Chapter XIII: Epilogue

The play is at an end, but where's the plot?
That circumstance our poet Bayes forgot.
And we can boast, tho' 'tis a plotting age,
No place is freer from it than the stage.
The ancients plotted, tho', and strove to please
With sense that might be understood with ease;
They every scene with so much wit did store,
That who brought any in, went out with more.
But this new way of wit does so surprise,
Men lose their wits in wond'ring where it lies.
If it be true, that monstrous births presage
The following mischiefs that afflict the age,
And sad disasters to the state proclaim;
Plays without head or tail may do the same.
Wherefore for ours, and for the kingdom's peace,
May this prodigious way of writing cease.
Let's have at least, once in our lives, a time
When we may hear some reason, not all rhyme.
We have this ten years felt its influence;
Pray let this prove a year of prose and sense.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: The usual language of the Honourable Edward Howard, Esq., at the rehearsal of his plays.]

[Footnote 2:

He who writ this, not without pain and thought,
From French and English theatres has brought
Th' exactest rules, by which a play is wrought.
The unity of action, place, and time;
The scenes unbroken; and a mingled chime,
Of Johnson's humour, with Corneille's rhyme.
_Prologue to the Maiden Queen._
]

[Footnote 3: See the two prologues to the "Maiden Queen."]

[Footnote 4: There were printed papers given the audience before the acting the "Indian Emperor;" telling them that it was the sequel of the "Indian Queen," part of which play was written by Mr. Bayes, &c.]

[Footnote 5: "Persons, egad, I vow to Gad, and all that," is the constant style of Failer in the "Wild Gallant:" for which, take this short speech, instead of many:

"_Failer._ Really, madam, I look upon you, as a person of such worth, and all that, that I vow to Gad, I honour you of all persons in the world; and tho' I am a person that am inconsiderable in the world, and all that, madam, yet for a person of your worth and excellency I would," &c.--"Wild Gallant," p. 8.]

[Footnote 6: He contracted with the King's company of actors, in the year 1668, for a whole share, to write them four plays a year.]

[Footnote 7: In ridicule of this:

"So two kind turtles, when a storm is nigh,
Look up, and see it gathering in the sky;
Each calls his mate to shelter in the groves,
Leaving, in murmurs, their unfinish'd loves;
Perch'd on some dropping branch, they sit alone,
And coo, and hearken to each other's moan."
"Conquest of Granada," Part ii. p. 48.
]

[Footnote 8: "I am the evening dark as night."--"Slighted Maid," p. 49.]

[Footnote 9:

"Let the men 'ware the ditches.
Maids look to their breeches,
We'll scratch them with briars and thistles."--"Slighted Maid," p. 49.
]

[Footnote 10: Abraham Ivory had formerly been a considerable actor of women's parts; but afterwards stupefied himself so far, with drinking strong waters, that, before the first acting of this farce, he was fit for nothing but to go of errands; for which, and mere charity, the company allowed him a weekly salary.]

[Footnote 11:

_Drake, Sen._ "Draw up our men;
And in low whispers give our orders out."
"Play House to be Let," p. 100.

See the "Amorous Prince," pp. 20, 22, 39, 69, where all the chief commands, and directions, are given in whispers.]

[Footnote 12: Mr. William Wintershull was a most excellent, judicious actor; and the best instructor of others; he died in July, 1679.]

[Footnote 13: He was a great taker of snuff; and made most of it himself.]

[Footnote 14: "The Lost Lady," by Sir Robert Stapleton.]

[Footnote 15: Compare this with Prince Leonidas in "Marriage A-la-mode."]

[Footnote 16: In imitation of this passage:--

"As some fair tulip, by a storm opprest,
Shrinks up, and folds its silken arms to rest;
And, bending to the blast, all pale, and dead,
Hears from within the wind sing round its head:
So shrouded up your beauty disappears;
Unveil, my love, and lay aside your fears:
The storm, that caus'd your fright, is past and gone."

"Conquest of Granada," Part i. p. 55.]

[Footnote 17: Such easy turns of state are frequent in our modern plays; where we see princes dethroned, and governments changed, by very feeble means, and on slight occasions: particularly in "Marriage A-la-mode;" a play writ since the first publication of this farce. Where (to pass by the dulness of the state-part, the obscurity of the comic, the near resemblance Leonidas bears to our Prince Prettyman, being sometimes a king's son, sometimes a shepherd's; and not to question how Amalthea comes to be a princess, her brother, the king's great favourite, being but a lord) it is worth our while to observe, how easily the fierce and jealous usurper is deposed, and the right heir placed on the throne; and it is thus related by the said imaginary princess:--

"_Amalth._ Oh, gentlemen! if you have loyalty,
Or courage, show it now. Leonidas,
Broke on a sudden from his guards, and snatching
A sword from one, his back against the scaffold,
Bravely defends himself; and owns aloud
He is our long lost king, found for this moment;
But, if your valours help not, lost for ever.
Two of his guards mov'd by the sense of virtue,
Are turn'd for him; and there they stand at bay,
Against a host of foes."--"Marriage A-la-mode," p. 61.

This shows Mr. Bayes to be a man of constancy, and firm to his resolution, and not to be laughed out of his own method; agreeable to what he says in the next act: "As long as I know my things are good, what care I what they say?"]

[Footnote 18:

"I know not what to say, or what to think!
I know not when I sleep, or when I wake!"--
"Love and Friendship," p. 46.

