Pugh, you're a wag, the buskin'd prude
Reply'd, and smil'd; besides 'tis rude
To laugh at foreigners, you know,
And triumph o'er a vanquish'd foe:
For my part, I shall be content
If things succeed as they are meant;
And should not be displeas'd to find
Some changes of the tragick kind.
And say, THALIA, mayn't we hope
The stage will take a larger scope?
Shall he whose all-expressive powers
Can reach the heights that SHAKESPEAR soars,
Descend to touch an humbler key,
And tickle ears with poetry;
Where every tear is taught to flow
Thro' many a line's melodious woe,
And heart-felt pangs of deep distress
Are fritter'd into similes?
— O thou, whom nature taught the art
To pierce, to cleave, to tear the heart,
Whatever name delight thine ear,
OTHELLO, RICHARD, HAMLET, LEAR,
O undertake my just defence,
And banish all but nature hence!
See, to thy aid with streaming eyes
The fair afflicted CONSTANCE flies;
Now wild as winds in madness tears
Her heaving breasts and scatter'd hairs;
Or low on earth disdains relief
With all the conscious pride of grief.
My PRITCHARD too in HAMLET'S queen —
The goddess of the sportive vein
Here stop'd her short, and with a sneer,
My PRITCHARD, if you please, my dear!
Her tragick merit I confess,
But surely mine's her proper dress;
Behold her there with native ease,
And native spirit, born to please;
With all MARIA'S charms engage,
Or MILWOOD'S arts, or TOUCHWOOD'S rage,
Thro' every foible trace the fair,
Or leave the town, and toilet's care
To chaunt in forests unconfin'd
The wilder notes of ROSALIND.