Love in the Suds: a town eclogue, being the lamentation of Roscius for the loss of his Nyky ...

LOVE in the SUDS; A TOWN ECLOGUE BEING THE LAMENTATION of ROSCIUS FOR THE LOSS of his NYKY.

Dixin' ego vobis, in hôc eſſe Atticam elegantiam? TER. Oh me infelicem!— —quae laudârum quantum luctus habuerint! PHAED.

With ANNOTATIONS and an APPENDIX.

THE FIFTH EDITION.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. WHEBLE, PATER-NOSTER-ROW.

MDCCLXXII.

To DAVID GARRICK, Eſq. SIR,

THE author of the following Eclogue, having requeſted my aſſiſtance to introduce it to the world; it was with more indignation than ſurprize I was informed of your having uſed your extenſive influence over the preſs to prevent its being advertiſed in the News-papers. How are you, Sir, concerned in the Lamentation of Roſcius for his Nyky? Does your modeſty think no man entitled to the appellation of Roſcius but yourſelf? Does Nyky reſemble any nick-named favourite of yours? Or does it follow, that if you have cheriſhed an unworthy favourite, you muſt bear too near a reſemblance to him? Qui capit ille facit; beware of ſelf-accuſation, where others bring no charge! Or, granting you right in theſe particulars, by what right or privilege do you, Sir, ſet up for a licenſer of the preſs? That you have long ſucceſsfully uſurped that privilege, to ſwell both your fame and fortune, is well known. Not the puffs of the quacks of Bayſwater and Chelſea are ſo numerous and notorious: but by what authority do you take upon you to ſhut up the general channel, in which writers uſher their performances to the public? If they attack either your talents or your character, in utrumque paratus, you are armed to defend yourſelf. You have, beſides your ingenuous countenance and conſcious innocence; Nil conſcire ſibi, nulla palleſcere culpa; Beſides this brazen bulwark, I ſay, you have a ready pen and a long purſe. The preſs is open to the one, and the bar is ever ready to open with the other. For a poor author, not a printer will publiſh a paragraph, not a pleader will utter a quibble. You have then every advantage in the conteſt: It is needleſs, therefore, to endeavour to intimidate your antagoniſts by countenancing your retainers to threaten their lives! Theſe intimidations, let me tell you Sir, have an ugly, ſuſpicious look. They are beſides needleſs; the genus irritabile vatum want no ſuch perſonal provocations; Heaven knows, the life of a play-wright, like that of a ſpider, is in a ſtate of the moſt ſlender dependency. It is well for my rhiming friend that his hangs not on ſo ſlight a thread. He thinks, nevertheleſs, that he has reaſon to complain, as well as the publick, of your having long preferred the flimzy, tranſlated, patch'd-up and miſ-altered pieces of your favourite compilers, to the arduous attempts at originality of writers, who have no perſonal intereſt with the manager. In particular, he thinks the two pieces, you are projecting to get up next winter, for the emolument of your favorite in diſgrace, or to reimburſe yourſelf the money, you may have advanced him, might, for the preſent at leaſt, be laid aſide.

But you will aſk me, perhaps, in turn, Sir, what right I have to interfere with the buſineſs of other people, or with yours? I will anſwer you. It is becauſe I think your buſineſs, as patentee of a theatre-royal, is not ſo entirely yours, but that the publick alſo have ſome concern in it. You, Sir, indeed have long behaved as if you thought the town itſelf a purchaſed appurtenance to the theatre; but, tho' the ſcenes and machines are yours; nay, tho' you have even found means to make comedians and poets your property; it ſhould be with more caution than you practiſe, that you extend your various arts to make ſo ſcandalous a property of the publick.

