Tho' the lewd priest his facred function shame,
Religion's perfect law is ftill the fame.

Shall they, who trace the paffions from their rife,
Shew Scorn her features, her own image Vice?

[merged small][ocr errors]

Who teach the mind it's proper force to fcan,
And hold the faithful mirror up to man,
Shall their profeffion e'er provoke disdain,
Who ftand the foremost in the moral train;
Who lend reflection all the grace of art,
And strike the precept home upon the heart?
Yet, hapless artift! tho' thy skill can raise
The bursting peal of univerfal praise;
Tho' at thy beck Applause delighted stands,
And lifts, Briareus like, her hundred hands;
Know, Fame awards thee but a partial breath!
Not all thy talents brave the stroke of death.
Poets to ages yet unborn appeal,

And latest times th' Eternal Nature feel.

Tho' blended here the praise of bard and play'r,
While more than half becomes the actor's share,
Relentless Death untwifts the mingled fame,

And finks the player in the poet's name.

The pliant mufcles of the various face,

The mien that gave each fentence strength and grace,
The tuneful voice, the eye that spoke the mind,
Are gone-nor leave a fingle trace behind!

THE MAN

OF SORROW.

A

[ocr errors]

BY MR. GREVILLE.

H! what avails the length'ning mead, • By Nature's kindeft bounty spread Along the vale of flow'rs?

Ah! what avails the darkening grove,

• Or Philomel's melodious love,

• That glads the midnight hours?

< For

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

Welcome, O! welcome, Pleafure's queen!
And fee, along the velvet green,

The jocund train advance:

• With scatter'd flow'rs they fill the air,

• The wood-nymphs dew-befpangled hair

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]
[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

• Ten thousand beauties round me throng: What beauties, fay, ye nymphs, belong To the distemper'd foul?

• I fee the lawn of hideous dye; The towering elm nods mifery; • With groans the waters roll.

Ye gilded roofs, Palladian domes,
Ye vivid tints of Perfia's looms,

Ye were for misery made.'-
'Twas thus the Man of Sorrow spoke;
His wayward step then penfive took
Along th' unhallow'd fhade.

1

THE MAN OF PLEASURE.

BY THE SAME.

YES, to the Sages be it told,

'However great, or wife, or old,

Fair Pleasure's my pursuit:

• For

« ÀÌÀü°è¼Ó »