Bold Nature then disdain'd the mask of art;
Man, on his open aspect, wore his heart.
Passion then knew nor cover, nor control;
Each action spoke the dictate of the soul:
Worth claim'd its triumphs, guilt confess'd its
stings,
And truth was known at courts--and told to kings!
Such were your sires, humanely, nobly rude;
And such the good old times, for you renew❜d!
From the still regions of enduring night,
Our author calls the dead to life and light.
He bids your hearts to heave, your eyes to flow,
O'er griefs that pass'd nine hundred years ago:
Bids truth in person tread Hibernia's stage,
And action preach her sermon to the age;
The sermon to which Nature sets her seal-
For none can doubt the doctrine that they feel.
Sweet as a field that vernal breezes fan,
Sweet are emotions in the heart of man;
Sweet are the tears of worth, the ties of kin,
And all the home-bred charities within!
When human feelings the warm breast inspire,
When pity softens, and when passions fire;
Then glows the mint of Nature, apt, refin'd,
And virtue strikes her image on the mind.
If the distinguish'd hero of this night
Is urg'd to leap the sacred mound of right;
If, wildly toss'd on passion's stormy wave,
He wrecks the country he was born to save;
Know it is man's to err-and let that move,
To pity frailties that you can't approve.
But when you see Rowena greatly soar, A height that virtue never dar'd before; A summit, to aspiring man unknown, And, first and last, achiev'd by her alone; Then turn, and in her sex the saint revereThen bend with reverence, to the chaste and fair!
FOR THE OPENING OF A THEATRE,
WHEN lazy moralists from cloisters taught
The frosty precepts of unpractis'd thought,
Howe'er the judgment coldly was inform'd,
No worth was kindled, for no heart was warm'd.
But when some good men to the public read
The generous lecture of a life well led:
When patriots stood for liberty and laws,
Or fell the victims of their country's cause:
Then hearts were taught to glow, and eyes to melt,
And hands to act the lesson that was felt.
In languid maxims, which we barely hear,
The voice of truth sounds distant to our ear;
But action bids the substance to arise,
And gives the living beauty to your eyes.
Hence was the stage, from earliest times, design'd
A vital school of virtue to mankind.
In real life, if scant the good and fair,
If truth be foreign, and if worth be rare,
For these through ev'ry clime and age we steer;
And thence unlade the precious purchase here!
Though Time and Death have clos'd their ancient
They bar their everlasting gates in vain― [reign,
The fatal valves shall to your eyes unfold,
Recall the past and renovate the old :
And, from the realms of silence and of night,
Pour down a flood of eloquence and light.
Whate'er of worth informs the social breast, Upon humanity by Heaven impress'd, The sympathy that proves great souls of kin, The touch that tries the hidden gold within: Whate'er of generous, courteous, fond and kind, Strikes the lin'd unison of mind to mind: Whate'er may teach a virtuous eye to flow, For griefs that pass'd nine hundred years ago: All those we bring-Confess to modern eyes, The deed of fam'd antiquity shall rise: Friends, lovers, heroes, patriots, to this stage Shall come, from every land, from every age: Old Time shall render, to your eyes and ears, The truths and trophies of four thousand years: Cato again shall abdicate his tomb, And Brutus strike for liberty and Rome!
SPOKEN IN DUBLIN, BY MR. GARRICK.
My term expir'd with this concluding play.
I've cast the buskin and the sock away.
No more to kindle the poetic rage,
Nor in mock-majesty to awe the stage,
The hero shrinks into his native span-
This little sketch and miniature of man.
"Where's Garrick?" says the beau: and as I pass,
To mark the noted insect-takes his glass.
Plac'd in yon box, to publish my disaster,
"Mamma,” cries miss, "who is that little master?"
"Zounds!" says the captain, "what! is that Othello?
Ha, ha, ha!
"A good joke, damme-a rare hulking fellow !"
Thus on defects I dare to build a name:
And imperfection gives me up to fame.
O, could my stature with your bounty rise,
And swelling gratitude extend my size!
What ample measure would that change impart,
When every limb should answer to my heart.
Great are the favours which my soul avows;
Great are the thanks with which your servant bows!
My faults are debtors to your generous sense-
Quick to observe, yet gracious to dispense !
And should I but presume that something, too,
Is to your judgment, to your justice due;
Blame not the vanity you kindly raise,
Sprung from your smiles, and heighten'd by your
praise!
[pole,
Hail, generous isle! though neighbouring to the
Thy warmth is in the virtues of the soul!
Though clouds, above, may intercept the light:
Below, thy sun of beauty cheers our sight!
Where'er my distant fortunes may command,
I sigh for thee as for my natal land.
Or east, or west, howe'er the region lies,
A country takes its name from social ties;
The heart alone appoints its favourite place,
And I'm a native by your special grace.
