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TO

MR. GARRICK,

By the Same.

1

1

On old PARNASSUS, t'other day,
The Muses met to sing and play ;
Apart from all the rest were seen
The tragic, and the comic Queen,
Engag'd, perhaps, in deep debate,
On Rich's, or on Fleetwood's fate.
When on a sudden, news was brought
That GARRICK had the patent got,
And both their ladyships again
Might now return to Drury-lane.
They bow'd, they simper'd, and agreed
They wish'd the project might succeed.
'Twas very possible, the case
Was likely too and had a face-
A face! THALIA titt'ring cry'd,
And could her joy no longer hide;
Why, sister, all the world must see
How much this makes for you and me :

No longer now shall we expose
Our unbought goods to empty rows,
Or meanly be oblig'd to court
From foreign aid a weak support;
No more the poor polluted scene
Shall teem with births of Harlequin :
Or vindicated stage shall feel
The insults of the dancer's heel.
Such idle trash we'll kindly spare
To opera's now-they'll want them there;
For Sadler's-Wells, they say, this year
Has quite undone their engineer.

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 tragic 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 SHAKspere soars, Descend to touch an humbler key, And tickle ears with poetry; Where every tear is taught to flow Through many line's melodious woe, And heart-felt pangs of deep distress

Are fritter'd into similes ?
- 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 Aies;
Now wild as winds in madness tears
Her heaving breasts and scatter'd hairs;
Or low on earth disdain 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 tragic 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,
Through every foible trace the fair,
Or leave the town, and toilet's care
To chaunt in forests unconfin'd,
The wilder notes of ROSALIND.

O thou, where'er thou fix thy praise, BRUTE, DRUGGER, FRIBBLE, RANGER, BAYS!

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