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The Connoisseur takes out his glass, to pry
My Warehouse thus for Nature's walks supplies
To the Revived Comedy of EPICÆNE, or the SILENT
APPY the soaring Bard, who boldly woges,
And wins the favour of the Tragick Muse! He from the grave may call the mighty dead, In Buskins and Blank Verse the Stage to tread; On Pompeys and old Cæfars rise to fame, And join the Poet's to th' Historian's name. The Comick wit, alas! whose eagle eyes Pierce nature thro' and mock the time's disguife, Whose pencil living follies brings to view, Survives those follies, and his portraits too; Like star-gazers deplores his luckless fate, For last year's Almanacks are out of date. “ The Fox, the Alchymist, the Silent Woman, " Done by Ben Jonson, are out-done by no Man." Thus say, in rough, but panegyrick rhymes, The Wits and Criticks of our author's times.
But now we bring him forth with dread and doubt,
grows obsolete, And Drugger's humour scarcely keeps him sweet.
To-night if you would feast your eyes and
ears, Go back in fancy near two hundred years ; A play of Ruffs and Farthingales review, Old English fashions, such as then were new! Drive not Tom Otter's Bulls and Bears away; Worse Bulls and Bears disgrace the present day. On fair Collegiates let no Critick frown ! A Ladies' Club ftill holds its rank in town, If modern cooks, who nightly treat the Pit, Do not quite cloy and surfeit you with wit, From the old kitchen please to pick a bit! If once, with hearty stomachs to regale On old Ben Johnson's fare, tho''somewhat ftale, A meal on Bobadil you deign’d to make, Take EPICÆNE for his and Kitely's fake!
SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL,
Spoken by Mrs. ABINGTON in the Character of Lady Teazle.
Who was late so volatile and gay,
Like a trade-wind, must now blow all one way, Bend all my cares, my studies, and my vows, To one old rusty weather-cock-my spouse ; So wills our virtuous Bard! the pye-ball's Bayes Of crying Epilogues and laughing Plays.
Old bachelors, who marry smart young wives, Learn from our play to regulate your lives! Each bring his dear to town-all faults upon herLondon will prove the very source of honour; Plung'd fairly in, like a cold Bath, it serves, When principles relax, to brace the nerves. Such is my case--and yet I must deplore That the gay dream of Diffipation's o'er :
And say, ye fair, was ever lively wife, Born with a genius for the highest life, Like me, untimely blasted in her bloom, Like me, condemn’d to such a dismal doom? Save money-when I just knew how to waste it! Leave London—just as I began to taste it ! Must I then watch the early-crowing cock? The melancholy ticking of a clock? In the lone rustick hall for ever pounded, With dogs, cats, rats, and squalling brats surrounded ; With humble curates can I now retire, (While good Sir Peter boożes with the 'Squire) And at Backgammon mortify my soul, That pants for Lu, or Autters at a Vole? Seven's the Main !_dear Sound !--that must expire, Loft at Hot-Cockles round a Christmas fire ! The transient hour of Fashion too soon spent, “ Farewell the tranquil mind, farewell content! “ Farewell the plumed head, the cushion'd Tête, “ That takes the cushion from its proper seat ! « The spirit-ftirring drum !-card-drums I mean“ Spadille, Odd-trick, Pam, Basto, King and Queen! Vol. III,