Then take the warmest wishes of my mind-
As your own favours, great and unconfin'd,
May peace and smiling pleasure, hand in hand,
Walk the wide limits of your plenteous land!
May Gallia curse the day of William's' might,
And Chesterfield return to bless your sight!
I William, duke of Cumberland.
ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS
THE DUKE OF CUMBERLAND.
SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK, IN DUBLIN.
"T is not a birth to titles, pomp, or state,
That forms the brave, or constitutes the great:
To be the son of George's just renown,
And brother to the heir of Britain's crown,
Though proud these claims, at best they but adorn,
For heroes cannot be, like princes, born:
Valour and worth must consecrate their name,
And virtue give them to the rolls of fame.
He forms a model of a virtuous sort,
And gives you more of moral than of sport:
He rather aims to draw the melting sigh,
Or steal the pitying tear from beauty's eye:
To touch the strings that humanise our kind,
Man's sweetest strain, the music of the mind.
Ladies, he bids me tell you, that from you,
His first, his fav'rite character he drew :
A young, a lovely, unexperienc'd maid,
In honest truth and innocence array'd;
Of fortune destitute, with wrongs oppress'd,
By fraud attempted, and by love distress'd:
Yet guarded still: and every suff'ring pass'd,
Her virtue meets the sure reward at last.
From such examples shall the sex be taught,
Hail to the youth, whose actions mark this year, How virtue fixes whom their eyes have caught:
And in whose honour you assemble here!
'T is not to grace his natal day we meet,
His birth of glory is the birth we greet.
How quick does his progressive virtue run,
How swift ascend to its meridian sun,
Before its beam the northern storms retire,
And Britons catch the animating fire.
Yet rush not too precipitate, for know
The fate you urge would prove our greatest foe,
Religion, law, and liberty 's at stake,
Repress your ardour for your country's sake,
The life you prize not, Britain may deplore,
And chance may take, what ages can 't restore,
O! did the gallant Cumberland but head
Such troops as here our glorious William led!
Bold names, in Britain's history renown'd,
Who fix'd her freedom on Hibernian ground,
Till death, embattled for their country, stood,
And made the Boyne immortal by their blood.
Such were your sires, who still survive in fame;
Such are the sons who would achieve the same.
Young William then should rival trophies raise,
And emulate our great deliverer's days,
By equal actions win the like applause,
Alike their name, their glory, and their cause.
May Heav'n's peculiar angel shield the youth!
Who draws the sword of liberty and truth,
By him Britannia's injuries redress,
And crown his toil, his virtue, with success,
Make him the scourge of France, the dread of Rome,
The patriot's blessing, and the rebel's doom.
Then seize, Hibernia, seize the present joy,
This day is sacred to the martial boy!-
The morrow shall a different strain require,
When, with thy Stanhope 2, all delights retire,
And (a long polar night of grief begun)
Thy soul shall sigh for its returning sun.
UNPRACTIS'D in the drama's artful page,
And new to all the dangers of the stage,
Where judgment sits to save or damn his play,
Our poet trembles for his first essay.
He, like all authors, a conforming race!
Writes to the taste and genius of the place:
Intent to fix, and emulous to please
The happy sense of these politer days,
How honour beautifies the fairest face,
Improves the mien, and dignifies the grace.
And hence the libertine, who builds a name
On the base ruins of a woman's fame,
Shall own, the best of human blessings lie
In the chaste honours of the nuptial tie:
There lives the home-felt sweet, the near delight,
There peace reposes, and there joys unite:
And female virtue was by Heav'n design'd
To charm, to polish, and to bless mankind.
PLAY OF WHAT WE MUST ALL COME TO.
WHAT all must come to!-what?-debate and strife!
Must all wed plague and broils-who wed a wife?
If that's the sage conclusion of our poet,
The man's a fool-you happy husbands know it!
Your dames are form'd upon a gentler plan-
To sooth and smooth the rough-hewn mass of man;
To bid the tumult of your souls to cease,
And smile your warring passions into peace.
Like Rome's fam'd matrous, scorning all excess
In mask or mummery, in dance or dress,
Your wives are busied in the nobler cares
Of planting their own virtues in your heirs,
And scarce depart their house-except to prayers!
They neither take nor give the world a handle
For tittle-tattle, gossiping, or scandal;
And, as for that strange vice of gaming-lard!
I dare be sworn, they scarce can tell a card.
In times of yore, indeed, when 't was the fashion,
And drums, routs, rackets, cards, the favourite
With ev'ry husband, gambling was the flame,
And even their precious spouses-play'd the game.
Plumb, in the reigning vice, your statesmen jump;
And factions in rotation turn'd up trump:
Honours, on all hands, they agree to wave;
Some play'd the fool, who meant to play the knave.
The vizier, vers'd in all the gambling trade,
The court against his simpler country play'd;
But, dubious of the pow'rs that might withstand,
He wisely kept the impending king in hand-
The people thought the advantage somewhat hard;
But deem'd their Magna Charta a sure card!
