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Nor is he vet fo bold an undertaker,
To call men fools ; 'tis railing at their Maker.
Besides, he fears to split upon that shelf;
He's yourg enough to be a fop himself:
And, if his praile can bring you all a-bed,
He swears such hopeful youth no nation ever bred.

Your nurses, we presume, in such a case,
Your father chose, because he lik’d the face ;
And, often, they supply'd your mother's place.
The dry nurse was your mother's ancient maid,
Who knew fome former flip the ne'er betray'd.
Betwixt them both, for milk and sugar-candy,
You sucking bottles were well for’d with brandy.
Your father, to initiate your discourse,
Meant to have taught you first to swear and curse,
But was prevented by each careful nurse.
For, leaving dad and mam, as names too common,
They taught you certain parts of man and woman.
I pass your schools; for there when first you came,
You would be sure to learn the Latin name.
In colleges you scorn’d the art of thinking,
But learn'd all moods and figures of good drinking:
Thence come to town, you practise play, to know
The virtues of the high dice, and the low.
Each thinks himself a sharper most profound :
He cheats by pence; is cheated by the pound.
With these perfections, and what else he gleans,
The spark sets up for love behind our scenes;
Hot in pursuit of princesses and queens.
There, if they know their man, with cunning carriage,
Twenty to one but it concludes in marriage.
He hires some homely room, love's fruits to gather,
And gariet-high rebels against his father:
Du: he once dead
Brings her in triumph, with her portion, down,
A toilet, dresling-box, and half a crown.



Some marry first, and then they fall to scow'ring,
Which is, refining marriage into whoring.
Our women batten well on their good-nature;
All they can rap and rend for the dear creature.
But while abroad so liberal the dolt is,
Poor spouse at home as ragged as a colt is.
Last, fome there are, who take their firit degrees
Of lewdness in our middle galleries.
The doughty bullies enter bloody drunk,
Invade and grubble one another's punk :
They caterwaul, and make a dismal rout,
Call sons of whores, and itrike, but ne'er lug out ::
Thus while for paltry punk they roar and stickle,
They make it bawdier than a conventicle.


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Upon the UNION of the Two Companies in 1686.

INCE faction ebbs, and rogues grow out of fashion,

Their penny-fcribes take care t'inform the nation,
How well men thrive in this or that plantation :
How Pensylvania's air agrees with Quakers,
And Carolina's with Affociators :
Both e’en too good for madmen and for traitors.

i The wanton change of the publick taste, after the introducing operas at the Duke's theatre, began to fall as heavy upon the King's company, as their excellence in acting had before fallen on their competitors. Mr. Betterton who had a share in the management of the former, finding their expenfive struggles hurt both theatres, projected an union of the two companies; in this project he fucceeded, and from this union, Cibber says, sprung the best company of actors that ever appear'd upon the English flage.


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Truth is, our land with saints is so run o'er,
And every age produces such a store,
That now there's need of two New-Englands more.
What's this, you'll say, to us and our vocation ?
Only thus much, that we have left our ftation,
And made this theatre our new plantation.
The factious natives never could agree;
But aiming, as they call'd it, to be free,
Those play-house Whigs set up for property.
Some say, they no obedience paid of late;
But would new fears and jealousies create;
Till topsy-turvy they had turn'd the state.
Plain fense, without the talent of foretelling,
Might guess 'twould end in downright knocks and

For seldom comes there better of rebelling.
When men will, needlesly, their freedom barter
For lawless power, sometimes they catch a Tartar;
There's a damn'd word that rhimes to this, call's Charter.

But, fince the victory with us remains,
You shall be call'd to twelve in all our gains;
If you'll not think us faucy for our pains.
Old men shall have good old plays to delight them:
And you, fair ladies and gallants that slight them,
We'll treat with good new plays; if our new wits can

write them.

We'll take no blund'ring verse, no fuftian tumor,
No dribling love, from this or that presumer ;
No dull fat fool fhamm’d on the Itage for humour.



For, faith, some of them such vile stuff have made
As none but fools or fairies ever play'd ;
But 'twas, as fhopmen say, to force a trade.
We've given you Tragedies, all sense defying,
And singing men, in woful metre dying;
This 'tis when heavy lubbers will be flying.
All these disasters we well hope to weather ;
We bring you none of our cld lumber hither:
Whig poets and Whig theriffs may hang together.




EW ministers, when first they get in place,

Muff have a care to please; and that's our cafes
Some laws for public welfare we design,
If you, the power supreme, will please to join:
There are a sort of prattlers in the pit,
Who either have, or who pretend to wit:
These noisy firs so loud their parts rehearse,
That oft the play is filenc'd by the farce.
Let such be dumb, this penalty to fun,
Each to be thought my lady's eldest son.
But stay: methinks some vizard mask I see,
Caft out her lure from the mid gallery:
About her all the flutt'ring fparks are rang'd;
The noise continues tho' the scene is chang’d:
Now growling, sputt'ring, wauling, such a clutter,
'Tis just like puss defendant in a gutter:
Fine love no doubt; but ere two days are o’er ye,
The surgeon will be told a woful story.

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Let vizard mask her naked face expose,
On pain of being thought to want a nose:
Then for your lacqueys, and your train beside,
By whate’er name or title dignify’d,
They roar so loud, you'd think behind the stairs
Tom Dove, and all the brotherhood of bears:
They're grown a nuifance, beyond all disasters;
We've none fo

great but their unpaying masters.
We beg you, firs, to beg your men, that they
Would please to give you leave to hear the play.
Next in the play-house spare your precious lives;
Think, like good christians, on your bearns and wives:
Think on your souls; but by your lugging forth,
It seems you know how little they are worth.
If none of these will move the warlike mind,
Think on the helpless whore you leave behind.
We beg you, last, our scene-room to forbear,
And leave our goods and chattels to our care.
Alas! our women are but waihy toys,
And wholly taken up in ftage employs :
Poor willing tits they are : but yet I doubt
This double duty foon will wear them out.
Then you are watch'd besides with jealous care ;
What if my lady's page should find you there?
My lady knows ta tittle what there's in ye;
No passing your gilt Shilling for a guinea.
Thus, gentlemen, we have summ’d up in short
Our grievances, from country, town, and court :
Which humbly we submit to your good pleasure ;
But first vote money, then redress at leisure.


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