Again I anſwer, it is becauſe I have ſome regard for my friend, and as much for myſelf, whom you have treated as ill perhaps as you have done any other writer; while under your auſpices, ſome of the perſons ſtigmatiſed by the ſatiriſt, have frequently combined to do me the moſt eſſential injury. But nemo me impurè laceſſit. Not that I mean now to enter into particulars which may be thought to relate too much to myſelf and too little to the publick. When I ſhall have leiſure to draw a faithful portraiture of Mr. Garrick, not only from his behaviour to me in particular, but from his conduct towards poets, players and the town in general, I doubt not to convince the moſt partial of his admirers that he hath accumulated a fortune, as manager, by the meaneſt and moſt meretricious devices, and that the theatrical props, which have long ſupported his exalted reputation, as an actor, have been raiſed on the ruins of the English ſtage.

In the mean time, I leave you to amuſe yourſelf with the following jeu d'eſprit of my friend; hoping, tho' it be a ſevere correction for the errours of your paſt favouritiſm, it may prove a ſalutary guide to you for the future. With regard to the mode of its publication I hope alſo to ſtand excuſed with the reader for thus interpoſing to defeat the ſucceſs of thoſe arts, which you ſo unfairly practiſe to prevent, from reaching the public eye, whatever is diſagreeable to your own.

I am, Sir, Yours, &c. W. KENRICK.

LOVE in the SUDS; A TOWN ECLOGUE. WHITHER away, now, GEORGEThe brother and conſtant companion of ROSCIUS; the Mercury of our theatrical Jupiter, whom he diſpatches with his divine commands to mortal poets and miſerable actors., into the city, And to the village, muſt thou bear my ditty. Seek NYKY out, while I in verſe complain, And court the Muſe to call him back again. Boeotian Nymphs, my favorite verſe inſpire; As erſt ye NYKY taught to ſtrike the lyre. For he like PHOEBUS' ſelf can touch the ſtring, And opera-ſongs compoſe—like any thing! What ſhall I do, now NYKY'S fled away? For who like him can either ſing or ſay? IMITATIONS. Quo te, Moeri, pedes; an quò via ducit in urbem? Nymphae, noſter amor, Libethrides, nunc mihi carmen, Quale meo Codro, concedite; proxima Phoebi Verſibus ille facit.— Quid facerem? For me, alas! who well compos'd the ſong When lovely PEGGY PEGGY WOFFINGTON, on whom our ROSCIUS, then her inamorato, made a famous ſong, beginning with the following ſtanza: Once more I'll tune the vocal ſhell, To bills and dales my paſſion tell, A flame which time can never quell, That burns for thee, my Peggy.

Time, however, effects ſtrange things, as the poet ſays, and many have been the paſſions which have ſince agitated, and have been alſo quelled in the boſom of ROSCIUS.

