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And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends ;
But when a pique began, The dog to gain his private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wondering neighbours ran, And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.
The wound it seemed both sore and sad,
To every Christian eye; And while they swore the dog was mad
They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied ; The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died.
WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE
A Roman Knight whom Cæsar forced upon the Stage.
PRESERVED BY MACROBIUS.*
What! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage,
And save from infamy my sinking age !
Scarce half alive, oppressed with many a year,
What in the name of dotage drives me here ?
A time there was, when glory was my guide,
Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside ;
Unawed by power, and unappalled by fear,
With honest thrift I held my honour dear :
But this vile hour disperses all my store,
And all my hoard of honour is no more;
For ah! too partial to my life's decline,
Cæsar persuades, submission must be mine;
Him I obey, whom Heaven itself obeys,
Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclined to please.
Here then at once I welcome every shame,
And cancel at threescore a life of fame;
No more my titles shall my children tell,
The old buffoon will fit my name as well ;
This day beyond its term my fate extends,
For life is ended when our honour ends.
* This translation was first printed in one of our Author's earliest works, “ The Present State of Learuing in Europe,” 12mo. 1759; but was omitted in the second edition, which appeared in
WRITTEN BY JOSEPH CRADDOCK, Esq.
First acted at the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, 1772.
In these bold times when learning's sons explore
The distant climates, and the savage shore;
When wise astronomers to India steer;
And quit for Venus many a brighter here ;
While botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling,
Forsake the fair, and patientlygo simpling,
Our bard, into the general spirit enters,
And fits his little frigate for adventures,
With Cythian stores, and trinkets deeply laden,
He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading-
Yet ere he lands he's ordered me before,
To make an observation on the shore.
Where are we driven ? our reckoning sure is lost!
This seems a rocky and a dangerous coast.
Lord, what a sultry climate am I under!
Yon ill-foreboding cloud seems big with thunder:
[Upper Gallery There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen 'em
[Pit. Here trees of stately size and billing turtles in 'em
[Balconies. Here ill-conditioned oranges abound- [Stage. And apples, bitter apples strew the ground:
The inhabitants are cannibals I fear:
I heard a hissing—there are serpents here !
O, there the people are-best keep my distance ;
Our captain (gentle natives) craves assistance ; [her,
Our ship's well stored-in yonder creek we've laid,
His honour is no mercenary trader.
This is his first adventure, lend him aid,
And we may chance to drive a thriving trade.
His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far,
Equally fit for gallantry and war.
What, no reply to promises so ample ?
I'd best step back, and order up a sample.
In the character of Harlequin, at his benefit.
Hold! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense;
I'd speak a word or two to ease my conscience.
My pride forbids it ever should be said,
My heels eclipsed the honours of my head;
That I found humour in a pyeball vest,
Or ever thought that jumping was a jest.
[Takes off his mask.
Whence and what art thou, visionary birth ?
Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth,
In thy black aspect every passion sleeps,
The joy that dimples, and the wo that weeps.
How hast thou filled the scene with all thy brood,
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursued!
Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses,
Whose only plot it is to break our noses ;
Whilst from below the trap-door Dæmons rise,
And from above the dangling deities ;
And shall I mix in this unhallowed crew ?
May rosined lightning blast me if I do!
No I will act, I'll vindicate the stage :
Shakspeare himself shall feel my tragic rage.
Off! off! vile trappings! a new passion reigns !
The maddening monarch revels in my veins.
Oh! for a Richard's voice to catch the theme :
Give me another horse! bind up my wounds !-soft
-'twas but a dream.
Aye, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreating,
If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating.
'Twas thus that Æsop's stag, a creature blameless,
Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless,
Once on the margin of a fountain stood,
And cavilled at his image in the flood. [shanks,
“ The deuce confound,” he cries, “these drumstick
They never have my gratitude nor thanks ;
They're perfectly disgraceful! strike me dead!
But for a head, yes, yes, I have a head.
How piercing is that eye ! how sleek that brow!
My horns! I'm told horns are the fashion now.'
Whilst thus he spoke, astonished! to his view,
Near and more near, the hounds and huntsmen drew,
Hoicks, hark forward! came thundering from behind:
He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wiod :