Or poffibly the critic clans

Had stepp'd in-to forbid the bans.
If on the town again you'd push'd it
Another audience might have crush'd it
That play, whose only merit lies
In imitation, scarce can rise.

You rail at Bick-with all my heart:
Think you I mean to take his part?
Think you I would one distich write
T'exculpate a vile s—————e?

No, on him let thy rage be hurl'd:
No-lash him naked thro' the world;
Expose in fatire's keenest lays
This fkulking, damn'd, detefted race.
Hang up to publick scorn each brute
Who dares Love's rites to prostitute :
But never tax, in profe or rhyme,
The guiltless with so black a crime.
Your hints to celebrated Garry
Seem useless and unneceffary.
Davy is

what?-a man of prudence:
Now mark what comment I obtrude-hence-
He would deferve a cane, or thicker staff,
To favour in futuro Bickerstaff:

For fhould a brat the town be' fibb'd on,
Father'd by Paul, compil'd by Dibden,
The fecret could he hope to fmother?
No; it would out fome time or other:
Then hey! what havock, rage and fury,
Would reign tumultuous at old Drury!
Down go the boxes! up the benches!-
The fcenes are fir'd !-how great the stench is

By

By h! each British fair would fly out,
And eager join the general riot:

Wives, widows, maids, turn warlike Knights,
Τ' avenge their broken Bill of Rights.
"Twere juft; for fure no back-door cub, like
Vile Bick, fhould profit by the public.

Doctor, I mean this rhyming letter
The last for which you'll be my debtor.
In friendship's name I therefore crave you
To make it up with injur'd Davy.

Your heart of envious spleen a mass call,
And own yourself a fland'rous rascal.
Speak truth for once, and fhame the Devil-
Shame, my old Friend? 'twould be uncivil!
Pho! he'll excuse you on that score;
You never made him blush before.

You think I'm Drury's ftage-director.
Upon my honour, mere conjecture!
I've put on Benedick's disguise,
To be conceal'd from critic fpies;

And Garrick knows no more than Bick,

Or Ken, the name of

BENEDICK.

TO BENE DICK.

THUS coftive bards themselves excuse,
And lay the fault upon the mufe;
A flattern, rambling up and down,
That, when they're dull, is out of town.
But, come, for once, we'll let it pass,

A witling is fometimes an afs.

Elfe

Elfe you again, friend Benedick,

Had, fure, not play'd yourself a trick;
Admitting fo much as admitted,

You're felf-condemned and felf-outwitted.

You own, for instance, that if Garry
(A name for rhime moft neceffary)
"Should in futuro favour Bickerstaff,

"He would deserve a cane or thicker ftaff."
Here, then let's iffue join; at laft,
And from the future judge the past.
What more of Bick doth Garry know
Now, than he did fome time ago?
Can he with any face pretend

Foul rumour had not mark'd his friend?

That he, kept only in the dark,

Ne'er faw, nor heard, of fuch a mark?
Or fay 'tis worse-I bid him anfwer
T'affail a foldier than a dancer?
Well has't been faid, on this occafion,
That, whatsoe'er a man's perfuafion,
He should carefs on no condition,
Him on whom lights fuch foul fufpicion;
Shy of the dearest friend in life,

As Cæfar of his flaunting wife;

"Tis not enough, preferv'd her honour,
Sufpicion must not light upon her!

Say has your friend, Sir Benedick,
Thus prudently behav'd with Bick?
Say, did he more than gently chide,
And ftrive his firft offence to hide!
Ev'n fealing up the lips of thofe
Who loudly now his shame disclose?

Should

Should fuch defaulters be respected
Till in grofs infamy detected?

'Tis thus, by being over nice

To check in time, men fofter vice.

Dan G―k knows, tho' not Doctiffimus,
G-

Repentè nemo eft turpiffimus.

Thus e'en to him vile Bick may owe

His having fall'n at laft fo low:

To Garry hence the lash is due ;
And that laid on severely too.

As to the reft of your epiftle,

My blackbird might an answer whistle.
He who can ftill, beneath a mask, call
Another villain, rogue, and rascal;
Set his own word againft his oath,
Must be a fool, or knave, or both.
It matters little what's his name :
G-k or Benedick's the fame.

BEATRICE.

FINI S.

A

LETTER

то

DAVID GARRICK, Efq.