Now heats and bets all terms of truce confound;
Craft, perjury, prostitution, wait around;
While high o'er head Astrea's beam behold,
2 Lord Chesterfield left Ireland about this time. Weighing light conscience against pond'rous gold.
But how the game did end, or may end-why-
Time, if it choose, may tell-in sooth, not I.
Ye fair, intended, by the powers above,
With silken chains to bind the world in love;
On whose soft sway, to Earth's extremest end,
The race, the brotherhood of man depend !
O, never, never answer rage with rage,
But shun the tempest which you can't assuage;
Your tyrants, then, shall spend their wrath in
vain,
Return quite tame, and reassume their chain;
So shall submission win despotic sway,
And the world's lord shall willingly obey!
Of all trades and arts in repute or possession, Humbugging is held the most ancient profession. "Twixt nations, and parties, and state politicians, Prim shopkeepers, jobbers, smooth lawyers, physicians,
Of worth and of wisdom the trial and test Is-mark ye, my friends!-who shall humbug the best.
Our neighbour of France, with his prologue so kind,
And his epilogue spoke by his cannon behind; Who, in banter and bully, in cringing and hugging, Is counted of old, the great prince of humbugging; For once stands amaz'd, howsoe'er it was hit on, To find he 's humbugg'd by his cullies of Britain. But why, honest friends, should we ramble and
To look for humbuggers so distant from home? Poor Ireland, as well as her neighbours, of late Has begun to remove the fool's cap from her pate. Our hummers in state, physic, learning, and law, Do not all sit, as chiefs, in the court of Nassau: And, once, a whole house of humbuggers was seen In a place--let me think-ay-'t is call'd College-green!
Since Galen, in slopping, and doseing, and drugging,
Gave rules for the physical branch of humbugging; The patient, when once duly drain'd of his treasure, Is welcome to die-or recover-at leisure.
'T other day, in the four courts-sweet pow'rs! how I wonder'd
To see, of my friend Harry Lone, a whole hundred ! With gowns, bands, and faces, so smooth and so smug'd,
And the world crowding in to be surely humbug'd! So much for the lawyer and doctor-what lacks?— The parson, you think, should come in for his snacks. We doubt not his will-but, in these learned days, We are all grown too knowing, to mind what he says.
But, what are all hummers, their tricks and their arts,
To yon roguish round, the humbuggers of heartsBy whose sweet enchantment, grey wisdom is fool'd, And prowess is conquer'd, and courage is cool'd? For beauty, by ancient tradition, we find,
Has delightfully humm'd the whole race of mankind.
LIEUTENANT COLONEL HENRY CLEMENTS
SHALL boastful pomp, the high imperial name,
Or title, only, swell the trump of Fame?
To equal worth be equal glory due,
And wreaths that bloom'd for Clayton bloom for you!
O, once endow'd with ev'ry pleasing pow'r,
To cheer the sad or charm the social hour;
To sweeten life with many a gentle art,
And win the whole dominion of the heart;
I deem'd, far other than the Fates allow,
The laurels bound upon your living brow,
To greet my friend returning from his toil,
Grac'd with his deeds, and laden with his spoil.
Too fond of what the martial harvests yield,
Alas, too forward to the dangerous field,
As one of old renown in battle tried,
The glory of the dusty plain you died!
The tongues of Dettingen your triumph tell,
And weeping Tournay points where Clements fell.
O, in some future day of loud alarms,
When virtue and my country call to arms
For freedom-struggling nations to unbind,
And snap the sceptres that would bruise man-
kind-
At such an hour, in such a cause as thine,
The honour'd close of such a death be mine!
Then may some kindred bard appoint my grave,
Snatch forth my name, and roll it with the brave;
Assign my pen and sword the wish'd applause,
And say that both were drawn in virtue's cause!
Then drop the salutation given to you-
Companion, countryman, and friend-adieu !"
WHEN o'er the canvass flows the master's line,
He adds no name to mark the just design;
The portrait, midst a mingling world, is known,
And stands admir'd, distinguish'd, and alone!
Behold him, full of virtues as of days,
Laden with worth, infirmities, and praise!
Down the hoar flowings of his silver'd head,
Wisdom and time their equal honours shed;
Truth and benevolence, with equal grace,
Rise from his breast, and lighten in his face.
His languid limbs expect the peaceful bier; His head and heart still active, free, and clear! On his own frame, though dire distemper preys, He's borne around, to give all others ease; Before his healing presence life respires, And sickness, with his rueful train, retires!
Great Leach' both of our persons and our state! When thou, at some sad hour, shalt yield to fateO then, adieu Hibernia's chiefest wealth; Adieu to liberty! adieu to health!
'Dr. Lucas, member of parliament for Dublin.
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