ported herself by needlework. She was an excellent woman, and this marriage was perhaps the wisest action of his life.
He now wrote his Babbler, and his Louisa Mildmay, became editor of the Public Ledger in 1765, one of the four Morning Papers then published in London, and in the ensuing year produced his "Thespis;" this introduced him to Garrick, and at Garrick's instigation he venturedto write for the stage. " False Delicacy" was his first attempt, and the representation of this, the first Sentimental Comedy, is an era in theatrical history. Kelly's profits amounted to above 700 pounds, and his fame spread over the Continent. Goldsmith, it is said, was envious of his good fortune; it would be more just to say that he was provoked and mortified at the miserable taste of the publick. He lived however to witness the downfall of the Sentimental Comedy, and probably to occasion it.
Kelly now applied himself to the Law; he continued his dramatick labours, realizing by them and by other exer tions of the pen nearly a thousand a year, till in course of time he was called to the bar. The ill success of his last. comedy had then irritated him, and he confined himself wholly to his profession. In this he obtained some repu tation and some practice, but his income fell short of what he had formerly enjoyed. Kelly did not retrench; he became embarrassed, contracted habits of drinking, and died, leaving a widow and five children in distressed circumstances.
You ask what charm in Nancy's face,
This foolish heart has stole :
Nor can I name one striking grace→ Not I upon my soul;
But there's a certain something there
This bosom must adore:
A something not exactly fair,
And yet extremely more.
A finer face perhaps may try
A greater share of art :
And yet can only touch the eye,
But never strike the heart:
Less native force experience sees,
Attends a fairer form;
For that can only hope to please,
But never think to charm.
But say my passion is misplaced,
I live for her alone:
And which must I consult, your taste, Or gratify my own?
Our friendship, if you kindly cease,
Your silence best secures :
Nor think, I can destroy my peace,
To please a whim of yours.
Prologue to the Romance of an Hour,
To night good folkes, tho' led a little dance,
Thro' the light mazes of an Hours Romance,
No spells, nor spectres, have you cause to dread,
Not one poor thunder rumbles o'er your head;
Nor will the tempest howling thro' the trees,
Once rouse your horror-with a storm of peas-
Between ourselves, this Poet was a fool,
To plan by common sense, or build by rule;
When even the mightiest masters of the stage,
Have gain'd so much from trick in every age.
Shakspeare is great-is exquisite, no doubt
But then our carpenters must help him out:
The deep distresses of a maddening Lear
In vain would ask the tributary tear,
If, midst the fury of the midnight sky,
Our rosin lightenings did not aptly fly,
And pity warmly plead to be let in,
Thro' a smart shower of heart exploring tin-
Let Criticks boldly form dramatick laws,
Give me, I say, what's sure to meet applause ;
Let them of time, and place, and action, boast,
I'm for a Devil, a Dungeon, or a Ghost―
When Hamlet, weeping for a murder'd sire,
Upbraids his mother with a guilty fire,
Tho' every line a plaudit should command
Not one God yonder will employ his hand.
But, cased in canvass, let the dead stalk in,
Then the loud peans, then the claps begin
And Pit, Box, Gallery eagerly contend,
Exalted strife !-Who loudest shall commend
The frantickHah'-the bedlamite
The star--the heave-the stagger and the stare.
To dear Macbeth the learned ladies all run,
What to enjoy the flaming of the cauldron.
Ask Molly Dripping there, so sleek and mild,
(As good a Cook as e'er drest roast or boil'd,
What in all Julet makes her soonest weep,
She'll say the Funeral-'tis so werry deep.
Allured by sterling sentiment alone,
"Cato for me" cries Darby Macahone,
"I never miss that place at any time, "If 'tis but added to a Pantomime"
"Hoot" growls a bold North-Bratton taking snuff, "A Pantomime is exacrable stuff
"No Bag-pipes in the bond, they dinna play
"The Corn Rags,or the Barkes of Audermay”-
In short, tho' all Stage-mummery despise,
All want a banquet for their ears, or eyes;
And while at shews they take the most offence,
Still make them bladders to the shore of sense.
The name our Author gives his Piece to-night,
Would well admit a supper for the sight;
A grand collection of dramatick dishes,
Of Dragons, Giants, Forests, Rivers, Fishes -
Yet tho' he calls his trifle a Romance,
He does not treat you with a single dance,
Nor use one hackney'd, one excentrick art
To lull your judgment, or to cheat your heart-
He brings indeed a character to view
From Indian climes, he trusts entirely new.
A poor Gentoo, composed of virtues all,
Tho' fresh from English Nabobs at Bengal ;
His face perhaps too swarthy you may find,
"Yet see Othello's visage in his mind"-
And till you've fairly tried our trembling Bays
Forbear to blame--but do not fear to praise.
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