liv'd, and I was young; By age impair'd, my piping days are done, My memory fails, and ev'n my voice is gone. My feeble notes I yet muſt ſtrive to raiſe; Boeotian Muſes! aid my feeble lays: A little louder, and yet louder ſtill, Aid me to raiſe my failing voice at will; Aid me as loud as Hercules did bawl, For Hylas loſt, loſt NYKY back to call; While London town, and all its ſuburbs round In echoes, NYKY, NYKY, back reſound. IMITATIONS. — Saepe ego longos Cantando puerum memini me condere ſoles Nunc oblita mihi tot carmina: vox quoque Moerim Jam fugit ipſa— Omnia fert aetas, animum quoque. — Muſae paulò majora canamus. — Hylan nautae quo fonte relictum Clamaffeat; ut littus Hyla, Hyla, omne ſonaret. Whom flieſt thou, frantic youth, and whence thy fear? Bleſt had there never been a grenadier! Unhappy NYKY, by what frenzy ſeiz'd, Couldſt thou with ſuch a monſtrous thing be pleas'd? What, tho' thyſelf a loving horſe-marine, NYKY is a half-pay officer of marines A horſe-marine is a kind of meretricious HOBBY-HORSE, modò vir modò foemina. A common foot-ſoldier's a thing obſcene. Not fabled Nymphs, by ſpleen turn'd into cows, Bellow'd to naſty bulls their amorous vows; Tho' turn'd their loving horns upon each other, Butting in play, as brother might with brother. Unhappy NYKY, whither doſt thou ſtray, Loſt to thy friends, o'er hills and far away? IMITATIONS. Quem fugis? Ah demens!— Et fortunatam, ſi nunquam armenta fuiſſent, Paſiphaën nivei ſolatur amore juvenci. Oh, virgo infelix, quae te dementia cepit? Proetides implêrunt falſis mugitibus agros: At non tum turpes pecudum tamen ulla ſecuta eſt Concubitus: quamvis collo timuiſſet aratrum, Et ſaepe in levi quaeſiſſet cornua fronte. Ah, virgo infelix, tu nunc in montibus erras! Yet to Euryalus as Niſus true, So ſhall thy ROSCIUS, NYKY, prove to you; Whether by impulſe mov'd, itſelf divine, Or ſo I'm bound to call it, as it's mine, A mighty feat preſents itſelf to view, Which for our mutual gain I yet will do. Mean-time do thou beware, while I bemoan, How far thou truſteſt ſeas or lands unknown. To Tyber's ſtream, or to the banks of Po, Safe in thy love, ſafe in thy virtue, go; Yet even there with caution be thou kind, And look out ſharp and frequently behind. But ah, beware, nor truſt, tho' native Mud,NYKY it ſeems was born and bred in Ireland; where his chriſtian name was John. How he came by the Jewiſh appellation of Iſaac is not generally known. Whether it was beſtowed upon him for his reſemblance to the choſen people, given him by poetical licence, may poſſibly be a matter of diſquiſition for future ſcholiaſts. The banks of Liffy, or of Shannon's flood; Or there, if driv'n by fate, be huſh'd thy ſtrain? Nor of thy wayward lot, nor mine complain. IMITATIONS. Niſus ait, "Diine hunc ardorem mentibus addunt Euryale? An ſua cuique deus ſit dira Cupido? Aut pugnam, aut aliquid jamdudum invadere magnum Mens agitat mihi — Hàc iter eft; tu ne qua manus ſe attollere nobis A tergo poſſit, cuſtodi et conſule longè. 〈8 pages missing〉 By this moſt precious relick, here I pledge Myſelf to ſave him from the halter's edge: And not myſelf alone, but ev'ry friend Shall all his intereſt and aſſiſtance lend. Quaint B—, beholding the rude mob with ſcorn, Shall tell how Iriſh bards are gentle born; Next I, to captivate the learned bench, Will ſtrait affirm that NYKY writes good French; See the Seſſions-paper; in which this admirableplea is made uſe of by ROSCIUS to exculpate a culprit accuſed of murder. Thy timid nature JOHNSON ſhall maintain,See the ſame; in which this pompous pſeudo-philoſopher affects to ſuppoſe cowardice incompatible with the character of an Italian bravo. In words no dictionary can explain. Goldſmith, good-natur'd man, ſhall next defend, His foſter-brother, So called from having not long ſince made one in a poetical triumvirate, which gave occaſion to the following verſes in imitation of Dryden's famous epigram on Milton; "Three poets in three diſtant ages born," &c. Poor Dryden! what a theme badſt thou, Compar'd to that which offers now? What are your Britons, Romans, Grecians, Compar'd with thorough-bred Mileſians? Step into Griffin's ſhop, he'll tell ye Of Goldſmith, Bickerſtaff, and Kelly, Three poets of one age and nation, Whoſe more than mortal reputation, Mounting in trio to the ſkies O'er Milton's ſame and Virgil's flies. Nay, take one Iriſh evidence for t'other, Ev'n Homer's ſelf is but their foſter-brother. countryman, and friend: Shall prove the humbler paſſions, now and then, Are incidental to us little men; IMITATIONS. Hanc ego magnanimi ſpolium Didymaonis haſtam, Ut ſemel eſt avulſa jugis à matre perempta, Quae neque jam frondes virides neque proferet umbras, Fida miniſteria et duras obit horrida pugnas Teſtor. VAL. FLAC. And that the part our gentle NYKY play'd Was but philoſophy in maſquerade. It ſeems indeed to be growing into faſhion for philoſophy to go in maſquerade, if there be any truth in the ſubject of the following; which lately appeared in the public prints.