"My doubts and fears my reason do dismay:
I know not what to do, or what to say."--"Pandora," p. 46.
]

[Footnote 19: Prince Prettyman and Tom Thimble; Failer, and Bibber his tailor, in the "Wild Gallant," pp. 5, 6.]

[Footnote 20: "Nay, if that be all, there's no such haste. The courtiers are not so forward to pay their debts."--"Wild Gallant," p. 9.]

[Footnote 21:

"Take a little Bibber,
And throw him in the river;
And if he will trust never,
Then there let him lie ever.

_Bibber._ Then say I,
Take a little Failer,
And throw him to the jailer,
And there let him lie
Till he has paid his tailor."--"Wild Gallant," p. 12.
]

[Footnote 22: A great word with Mr. Edward Howard.]

[Footnote 23: In imitation of this:--

"On seas, and in battles, through bullets and fire,
The danger is less, than in hopeless desire;
My death's wound you gave me, tho' far off I bear
My fall from your sight, not to cost you a tear:
But if the kind flood on a wave would convey,
And under your window my body would lay;
When the wound on my breast you happen to see,
You'll say with a sigh, it was given by me."

This is the latter part of a song, made by Mr. Bayes on the death of Captain Digby, son of George, Earl of Bristol, who was a passionate admirer of the Duchess Dowager of Richmond, called by the author Armida. He lost his life in a sea-fight against the Dutch, the 28th of May, 1672.]

[Footnote 24: Mr. Edward Howard's words.]

[Footnote 25: See the two kings in "The Conquest of Granada."]

[Footnote 26: "_Albert._ Curtius. I've something to deliver to your ear.

_Cur._ Anything from Alberto is welcome."--"Amorous Prince," p. 39.]

[Footnote 27: See the Prince in "Marriage A-la-mode."]

[Footnote 28: "Let my horses be brought ready to the door, for I'll go out of town this evening.

Into the country I'll with speed,
With hounds and hawks my fancy feed, &c.
Now I'll away, a country life
Shall be my mistress, and my wife."

"English Monsieur," pp. 36, 38, 39.
]

[Footnote 29: "And what's this maid's name?"--"English Monsieur," p. 40.]

[Footnote 30: "I bring the morning pictur'd in a cloud."--"Siege of Rhodes," part i. p. 10.]

[Footnote 31: "Mr. Comely in love."--"English Monsieur," p. 49.]

[Footnote 32: Sir William D'Avenant's play of "Love and Honour."]

[Footnote 33: "But honours says not so."--"Siege of Rhodes," part i. p. 19.]

[Footnote 34: "Love in a Nunnery," p. 34.]

[Footnote 35: Col. Henry Howard, son of Thomas, Earl of Berkshire, made a play called the "United Kingdoms," which began with a funeral; and had also two kings in it. This gave the duke a just occasion to set up two kings in Brentford, as it is generally believed; tho' others are of opinion, that his grace had our two brothers, King Charles and the Duke of York, in his thoughts. It was acted at the Cockpit, in Drury Lane, soon after the Restoration; but miscarrying on the stage, the author had the modesty not to print it; and therefore, the reader cannot reasonably expect any particular passages of it. Others say, that they are Boabdelin and Abdalla, the two contending kings of Granada; and Mr. Dryden has, in most of his serious plays, two contending kings of the same place.]

[Footnote 36: "Conquest of Granada," in two parts.]

[Footnote 37:

"On seas I bore thee, and on seas I died,
I died: and for a winding-sheet, a wave
I had; and all the ocean for my grave."

"Conquest of Granada," part ii. p. 113.
]

[Footnote 38: Almanzor in the "Conquest of Granada."]

[Footnote 39: In ridicule of this:--

"My earthly part,
Which is my tyrant's right, death will remove;
I'll come all soul and spirit to your love.
With silent steps I'll follow you all day;
Or else before you in the sunbeams play.
I'll lead you hence to melancholy groves,
And there repeat the scenes of our past loves;
At night, I will within your curtains peep,
With empty arms embrace you, while you sleep.
In gentle dreams I often will be by,
And sweep along before your closing eye.
All dangers from your bed I will remove;
But guard it most from any future love.
And when at last in pity you will die,
I'll watch your birth of immortality:
Then, turtle like, I'll to my mate repair,
And teach you your first flight in open air."--"Tyrannic Love," p. 25.
]

[Footnote 40: See the scene in the "Villain." Where the host furnishes his guests with a collation out of his clothes; a capon from his helmet, a tansey out of the lining of his cap, cream out of his scabbard, &c.]

[Footnote 41: In ridicule of this:--

"_Almah._ Who dares to interrupt my private walk?

_Alman._ He who dares love, and for that love must die;
And, knowing this, dares yet love on, am I."

"Granada," part ii. pp. 114, 115.
]

[Footnote 42: It was at first, "dares die."--_Ibid._]

[Footnote 43:

"_Alman._ I would not now, if thou wouldst beg me, stay;
But I will take my Almahide away."--"Conquest of Granada," p. 32.
]

[Footnote 44: In ridicule of this:--

"_Alman._ Thou dar'st not marry her, while I'm in sight;
With a bent brow, thy priest and thee I'll fright:
And, in that scene, which all thy hopes and wishes should content,
The thoughts of me shall make thee impotent."--_Ibid._ p. 5.
]

[Footnote 45:

"Spite of myself, I'll stay, fight, love, despair;
And all this I can do, because I dare."--"Tyrannic Love," part ii.
p. 89.
]

[Footnote 46: In ridicule of this:--

"_Max._ Thou liest. There's not a god inhabits there,
But, for this Christian, would all heaven forswear:
Even Jove would try new shapes her love to win,
And in new birds, and unknown beasts would sin;
At least, if Jove could love like Maximin."--

"Tyrannic Love," p. 17.]

