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Drury Lane, 1747
WHEN Learning’s triumph o’er her barbarous foes | |
| First rear’d the stage, immortal Shakespeare rose; | |
| Each change of many-colour’d life he drew, | |
| Exhausted worlds, and then imagin’d new: | |
| Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, | 5 |
| And panting Time toil’d after him in vain. | |
| His powerful strokes presiding truth impress’d, | |
| And unresisted passion storm’d the breast. | |
| Then Jonson came, instructed from the school, | |
| To please in method, and invent by rule; | 10 |
| By regular approach, assay’d the heart; | |
| Cold approbation gave the lingering bays; | |
| For those who durst not censure, scarce could praise. | |
| A mortal born, he met the general doom, | |
| But left, like Egypt’s kings, a lasting tomb. | 15 |
| The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame, | |
| Nor wish’d for Jonson’s art, or Shakespeare’s flame; | |
| Themselves they studied; as they felt, they writ; | |
| Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit. | |
| Vice always found a sympathetic friend; | 20 |
| They pleas’d their age, and did not aim to mend. | |
| Yet bards like these aspir’d to lasting praise, | |
| And proudly hoped to pimp in future days. | |
| Their cause was gen’ral, their supports were strong; | |
| Their slaves were willing, and their reign was long: | 25 |
| Till shame regain’d the post that sense betray’d, | |
| And virtue call’d oblivion to her aid. | |
| Then crush’d by rules, and weaken’d as refin’d, | |
| For years the pow’r of Tragedy declin’d; | |
| From bard to bard the frigid caution crept, | 30 |
| Till declamation roar’d whilst passion slept; | |
| Yet still did virtue deign the stage to tread, | |
| Philosophy remain’d tho’ nature fled. | |
| But forc’d, at length, her ancient reign to quit, | |
| She saw great Faustus lay the ghost of wit; | 35 |
| Exulting folly hail’d the joyful day, | |
| And pantomine and song confirm’d her sway. | |
| But who the coming changes can presage, | |
| And mark the future periods of the stage? | |
| Perhaps if skill could distant times explore, | 40 |
| New Behns, new Durfeys, yet remain in store; | |
| Perhaps where Lear has rav’d, and Hamlet died, | |
| On flying cars new sorcerers may ride; | |
| Perhaps (for who can guess th’ effects of chance) | |
| Here Hunt may box, or Mahomet may dance. | 45 |
| Hard is his lot that here by fortune plac’d, | |
| Must watch the wild vicissitudes of taste; | |
| With every meteor of caprice must play, | |
| And chase the new-blown bubbles of the day. | |
| Ah! let not censure term our fate our choice, | 50 |
| The stage but echoes back the public voice; | |
| The drama’s laws, the drama’s patrons give, | |
| For we that live to please, must please to live. | |
| Then prompt no more the follies you decry, | |
| As tyrants doom their tools of guilt to die; | 55 |
| ’Tis yours, this night, to bid the reign commence | |
| Of rescued nature and reviving sense; | |
| To chase the charms of sound, the pomp of show, | |
| For useful mirth and salutary woe; | |
| Bid scenic virtue form the rising age, | 60 |
| And truth diffuse her radiance from the stage. | |
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