To Doctor GOLDSMITH, on ſeeing his name in the liſt of the mummers at the late maſquerade. Say ſhould the philoſophic mind diſdain That good which makes each humbler boſom vain; Let 〈◊〉 taught pride diſſemble all it can, Such Rule things are great to little man. GOLDSMITH. How widely different, Goldſmith, are the ways Of doctors now, and thoſe of ancient days! Theirs taught the truth in academic ſhades, Ours haunt lewd hops, and midnight maſquerades! So chang'd the times! ſay philoſophic ſage, Whoſe genius ſuits ſo will this taſteful age, Is the Pantheon, late a ſink obſcene, Become the fountain of chaſte Hippocrene? Or do thy moral numbers quaintly flow Inſpir'd by th' Aganippe of Soho? Do wiſdom's ſons gorge cates and vermicelli Like beaſtly Bickerſtaff or bothering Kelly? Or art thou tir'd of th' undeſerv'd applauſe Beſtow'd on bards affecting virtue's cauſe? Wouldſt thou, like Sterne, reſolv'd at length to thrive, Turn pimp and die cock-bawd at ſixty-five, Is this the good that makes the humble vain, The good philoſophy ſhould not diſdain If ſo, let pride diſſemble all it can, A modern ſage is ſtill much leſs than man. MORNING CHRONICLE.

Let me no longer, then, my loſs deplore, But to his ROSCIUS, Muſe, my NYK reſtore. IMITATIONS. Ducite ab urbe domum mea carmina ducite Daphnim. For who like him will patch and pilfer plays, Yielding to me the profit and the praiſe? Tho' cheap in French tranſlations MURPHY deals; For cheap he well may vend the goods he ſteals; Tho' modeſt CRADDOC ſcorns to ſell his play, But gives the good-for-nothing thing away; What tho' the courtly CUMBERLAND ſucceeds In writing ſtuff no man of letters reads; Tho' ſenſe and language are expell'd the ſtage; For nonſenſe pleaſes beſt a ſenſcleſs age; What tho' the author of the New Bath Guide Up to the ſkies my talents late hath cried;The compliments paſſed between theſe celebrated geniuſes indeed were mutual; Mr. A. commending ROSCIUS for his fine acting, and ROSCIUS in return Mr. A. for his fine writing. The panegyric on both ſides was equally modeſt and juſt; and yet ſome ſnarling epigrammatiſt could not forbear throwing out the following ill-natured jeu d'eſprit on the occaſion.

On the poetical compliments lately paſſed between Meſſ. G. and A

. When mincing maſters, met with miſſes, Pay mutual compliments for kiſſes; Miſs Polly ſings no doubt divinely, And maſter Jacky ſpouts as finely. But how I hate ſuch odious greeting, When two old ſtagers have a meeting. Foh! out upon the filthy pother! What! men beſlobber one another! Tho' humble HIFFERNAN in pay, I keep, Still my faſt friend, when he is faſt aſleep; Tho' long the Hodmandod my friend hath been, With the land-tortoiſe earth'd at Turnham-Green: Two amphibious monſters, well known in the republic of letters as editors of the Critical and Monthly Reviews. The latter ſeems to be compared by the poet to a land-torroiſe buried in the earth, on account of the ſlowneſs of its motion and the clouds of dirt and dullneſs with which it is ſurrounded: the former hath been long known by the above appellation from the following humorous deſcription.

LUSUS NATUREAE TYPOGRAPHUS. Monſtrum horrendum informe ingens cui lumen ademptum. VIRG. I thought ſome of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well; they imitated humanity ſo abominably. SHAKESPEARE. In Nature's workſhop, on a day, Her journeymen inclin'd to play, Half drank 'twixt cup and can, Took up a clod which ſee with care Was modelling a huge ſea bear, And ſwore they'd make't a man. They tried, but, bandling ill their tools, Form'd, like a pack of bungling fools, A thing ſo groſs and odd; That, when it roll'd about the diſh, They know not if 'twere fleſh or fiſh, A man or Hodmandod. Yet, to compleat their piece of fun, They chriſten'd it Arch Hamilton; "But what can this thing do?; Kick it down ſtairs; the devil's in't If it won't do to write and print The Critical Review. KENRICK.