[Footnote 47:

"Some god now, if he dare relate what pass'd;
Say, but he's dead, that god shall mortal be."--_Ibid._ p. 7.

"Provoke my rage no farther, lest I be
Reveng'd at once upon the gods, and thee."--_Ibid._ p. 8.

"What had the gods to do with me, or mine."--_Ibid._ p. 57.
]

[Footnote 48:

"Poets, like lovers, should be bold, and dare;
They spoil their business with an over-care:
And he, who servilely creeps after sense,
Is safe; but ne'er can reach to excellence."--

"Prologue to Tyrannic Love."
]

[Footnote 49:

"What various noises do my ears invade;
And have a concert of confusion made?"--"Siege of Rhodes," p. 4.
]

[Footnote 50: In ridicule of this:--

"_Naker._ Hark, my Damilcar, we are call'd below.

_Dam._ Let us go, let us go:
Go to relieve the care,
Of longing lovers in despair.

_Naker._ Merry, merry, merry, we sail from the east,
Half tippled at a rainbow feast.

_Dam._ In the bright moonshine, while winds whistle loud,
Tivy, tivy, tivy, we mount and we fly,
All racking along in a downy white cloud;
And lest our leap from the sky should prove too far,
We slide on the back of a new-falling star.

_Naker._ And drop from above,
In a jelly of love.

_Dam._ But now the sun's down, and the element's red,
The spirits of fire against us make head.

_Naker._ They muster, they muster, like gnats in the air:
Alas! I must leave thee, my fair;
And to my light-horsemen repair.

_Dam._ O stay! for you need not to fear 'em to-night;
The wind is for us, and blows full in their sight:
And o'er the wide ocean we fight.
Like leaves in the autumn, our foes will fall down,
And hiss in the water....

_Both._ And hiss in the water, and drown.

_Naker._ But their men lie securely intrench'd in a cloud,
And a trumpeter-hornet to battle sounds loud.

_Dam._ Now mortals that spy
How we tilt in the sky,
With wonder will gaze;
And fear such events as will ne'er come to pass.

_Naker._ Stay you to perform what the man will have done.

_Dam._ Then call me again when the battle is won.

_Both._ So ready and quick is a spirit of air,
To pity the lover, and succour the fair,
That silent and swift, that little soft god,
Is here with a wish, and is gone with a nod."--

"Tyrannic Love," pp. 24, 25.
]

[Footnote 51: See "Tyrannic Love," act iv. sc. 1.]

[Footnote 52: In ridicule of this:--

"What new misfortunes do these cries presage?

_1st Mess._ Haste all you can, their fury to assuage:
You are not safe from their rebellious rage.

_2nd Mess._ This minute, if you grant not their desire,
They'll seize your person, and your palace fire."--
"Granada," part ii. p. 71.
]

[Footnote 53: "Aglaura," and the "Vestal Virgin," are so contrived by a little alteration towards the latter end of them, that they have been acted both ways, either as tragedies or comedies.]

[Footnote 54: There needs nothing more to explain the meaning of this battle, than the perusal of the first part of the "Siege of Rhodes," which was performed in recitative music, by seven persons only: and the passage out of the "Playhouse to be Let."]

[Footnote 55: The "Siege of Rhodes" begins thus:--

"_Admiral._ Arm, arm, Valerius, arm."
]

[Footnote 56: The third entry thus:--

"_Solym._ Pyrrhus, draw down our army wide;
Then, from the gross, two strong reserves divide,
And spread the wings,
As if we were to fight,
In the lost Rhodians' sight,
With all the western kings.
Each with Janizaries line;
The right and left to Haly's sons assign;
The gross, to Zangiban;
The main artillery
To Mustapha shall be:
Bring thou the rear, we lead the van."
]

[Footnote 57:

"More pikes! more pikes! to reinforce
That squadron, and repulse the horse."--"Playhouse to be Let," p. 72.
]

[Footnote 58:

"Point all the cannon, and play fast;
Their fury is too hot to last.
That rampire shakes; they fly into the town.

_Pyr._ March up with those reserves to that redoubt;
Faint slaves, the Janizaries reel!
They bend! they bend! and seem to feel
The terrors of a rout.

_Must._ Old Zanger halts, and reinforcement lacks.

_Pyr._ March on!

_Must._ Advance those pikes, and charge their backs."--"Siege of
Rhodes."
]

[Footnote 59: In ridicule of this:--

"_Phoeb._ Who calls the world's great light!

_Aur._ Aurora, that abhors the night.

_Phoeb._ Why does Aurora, from her cloud,
To drowsy Phoebus cry so loud?"--
"Slighted Maid," p. 8.
]

[Footnote 60: "The burning mount Vesuvio."--"Slighted Maid," p. 81.]

[Footnote 61: "Drink, drink wine, Lippara wine."--_Ibid._]

[Footnote 62: Valeria, daughter to Maximin, having killed herself for the love of Porphyrius; when she was to be carried off by the bearers, strikes one of them a box on the ear, and speaks to him thus:--

"Hold, are you mad, confounded dog?
I am to rise, and speak the epilogue."--"Tyrannic Love."
]

THE SPLENDID SHILLING.

"Sing, heavenly Muse,
Things unattempted yet, in prose or rhyme,
A shilling, breeches, and chimeras dire."

