CIBBER'S IRONICAL LINES ON HIMSELF. (In reply to the assertion of his enemies that he had written praises of his own genius.) AH! bah! Sir Coll, is that thy way, Thine own dull praise to write? And wouldn't thou stand so sure a lay? Nature and Art in thee combine, Thy talents here excel, All shining Brass thou dost outshine Who sees thee in Iago's part, But thinks thee such a rogue? And is not glad with all his heart, To hang so sad a dog? When Bayes thou playest, Thyself thou art; No blockhead better suits the part, Than such a Coxcomb wit. In Wronghead too, thy Brains we see, As for the Laurel, Thou! Bring thy protected verse from Court, Here it will make much better sport And set the town in rage. There Beaux and Wits and Cits and Smarts, Where Hissing's not uncivil, Will show their hearts to thy deserts And send them to the Devil. But ah! in vain, 'gainst Thee we write, Thunder, 'tis said the Laurel spares; THE BLIND BOY. O SAY what is that thing call'd Light, What are the blessings of the Light, You talk of wondrous things you see, My day or night myself I make With heavy sighs I often hear Then let not what I cannot have FROM SHE WOU'D AND SHE WOU'D NOT. This business will never hold water. FROM WOMAN'S WIT. Possession is eleven points in the law. FROM LOVE'S LAST SHIFT. As good be out of the world as out of the fashion. We shall find no fiend in hell can match the fury of a disappointed woman-scorned! slighted! dismissed without a parting pang. FROM THE RIVAL FOOLS. Stolen sweets are best. FROM CÆSAR IN EGYPT. Is there a crime Beneath the roof of heaven, that stains the soul Assassination? How sudden are the blows of fate! what change, Oh! had he ever lov'd, he would have thought The worst of torture bliss, to silent parting. Virtue never is defac'd! unchanged By strokes of fate, she triumphs o'er distress, FROM RICHARD III. LIFE'S but a short chase, our game-content. Why now my golden dream is out— Nor can the means that got thee dim thy lustre; For, not men's love, fear pays thee adoration, And fame not more survives from good than evil deeds. Th' aspiring youth that fir'd th' Ephesian dome, Outlives in fame the pious fool that rais'd it. |