Tho' HARRY WOODFALL, BALDWIN, EVANS, SAY, Editors and printers of news-papers, well known to the public for their impartiality in regard to ROSCIUS. My puffs in faireſt order full diſplay; Impartially inſert each friendly PRO, Suppreſſing ever CON of every foe; A recent inſtance of this muſt not paſs unnoticed. In the Public Advertiſer appeared lately the following quaint panegyric, ſuggeſted probably to ROSCIUS himſelf by his brother GEORGE the attorney.

Nature againſt G— Notice of Proceſs. Dame Nature againſt G— now by me Her action brings, and thus ſhe grounds her plea. "I never made a man but ſtill You acted like that man at will; Yet ever muſt I hope in vain To make a man like you again." Hence ruin'd totally by you, She brings her ſuit, &c. &c. B. Solicitor for the Plaintiff.

In reply to this notice, it is ſaid, the defendant's plea would have appeared in the ſame paper; but the cauſe was obliged to be removed by certiorari to an other court; when it appeared thus:

Nature againſt G— Defendant's Plea. For G— I without a fee 'Gainſt Nature thus put in his plea. "To make a man, like me, of art, Is not, 'tis true, dame Nature's part; I own that Scrub, fool, knave I've play'd With more ſucceſs than all my trade; But prove it, plaintiff, if you can, That e'er I acted like a man." Of this we boldly make denial. — Join iſſue, and proceed to trial. A. Attorney for the Defendant.

For well I ween, they wot that cons and pros Will tend my faults and follies to expoſe: Tho' mighty TOM doth ſtill my champion prove, And LOCKYER'S gauntlet be a chicken glove: Tho' ſhambling BECKET, The famous THOMAS A BECKET, feigned by the poets to have been drown'd, when, being half ſeas over, in claret, he endeavoured to return to land: on which occaſion a wicked wit of the town made the following epitaph for his tomb. Here lies That ſhuffling, ſhambling, ſhrugging, ſhrinking ſhrimp, Tom Becket, Mammon's moſt induſtrious imp! proud to ſoothe my pride, Keeps ever ſhuffling on my right-hand ſide; What tho' with well-tim'd flatt'ry, loud he cries, At each theatric ſtare, "See, ſee his eyes!" What tho' he'll fetch and carry at command, And kiſs, true ſpaniel-like, his maſter's hand; With admiration NYK ne'er heard me ſpeak, But preſs'd the kiſs of love upon my cheek; A cuſtomary method it ſeems, of NYKY'S expreſſing his admiration of the acting of the immortal ROSCIUS. Inceſſant clapp'd at th' end of every ſpeech; And, had I let him, would have kiſs'd my b—! Let me no longer, then, my loſs deplore, But to his ROSCIUS, Muſe, my NYK reſtore. But hah! what diſcord ſtrikes my liſtening ear? Is NYKY dead, or is ſome critic near? Curſe on that Ledger and that damn'd Whitehall News-papers ſo called, in which ROSCIUS is not a ſharer, and hath not yet come up to the price of their ſilence. How players and managers they daily maul! IMITATIONS. Dacite ab urbe domum mea carmina ducite Daphnim. Curſe on that Morning-Chronicle; whoſe tale Is never known with ſpightful wit to fail. Curſe on that FOOTE; who in ill-fated hour Trod on the heels of my theatric-power; Who, ever ready with ſome biting joke, My peace hath long and would my heart have broke. Curſe on his horſe—one leg! but ONE to break! "A kingdom for a horſe" —to break his neck! Curſe on that STEVENS, GEORGE ALEXANDER STEVENS the lecturer, not the Macaroni editor of Shakeſpeare. with his Iriſh breeding, While I am acting, ſhall that wretch be reading? Curſe on all rivals, or in ſame or profit; The Fantoccini ſtill make ſomething of it! What formidable rivals to the immortal ROSCIUS? Harlequin, Scaramouch, Chimney-ſweeper, Baſs-viol, Aſtrologer, Child, Statue and Parrot! But ROSCIUS having received a formal challenge from Mr. Punch and his merry family, a pitch'd-battle, for which great preparations are now making, will be fought between them next winter; when there is no doubt but the triumphant ROSCIUS will, even at their own weapons, rout them all. There is the leſs reaſon to fear this, as he hath already exceeded even Mr.—'s activity in King Richard. It is but three or four years ago ſince this mockmonarch died ſo tamely that he was hiſſed off the ſtage; on which occaſion the following epigram appeared in the papers.