Happy the man, who void of cares and strife,
In silken, or in leathern purse retains
A Splendid Shilling. He nor hears with pain
New oysters cry'd, nor sighs for cheerful ale;
But with his friends when nightly mists arise,
To Juniper's Magpye, or Town Hall[63] repairs:
Where, mindful of the nymph, whose wanton eye
Transfix'd his soul, and kindled amorous flames,
Cloe, or Philips, he each circling glass
Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love.
Meanwhile, he smokes, and laughs at merry tale,
Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint.
But I, whom griping penury surrounds,
And hunger, sure attendant upon want,
With scanty offals, and small acid tiff,
Wretched repast! my meagre corps sustain:
Then solitary walk, or doze at home
In garret vile, and with a warming puff
Regale chill'd fingers; or from tube as black
As winter-chimney, or well polish'd jet,
Exhale Mundungus, ill perfuming scent:
Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size
Smokes Cambro-Briton, vers'd in pedigree,
Sprung from Cadwalador and Arthur, kings
Full famous in romantic tale, when he
O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff,
Upon a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese,
High over-shadowing rides, with a design
To vend his wares, or at th' Arvonian mart,
Or Maridunum, or the ancient town
Ycleped Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream
Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil!
Whence flows nectareous wine, that well may vie
With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern.
Thus, while my joyless minutes tedious flow
With looks demure, and silent pace, a Dun,
Horrible monster! hated by gods and men,
To my aërial citadel ascends.
With vocal heel, thrice thund'ring at my gate,
With hideous accent thrice he calls; I know
The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound.
What should I do? or whither turn? Amaz'd,
Confounded to the dark recess I fly
Of woodhole; straight my bristling hairs erect
Thro' sudden fear; a chilly sweat bedews
My shudd'ring limbs, and, wonderful to tell!
My tongue forgets her faculty of speech;
So horrible he seems! his faded brow
Entrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard,
And spreading band, admir'd by modern saints,
Disastrous acts forebode. In his right hand
Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves,
With characters and figures dire inscrib'd,
Grievous to mortal eyes; ye gods avert
Such plagues from righteous men! Behind him stalks
Another monster not unlike himself,
Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar call'd
A Catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods
With force incredible and magic charms
First have endu'd: if he his ample palm
Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay
Of debtor, straight his body, to the touch
Obsequious as whilom knights were wont,
To some enchanted castle is convey'd,
Where gates impregnable, and coercive chains
In durance strict detain him till, in form
Of money, Pallas sets the captive free.
Beware, ye debtors, when ye walk, beware!
Be circumspect; oft with insidious ken
This caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft
Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave,
Prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch
With his unhallow'd touch. So, poets sing,
Grimalkin to domestic vermin sworn
An everlasting foe, with watchful eye
Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap,
Protending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice
Sure ruin. So her disembowell'd web
Arachne in a hall, or kitchen, spreads,
Obvious to vagrant flies: she secret stands
Within her woven cell; the humming prey,
Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils
Inextricable, nor will aught avail
Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue;
The wasp insidious, and the buzzing drone,
And butterfly proud of expanded wings
Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares,
Useless resistance make: with eager strides,
She tow'ring flies to her expected spoils;
Then, with envenom'd jaws the vital blood
Drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave
Their bulky carcasses triumphant drags.
So pass my days. But when nocturnal shades
This world envelop, and th' inclement air
Persuades men to repel benumbing frosts
With pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of wood;
Me, lonely sitting, nor the glimmering light
Of make-weight candle, nor the joyous talk
Of loving friend delights; distress'd, forlorn,
Amidst the horrors of the tedious night,
Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts
My anxious mind, or sometimes mournful verse
Indite, and sing of groves and myrtle shades,
Or desp'rate lady near a purling stream,
Or lover pendant on a willow-tree.
Meanwhile I labour with eternal drought,
And restless wish, and rave, my parchéd throat
Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose:
But if a slumber haply does invade
My weary limbs, my fancy's still awake,
Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dream,
Tipples imaginary pots of ale,
In vain; awake I find the settled thirst
Still gnawing, and the pleasant phantom curse.
Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarr'd,
Nor taste the fruits that the sun's genial rays
Mature, John Apple, nor the downy Peach,
Nor Walnut in rough-furrow'd coat secure,
Nor Medlar fruit delicious in decay:
Afflictions great! yet greater still remains.
My Galligaskins that have long withstood
The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts,
By time subdu'd, what will not time subdue!
An horrid chasm disclos'd with orifice
Wide, discontinuous; at which the winds
Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force
Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves,
Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasts,
Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship,
Long sail'd secure, or thro' th' Ægean deep,
Or the Ionian, till cruising near
The Lilybean shore, with hideous crush
On Scylla, or Charybdis, dang'rous rocks!
She strikes rebounding, whence the shatter'd oak,
So fierce a shock unable to withstand,
Admits the sea; in at the gaping side
The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage,
Resistless, overwhelming; horrors seize
The mariners, death in their eyes appears,
They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear, they pray;
Vain efforts! still the batt'ring waves rush in,
Implacable, till delug'd by the foam,
The ship sinks found'ring in the vast abyss.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 63: Two noted alehouses in Oxford, 1700.]

TWO "ODES."

BY AMBROSE PHILIPS, ESQ.,

_From among those which suggested the next following Burlesque._

TO MISS MARGARET PULTENEY, DAUGHTER OF DANIEL PULTENEY, ESQ., IN THE NURSERY.

_April_ 27, 1727.

