Each judge was true and fteady to his truft,
As Mansfield wife, and as old Fofter juft.
In the first feat, in robe of various dyes,
A noble wildness flashing from his eyes,
Sat Shakespeare-in one hand a wand he bore,
For mighty wonders fam'd in days of yore;
The other held a globe, which to his will
Obedient turn'd, and own'd the mafter's skill:
Things of the nobleft kind his genius drew,
And look'd through Nature at a fingle view;
A loose he gave to his unbounded foul,
And taught new lands to rise, new feas to roll;
Call'd into being fcenes unknown before,
And paffing Nature's bounds, was fomething more.
Next Johnson fat, in ancient learning train'd,
His rigid judgment fancy's flights restrain'd,
Correctly prun'd each wild luxuriant thought,
Mark'd out her course, nor spar'd a glòrious fault :
The book of Man he read with nicest art,
And ranfack'd all the fecrets of the heart;
Exerted penetration's utmost force,
And trac'd each paffion to it's proper fource;
Then, ftrongly mark'd, in livelieft colours drew,
And brought each foible forth to publick view:
The coxcomb felt a lash in ev'ry word,
And fools hung out, their brother fools deterr'd:
His comick humour kept the world in awe,
And Laughter frighten'd Folly more than Law..
But, hark!-the trumpet founds, the crowd gives way, 285 And the proceffion comes in just array.
Now should I, in fome fweet poetick line,
Offer up incense at Apollo's fhrine,
Invoke the Mufe to quit her calm abode,
And waken mem'ry with a fleeping ode:
For how fhould mortal man, in mortal verse,
Their titles, merits, or their names, rehearse?
But give, kind Dulnefs! memory and rhyme,
We'll put off Genius till another time.
First, Order came with folemn ftep and flow,
In meafur'd time his feet were taught to go:
Behind, from time to time, he caft his eye;
Left this should quit his place, that step awry :
Appearances to fave, his only care;
In him his parents faw themselves renew'd;
So things feem right, no matter what they are ~
Begotten by Sir Critick on Saint Prude.
Then come Drum, Trumpet, Hautboy, Fiddle, Flute pla
Next Snuffer, Sweeper, Shifter, Soldier, Mute :
Legions of angels all in white advance ;
Furies all fire, come forward in a dance;
Pantomime figures then are brought to view,
Fools hand in hand with fools, go two by two.
Next came the Treasurer of either House,
One with full purse, t'other with not a fous:
Behind a group of figures awe create,
Set off with all th' impertinence of state;
By lace and feather confecrate to fame,
Expletive kings and queens without a name,
Here Havard, all ferene, in the fame strains,
Loves, hates, and rages, triumphs, and complains;
His eafy vacant face proclaim'd a heart
Which could not feel emotions, nor impart.
With him came mighty Davies--on my life,
That Davies hath a very pretty wife!
Statesman all over in plots famous grown!
He mouths a sentence, as curs mouth a bone.
Next Holland came-with truly tragick stalk,
He
creeps, he flies a hero fhould not walk.
As if with Heav'n he warr'd, his eager eyes
Planted their batteries against the skies;
Attitude, action, air, pause, start, figh, groan,
He borrow'd, and made ufe of as his own.
By Fortune thrown on any other stage,
He might perhaps have pleas'd an eafy age;
But now appears a copy, and no more,
Of fomething better we have feen before.
The actor who would build a folid fame,
Muft imitation's fervile arts disclaim;
A& from himself, on his own bottom stand:
I hate e'en Garrick, thus, at fecond-hand.
Behind came King-bred up in modest lore,
Bashful and young, he fought Hibernia's fhore;
Hibernia! fam'd, 'bove ev'ry other grace,
For matchless intrepidity of face.
From her his features caught the gen'rous flame,
And bid defiance to all fenfe of shame:
Tutor❜d by her all rivals to surpass,
Mongft Drury's fons he comes, and shines in Brass.
Lo, Yates!-without the least fineffe of art,
He gets applaufe-I wish he'd get his part,
When hot impatience is in full career,
How vilely Hark'e! Hark'e!' grates the ear;
When active fancy from the brain is fent,
And ftands on tip-toe for fome wish'd event,
I hate those careless blunders, which recal
Sufpended fenfe, and prove it fiction all.
In characters of low and vulgar mould,
Where Nature's coarseft features we behold,
Where, deftitute of ev'ry decent grace,
Unmanner'd jefts are blurted in your face;
There Yates, with justice strict, attention draws,
Acts truly from himself, and gains applause;
But when to please himself, or charm his wife,
He aims at something in politer life,
When, blindly thwarting Nature's ftubborn plan,
He treads the ftage by way of gentleman,
The clown, who no one touch of breeding knows,
Looks like Tom Errand drefs'd in Clincher's cloaths.
Fond of his dress, fond of his perfon grown,
Laugh'd at by all, and to himself unknown,
From fide to fide he ftruts, he fmiles, he prates,
And feems to wonder what's become of Yates.
Woodward, endu'd with various tricks of face,
Great mafter in the fcience of grimace,
From Ireland ventures, fav'rite of the town,
Lur'd by the pleafing profpect of renown;
A fpeaking Harlequin, made up of whim,
He twists, he twines, he tortures ev'ry limb;
Plays to the eye with a mere monkey's art,
And leaves to sense the conquest of the heart.
We laugh, indeed; but, on reflection's birth,
We wonder at ourselves, and curfe our mirth.
His walk of parts he fatally misplac'd,
And inclination fondly took for taste;
Hence hath the town fo often feen display'd,
Beau in burlesque, high life in masquerade.
But when bold wits, not fuch as patch up plays
Cold and correct, in these infipid days,
Some comick character, ftrong featur'd, urge
To probability's extremeft verge,
Where modeft judgment her decree fufpends,
And for a time nor cenfures nor commends;
Where criticks can't determine on the spot,
Whether it is in nature found or not;
There Woodward fafely fhall his pow'rs exert,
Nor fail of favour where he fhews defert;
Hence he in Bobadil fuch praises bore,"
Such worthy praises, Kitely scarce had more.
By turns transform'd into all kind of shapes,
Conftant to none, Foote laughs, cries, ftruts, and fcrapes:
Now in the centre, now in van or rear,
The Proteus fhifts, bawd, parfon, auctioneer.
His ftrokes of humour, and his bursts of sport,
Are all contain'd in this one word, DISTORT...
Doth a man ftutter, look afquint, or halt,
Mimicks draw humour out of Nature's fault;
With perfonal defects their mirth adorn,
And hang misfortunes out to publick scorn.
E'en I, whom Nature caft in hideous mould,
Whom having made, fhe trembled to behold,
Beneath the load of mimickry may groan,
And find that Nature's errors are my own.
Shadows behind of Foote and Woodward came,
Wilkinson this, Obrien was that name.
Strange to relate, but wonderfully true,
That even fhadows have their fhadows too!
With not a fingle comick pow'r endu'd,
The first a mere mere mimick's mimick stood;
The laft, by Nature form'd to please, who shows,
In Johnson's Stephen, which way genius grows,
Self quite put off, affects with too much art
To put on Woodward in each mangled part;
Adopts his fhrug, his wink, his ftare; nay, more,
His voice, and croaks; for Woodward croak'd before.
When a dull copier fimple grace neglects,
When, to enforce fome very tender part,
The right-hand fleeps by instinct on the heart,
His foul, of ev'ry other thought bereft,
Is anxious only where to place the left: 1
He fobs and pants, to foothe his weeping spouse;
To foothe his weeping mother, turns and bows ́:
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