Dimply damsel, sweetly smiling,
All caressing, none beguiling,
Bud of beauty, fairly blowing,
Every charm to nature owing,
This and that new thing admiring,
Much of this and that enquiring,
Knowledge by degrees attaining,
Day by day some virtue gaining,
Ten years hence, when I leave chiming,
Beardless poets, fondly rhyming
(Fescu'd now, perhaps, in spelling),
On thy riper beauties dwelling,
Shall accuse each killing feature
Of the cruel, charming creature,
Whom I knew complying, willing,
Tender, and averse to killing.

TO MISS CHARLOTTE PULTENEY, IN HER MOTHER'S ARMS.

_May_ 1, 1724.

Timely blossom, infant fair,
Fondling of a happy pair,
Every morn, and every night,
Their solicitous delight,
Sleeping, waking, still at ease,
Pleasing, without skill to please,
Little gossip, blithe and hale,
Tatling many a broken tale,
Singing many a tuneless song,
Lavish of a heedless tongue,
Simple maiden, void of art,
Babbling out the very heart,
Yet abandon'd to thy will,
Yet imagining no ill,
Yet too innocent to blush,
Like the linlet in the bush,
To the mother-linnet's note
Moduling her slender throat,
Chirping forth thy petty joys,
Wanton in the change of toys,
Like the linnet green, in May,
Flitting to each bloomy spray,
Wearied then, and glad of rest,
Like the linlet in the nest.
This thy present happy lot,
This, in time, will be forgot.
Other pleasures, other cares,
Ever-busy time prepares;
And thou shalt in thy daughter see,
This picture, once, resembled thee.

NAMBY PAMBY:

OR, A PANEGYRIC ON THE NEW VERSIFICATION ADDRESSED TO A---- P----, ESQ.

"Nauty Pauty Jack-a-dandy
Stole a piece of sugar-candy
From the Grocer's shoppy-shop,
And away did hoppy-hop."

All ye poets of the age,
All ye witlings of the stage,
Learn your jingles to reform:
Crop your numbers, and conform:
Let your little verses flow
Gently, sweetly, row by row.
Let the verse the subject fit,
Little subject, little wit.
Namby Pamby is your guide,
Albion's joy, Hibernia's pride.
Namby Pamby Pilli-pis,
Rhimy pim'd on missy-mis;
Tartaretta Tartaree
From the navel to the knee;
That her father's gracy-grace
Might give him a placy-place.
He no longer writes of mammy
Andromache and her lammy,
Hanging panging at the breast
Of a matron most distrest.
Now the venal poet sings
Baby clouts, and baby things,
Baby dolls and baby houses,
Little misses, little spouses;
Little playthings, little toys,
Little girls, and little boys.
As an actor does his part,
So the nurses get by heart
Namby Pamby's little rhymes,
Little jingle, little chimes.
Namby Pamby ne'er will die
While the nurse sings lullaby.
Namby Pamby's doubly mild,
Once a man, and twice a child;
To his hanging-sleeves restor'd,
Now he foots it like a lord;
Now he pumps his little wits,
All by little tiny bits.
Now methinks I hear him say,
Boys and girls, come out to play,
Moon does shine as bright as day.
Now my Namby Pamby's found
Sitting on the Friar's ground,
Picking silver, picking gold,
Namby Pamby's never old.
Bally-cally they begin,
Namby Pamby still keeps in.
Namby Pamby is no clown,
London Bridge is broken down:
Now he courts the gay ladee,
Dancing o'er the Lady-lee:
Now he sings of lick-spit liar
Burning in the brimstone fire;
Liar, liar, lick-spit, lick,
Turn about the candle-stick.
Now he sings of Jacky Horner
Sitting in the chimney corner,
Eating of a Christmas pie,
Putting in his thumb, oh, fie!
Putting in, oh, fie! his thumb,
Pulling out, oh, strange! a plum.
Now he acts the Grenadier,
Calling for a pot of beer.
Where's his money? he's forgot,
Get him gone, a drunken sot.
Now on cock-horse does he ride;
And anon on timber stride,
See-and-saw and Sacch'ry down,
London is a gallant town.
Now he gathers riches in
Thicker, faster, pin by pin.
Pins apiece to see his show,
Boys and girls flock row by row;
From their clothes the pins they take,
Risk a whipping for his sake;
From their frocks the pins they pull,
To fill Namby's cushion full.
So much wit at such an age,
Does a genius great presage.
Second childhood gone and past,
Should he prove a man at last,
What must second manhood be,
In a child so bright as he!
Guard him, ye poetic powers,
Watch his minutes, watch his hours:
Let your tuneful Nine inspire him,
Let poetic fury fire him:
Let the poets one and all
To his genius victims fall.

A WORD UPON PUDDING.

_From_ "A LEARNED DISSERTATION UPON DUMPLING," _to which the
preceding Poem was appended_.

What is a tart, a pie, or a pasty, but meat or fruit enclos'd in a wall or covering of pudding? What is a cake, but a bak'd pudding; or a Christmas pie, but a minc'd-meat pudding? As for cheese-cakes, custards, tansies, &c., they are manifest puddings, and all of Sir John's own contrivance; custard being as old, if not older, than Magna Charta. In short, pudding is of the greatest dignity and antiquity; bread itself, which is the very staff of life, being, properly speaking, a bak'd wheat pudding.

To the satchel, which is the pudding-bag of ingenuity, we are indebted for the greatest men in church and state. All arts and sciences owe their original to pudding or dumpling. What is a bagpipe, the mother of all music, but a pudding of harmony? Or what is music itself, but a palatable cookery of sounds? To little puddings or bladders of colours we owe all the choice originals of the greatest painters. And indeed, what is painting, but a well-spread pudding, or cookery of colours?

The head of man is like a pudding. And whence have all rhymes, poems, plots, and inventions sprang, but from that same pudding? What is poetry, but a pudding of words? The physicians, tho' they cry out so much against cooks and cookery, yet are but cooks themselves; with this difference only, the cooks' pudding lengthens life, the physicians' shortens it. So that we live and die by pudding. For what is a clyster, but a bag-pudding? a pill, but a dumpling? or a bolus, but a tansy, tho' not altogether so toothsome? In a word: physic is only a puddingizing or cookery of drugs.

The law is but a
cookery of quibbles and contentions,[64] * * *
* * * * * * * * *
* * * * is but a pudding of * * *
* * * * * * * * *
* * * Some swallow everything whole and unmix'd;

so that it may rather be call'd a heap than a pudding. Others are so squeamish, the greatest mastership in cookery is requir'd to make the pudding palatable. The suet which others gape and swallow by gobs, must for these puny stomachs be minced to atoms; the plums must be pick'd with the utmost care, and every ingredient proportion'd to the greatest nicety, or it will never go down.

The universe itself is but a pudding of elements. Empires, kingdoms, states and republics, are but puddings of people differently made up. The celestial and terrestrial orbs are decipher'd to us by a pair of globes or mathematical puddings.

The success of war and fate of monarchies are entirely dependent on puddings and dumplings. For what else are cannonballs but military puddings? or bullets, but dumplings; with this difference only, they do not sit so well on the stomach as a good marrow pudding or bread pudding.

In short, there is nothing valuable in art or nature, but what, more or less, has an allusion to pudding or dumpling. Why, then, should they be held in disesteem? Why should dumpling-eating be ridiculed, or dumpling-eaters derided? Is it not pleasant and profitable? Is it not ancient and honourable? Kings, princes, and potentates have in all ages been lovers of pudding. Is it not, therefore, of royal authority? Popes, cardinals, bishops, priests and deacons, have, time out of mind, been great pudding-eaters. Is it not, therefore, a holy and religious institution? Philosophers, poets, and learned men in all faculties, judges, privy councillors, and members of both houses, have, by their great regard to pudding, given a sanction to it that nothing can efface. Is it not, therefore, ancient, honourable, and commendable?

Quare itaque fremuerunt Auctores?

Why do, therefore, the enemies of good eating, the starveling authors of Grub Street, employ their impotent pens against pudding and pudding-headed, _alias_ honest men? Why do they inveigh against dumpling-eating, which is the life and soul of good-fellowship; and dumpling-eaters, who are the ornaments of civil society?

But, alas! their malice is their own punishment. The hireling author of a late scandalous libel, intituled, "The Dumpling-Eaters Downfall," may, if he has any eyes, now see his error, in attacking so numerous, so august, a body of people. His books remain unsold, unread, unregarded; while this treatise of mine shall be bought by all who love pudding or dumpling; to my bookseller's great joy, and my no small consolation. How shall I triumph, and how will that mercenary scribbler be mortified, when I have sold more editions of my books than he has copies of his? I, therefore, exhort all people, gentle and simple, men, women, and children, to buy, to read, to extol these labours of mine, for the honour of dumpling-eating. Let them not fear to defend every article; for I will bear them harmless. I have arguments good store, and can easily confute, either logically, theologically, or metaphysically, all those who dare oppose me.

Let not Englishmen, therefore, be ashamed of the name of Pudding-eaters; but, on the contrary, let it be their glory. For let foreigners cry out ne'er so much against good eating, they come easily into it when they have been a little while in our land of Canaan; and there are very few foreigners among us who have not learn'd to make as great a hole in a good pudding, or sirloin of beef, as the best Englishman of us all.

Why should we then be laughed out of pudding and dumpling? or why ridicul'd out of good living? Plots and politics may hurt us, but pudding cannot. Let us, therefore, adhere to pudding, and keep ourselves out of harm's way; according to the golden rule laid down by a celebrated dumpling-eater now defunct:

"Be of your patron's mind, whate'er he says:
Sleep very much; think little, and talk less:
Mind neither good nor bad, nor right nor wrong;
But eat your pudding, fool, and hold your tongue."--PRIOR.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 64: The cat ran away with this part of the copy, on which the Author had unfortunately laid some of Mother Crump's sausages.]

THE TRAGEDY OF TRAGEDIES: OR, THE LIFE AND DEATH OF

TOM THUMB THE GREAT.

WITH THE ANNOTATIONS OF H. SCRIBLERUS SECUNDUS.

FIRST ACTED IN 1730, AND ALTERED IN 1731.

H. SCRIBLERUS SECUNDUS, HIS PREFACE.

The town hath seldom been more divided in its opinion than concerning the merit of the following scenes. Whilst some publicly affirm that no author could produce so fine a piece but Mr. P----, others have with as much vehemence insisted that no one could write anything so bad but Mr. F----.

Nor can we wonder at this dissension about its merit, when the learned world have not unanimously decided even the very nature of this tragedy. For though most of the universities in Europe have honoured it with the name of "Egregium et maximi pretii opus, tragoediis tam antiquis quàm novis longè anteponendum;" nay, Dr. B---- hath pronounced, "Citiùs Mævii Æneadem quàm Scribleri istius tragoediam hanc crediderim, cujus autorem Senecam ipsum tradidisse haud dubitârim:" and the great Professor Burman hath styled Tom Thumb "Heroum omnium tragicorum facilè principem;" nay, though it hath, among other languages, been translated into Dutch, and celebrated with great applause at Amsterdam (where burlesque never came) by the title of Mynheer Vander Thumb, the burgomasters received it with that reverent and silent attention which becometh an audience at a deep tragedy. Notwithstanding all this, there have not been wanting some who have represented these scenes in a ludicrous light; and Mr. D---- hath been heard to say, with some concern, that he wondered a tragical and Christian nation would permit a representation on its theatre so visibly designed to ridicule and extirpate everything that is great and solemn among us.

This learned critic and his followers were led into so great an error by that surreptitious and piratical copy which stole last year into the world; with what injustice and prejudice to our author will be acknowledged, I hope, by every one who shall happily peruse this genuine and original copy. Nor can I help remarking, to the great praise of our author, that, however imperfect the former was, even that faint resemblance of the true Tom Thumb contained sufficient beauties to give it a run of upwards of forty nights to the politest audiences. But, notwithstanding that applause which it received from all the best judges, it was as severely censured by some few bad ones, and, I believe rather maliciously than ignorantly, reported to have been intended a burlesque on the loftiest parts of tragedy, and designed to banish what we generally call fine things from the stage.

Now, if I can set my country right in an affair of this importance, I shall lightly esteem any labour which it may cost. And this I the rather undertake, first, as it is indeed in some measure incumbent on me to vindicate myself from that surreptitious copy before mentioned, published by some ill-meaning people under my name; secondly, as knowing myself more capable of doing justice to our author than any other man, as I have given myself more pains to arrive at a thorough understanding of this little piece, having for ten years together read nothing else; in which time, I think, I may modestly presume, with the help of my English dictionary, to comprehend all the meanings of every word in it.

But should any error of my pen awaken Clariss. Bentleium to enlighten the world with his annotations on our author, I shall not think that the least reward or happiness arising to me from these my endeavours.

I shall waive at present what hath caused such feuds in the learned world, whether this piece was originally written by Shakespeare, though certainly that, were it true, must add a considerable share to its merit, especially with such who are so generous as to buy and commend what they never read, from an implicit faith in the author only: a faith which our age abounds in as much as it can be called deficient in any other.

Let it suffice, that "The Tragedy of Tragedies; or, The Life and Death of Tom Thumb," was written in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Nor can the objection made by Mr. D----, that the tragedy must then have been antecedent to the history, have any weight, when we consider that, though "The History of Tom Thumb" printed by and for Edward M--r, at the Looking-glass on London Bridge, be of a later date, still must we suppose this history to have been transcribed from some other, unless we suppose the writer thereof to be inspired: a gift very faintly contended for by the writers of our age. As to this history's not bearing the stamp of second, third, or fourth edition, I see but little in that objection; editions being very uncertain lights to judge of books by: and perhaps Mr. M--r may have joined twenty editions in one, as Mr. C--l hath ere now divided one into twenty.

Nor doth the other argument, drawn from the little care our author hath taken to keep up to the letter of this history, carry any greater force. Are there not instances of plays wherein the history is so perverted, that we can know the heroes whom they celebrate by no other marks than their names? nay, do we not find the same character placed by different poets in such different lights, that we can discover not the least sameness, or even likeness, in the features? The Sophonisba of Mairet and of Lee is a tender, passionate, amorous mistress of Massinissa: Corneille and Mr. Thomson give her no other passion but the love of her country, and make her as cool in her affection to Massinissa as to Syphax. In the two latter she resembles the character of Queen Elizabeth; in the two former she is the picture of Mary Queen of Scotland. In short, the one Sophonisba is as different from the other as the Brutus of Voltaire is from the Marius, jun., of Otway, or as the Minerva is from the Venus of the ancients.

Let us now proceed to a regular examination of the tragedy before us, in which I shall treat separately of the Fable, the Moral, the Characters, the Sentiments, and the Diction. And first of the Fable; which I take to be the most simple imaginable; and, to use the words of an eminent author, "one, regular, and uniform, not charged with a multiplicity of incidents, and yet affording several revolutions of fortune, by which the passions may be excited, varied, and driven to their full tumult of emotion." Nor is the action of this tragedy less great than uniform. The spring of all is the love of Tom Thumb for Huncamunca; which caused the quarrel between their majesties in the first act; the passion of Lord Grizzle in the second; the rebellion, fall of Lord Grizzle and Glumdalca, devouring of Tom Thumb by the cow, and that bloody catastrophe, in the third.

Nor is the Moral of this excellent tragedy less noble than the Fable; it teaches these two instructive lessons, viz., that human happiness is exceeding transient, and that death is the certain end of all men: the former whereof is inculcated by the fatal end of Tom Thumb; the latter, by that of all the other personages.

The Characters are, I think, sufficiently described in the _dramatis personæ_; and I believe we shall find few plays where greater care is taken to maintain them throughout, and to preserve in every speech that characteristical mark which distinguishes them from each other. "But," says Mr. D----, "how well doth the character of Tom Thumb (whom we must call the hero of this tragedy, if it hath any hero) agree with the precepts of Aristotle, who defineth, 'tragedy to be the imitation of a short but perfect action, containing a just greatness in itself?' &c. What greatness can be in a fellow whom history related to have been no higher than a span?" This gentleman seemeth to think, with Serjeant Kite, that the greatness of a man's soul is in proportion to that of his body, the contrary of which is affirmed by our English physiognominical writers. Besides, if I understand Aristotle right, he speaketh only of the greatness of the action, and not of the person.

As for the Sentiments and the Diction, which now only remain to be spoken to, I thought I could afford them no stronger justification than by producing parallel passages out of the best of our English writers. Whether this sameness of thought and expression which I have quoted from them proceeded from an agreement in their way of thinking, or whether they have borrowed from our author, I leave the reader to determine. I shall adventure to affirm this of the Sentiments of our author, that they are generally the most familiar which I have ever met with, and at the same time delivered with the highest dignity of phrase; which brings me to speak of his diction. Here I shall only beg one postulatum, viz., that the greatest perfection of the language of a tragedy is, that it is not to be understood; which granted (as I think it must be), it will necessarily follow that the only way to avoid this is by being too high or too low for the understanding, which will comprehend everything within its reach. Those two extremities of style Mr. Dryden illustrates by the familiar image of two inns, which I shall term the aërial and the subterrestrial.

Horace goes further, and showeth when it is proper to call at one of these inns, and when at the other:--

Telephus et Peleus, cùm pauper et exul uterque,
Projicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba.

That he approveth of the _sesquipedalia verba_ is plain; for, had not Telephus and Peleus used this sort of diction in prosperity, they could not have dropped it in adversity. The aërial inn, therefore (says Horace), is proper only to be frequented by princes and other great men in the highest affluence of fortune; the subterrestrial is appointed for the entertainment of the poorer sort of people only, whom Horace advises,

--dolere sermone pedestri.

The true meaning of both which citations is, that bombast is the proper language for joy, and doggrel for grief; the latter of which is literally implied in the _sermo pedestris_, as the former is in the _sesquipedalia verba_.

Cicero recommendeth the former of these: "Quid est tam furiosum vel tragicum quàm verborum sonitus inanis, nullâ subjectâ sententiâ neque scientiâ." What can be so proper for tragedy as a set of big sounding words, so contrived together as to convey no meaning? which I shall one day or other prove to be the sublime of Longinus. Ovid declareth absolutely for the latter inn:

Omne genus scripti gravitate tragoedia vincit.

Tragedy hath, of all writings, the greatest share in the bathos; which is the profound of Scriblerus.

I shall not presume to determine which of these two styles be properer for tragedy. It sufficeth that our author excelleth in both. He is very rarely within sight through the whole play, either rising higher than the eye of your understanding can soar, or sinking lower than it careth to stoop. But here it may perhaps be observed that I have given more frequent instances of authors who have imitated him in the sublime than in the contrary. To which I answer, first, bombast being properly a redundancy of genius, instances of this nature occur in poets whose names do more honour to our author than the writers in the doggrel, which proceeds from a cool, calm, weighty way of thinking. Instances whereof are most frequently to be found in authors of a lower class. Secondly, that the works of such authors are difficultly found at all. Thirdly, that it is a very hard task to read them, in order to extract these flowers from them. And lastly, it is very difficult to transplant them at all; they being like some flowers of a very nice nature, which will flourish in no soil but their own: for it is easy to transcribe a thought, but not the want of one. The "Earl of Essex," for instance, is a little garden of choice rarities, whence you can scarce transplant one line so as to preserve its original beauty. This must account to the reader for his missing the names of several of his acquaintance, which he had certainly found here, had I ever read their works; for which, if I have not a just esteem, I can at least say with Cicero, "Quæ non contemno, quippè quæ nunquam legerim." However, that the reader may meet with due satisfaction in this point, I have a young commentator from the university, who is reading over all the modern tragedies, at five shillings a dozen, and collecting all that they have stole from our author, which shall be shortly added as an appendix to this work.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

KING ARTHUR, _a passionate sort of king, husband to_ QUEEN DOLLALLOLLA, _of whom he stands a little in fear: father to_ HUNCAMUNCA, _whom he is very fond of and in love with_ GLUMDALCA.

TOM THUMB THE GREAT, _a little hero with a great soul, something violent in his temper, which is a little abated by his love for_ HUNCAMUNCA.

GHOST OF GAFFER THUMB, _a whimsical sort of ghost_.

LORD GRIZZLE, _extremely zealous for the liberty of the subject, very choleric in his temper, and in love with_ HUNCAMUNCA.

MERLIN, _a conjuror, and in some sort father to_ TOM THUMB.

NOODLE, DOODLE, _courtiers in place, and consequently of that party that is uppermost_.

FOODLE, _a courtier that is out of place, and consequently of that party that is undermost_.

BAILIFF, AND FOLLOWER, _of the party of the plaintiff_.

PARSON, _of the side of the church_.

QUEEN DOLLALLOLLA, _wife to_ KING ARTHUR, _and mother to_ HUNCAMUNCA, _a woman entirely faultless, saving that she is a little given to drink, a little too much a virago towards her husband, and in love with_ TOM THUMB.

THE PRINCESS HUNCAMUNCA, _daughter to their_ MAJESTIES KING ARTHUR _and_ QUEEN DOLLALLOLLA, _of a very sweet, gentle, and amorous disposition, equally in love with_ LORD GRIZZLE _and_ TOM THUMB, _and desirous to be married to them both_.

GLUMDALCA, _of the giants, a captive queen, beloved by the king, but in love with_ TOM THUMB.

CLEORA, MUSTACHA, _maids of honour in love with_ NOODLE _and_ DOODLE.

Courtiers, Guards, Rebels, Drums, Trumpets, Thunder and Lightning.

SCENE.--THE COURT OF KING ARTHUR, AND A PLAIN THEREABOUTS.

* * * * *