ROSCIUS REDIVIVUS. George! did'nt I hear the critics hiſs, When I was dead?— "Yes, brother, yes, "You did not die in high rant." Nay, if they think a dying king Like Harlequin convuls'd, ſhould ſpring, Let—be hence their tyrant.

ROSCIUS, however, hath chang'd his mind, and acquired new elaſtic powers; in ſo much that the following complimentary verſes appeared on the agility, which he lately diſplayed in the performance of that character.

Be dumb, ye criticks, dare to hiſs no more While crowded boxes, pit and galleries roar. Who ſays that Roſcius feels the hand of Time, To blaſt his blooming laurels in their prime? With ever ſupple limbs and pliant tongue, Roſcius, like Hebe, will be ever young. See and believe your eyes—did e'er you ſee So great a feat of pure agility? Nor Hughes nor Aſtley, vaulting in the air, Like Roſcius makes the ſtruck ſpectators ſtare. Nor Lun nor Woodward ever gave the ſpring, He gave laſt night in Richard, dying king! Th' immortal actor, who can die ſo clever, In ſpite of fate will live to die for ever! Curſe on that KENRICK, A Briton blunt, bred to plain mathematics, Who hates French b—gres, and Italian pathics. with his cauſtic pen, Who ſcorns the hate, and hates the love of MEN; Who with ſuch force envenom'd ſatire writes, Deeper his ink than aqua-fortis

The plaintive ROSCIUS ſeems here to have an eye to the following lines:

The wits who drink water, and ſuck ſugar-candy, Impute the ſtrong ſpirit of Kenrick to brandy. They are not ſo much out: the matter in ſhort is He ſips aqua-vitae and ſpits aqua-fortis. PUBLIC ADV. bites. Stand his perpetual-motion This multifarious genius pretends to have diſcovered the Perpetual motion, but it muſt be a mere pretence; as he is weak enough to think the public ought to reward him for his diſcovery, and offers to diſcloſe it on the ſimple terms of no purchaſe no pay. ever ſtill; Or, if it move, oh, let it move up hill. The curſe of Siſiphus, oh, let him feel; The curſe of Fortune's ſtill recurring wheel That upward roll'd with anxious toil and pain, The ſummit almoſt gain'd, rolls back again. Ne'er ſhall his FALSTAFF Falſtaff's Wedding, a play written in imitation of Shakeſpeare; at firſt rejected, as unfit for the theatre, on account of having ſo many of Shakeſpeare's known characters in it; tho' the manager himſelf afterwards brought on a pageant, in which were almoſt all Shakeſpeare's known characters; when finding it difficult to make any of them ſpeak with propriety, he contented himſelf with inſtructing them to bite their thumbs, ſcrew up their mouths, and make faces at each other, to the great edification of the audience.— This play indeed was afterwards almoſt entirely altered, and got up for a performer's benefit, when it was received with the greateſt applauſe. It has however never ſince been acted, either for the author's emolument or the entertainment of the publick, although the alterations were made at the inſtance of the manager; and under his promiſe that, if it ſucceeded in the repreſentation, it ſhould be permitted to have a run. come again to life; Ne'er ſhall be play'd again his WIDOW'D WIFE; Another comedy, nearly under the ſame predicament with reſpect to the town: having been performed but once ſince its firſt run, tho' received with approbation; the manager in the mean while having brought on, and repeatedly acted, the performances of his favourite play-wrights, to almoſt empty benches: and yet ROSCIUS hath all the while pretended to have the higheſt opinion of the talents, and the greateſt regard for the intereſt of the writer.—The manager claims a legal right, indeed, as patentee, to perform what plays he pleaſes; but tho' the play-houſe and patent be his property, he has no liberal right to make, at pleaſure, a property of the players, the poets and the publick! Ne'er will I court again his ſtubborn Muſe, But for a pageant would his play refuſe. While puff and pantomime will gull the town, 'Tis good to keep o'erweening merit down; IMITATIONS. Aut pefes aut urges ruiturum, Syſiphe, ſaxum. With BICKERSTAFF and CUMBERLAND go ſhares, And grind the poets as I grind the players. Curſe on that KENRICK, ſoul of ſpleen and whim! What are my puffs, and what my gains to him? If poor and proud, can he of right complain That wealthier men and wittier are as vain? Why muſt he hint that I am paſt my prime, To blaſt my fading laurels ere their time? Death to my fame, and what, alas, is worſe, 'Tis death, damnation, to my craving purſe; Capacious purſe! by PLUTUS form'd to hold, (The God of Wealth) the devil and all of gold. Inſatiate purſe, that never yet ran o'er, But ſwallows all, and gapes, like Hell, for more. And yet, alas! how much the world will lye! They call me miſer; but no miſer I; He, brooding o'er his bags, delighted ſits, And laughs to ſcorn the jeſts of envious wits; If faſt his doors, he ſets his heart at reſt, And dotes with rapture on his iron cheſt; No galling paper-ſquibs his ſpirits teize, But ev'n the boys may hoot him if they pleaſe. IMITATIONS. Sordidus ac dives, populi contemnere voces Si ſolitus: populus me ſibilat: at mihi plaudo Ipſe domi, ſimul ac nummos contemplor in areâ. He ſcorns the whiſtling of an empty name, While I am torn 'twixt avarice and fame; While I, ſo tremblingly alive all o'er, Still bleed and agonize at every pore; At ev'ry hiſs am harrow'd up with fear, And burſt with choler at a critick's ſneer. Rack'd by the gout and ſtone, and ſtruck with age, Prudence and Eaſe adviſe to quit the ſtage; But Fame ſtill prompts, and Pride can feel no pain; And Avarice bids me ſell my ſoul for gain. Bring NYKY back, O Muſe! by verſe divine, The Trojan-Greeks were once transform'd to ſwine. By verſe divine B—TTI 'ſcap'd the rope: Now love is known, what may not lovers hope! Ev'n as with Griffins Unnatural monſters, familiar only with the poets. ſtallions late have join'd With blood-hounds goats may litter, as in kind; IMITATIONS. Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina ducite Daphnim: Carminibus Circe ſocios mutavit Ulyſſei: Carmina vel coelo poſſunt deducere lunam. Nunc ſcio quid ſit amor — — quid non ſperemus amantes? Jungentur jam Gryphes equis, aevoque ſequenti Cum canibus timidi venient ad pocula damae. Nay wanton kids devouring wolves may greet, And wolves with loving lyoneſſes meet. By different means is different love made known. And each fond lover will prefer his own. Strange lot of love! two friends, my ſoul's delight, Men call that M—r, this a Catamite! Yet bring him back; for who chaſte roundelay Shall ſing, now B—ST—FF is driv'n away? Who now correct, for modeſt Drury-lane, Looſe Wycherly's or Congreve's looſer vein? With nice decorum ſhunning naughty jokes, Exhibit none but decent, dainty folks? NYKY was employed by ROSCIUS to correct the Plain-dealer of Wycherly; which he accordingly attempted, and inſcribed the attempt to his patron, "as a tribute of affection and eſteem for his many ſhining and amiable qualities." "The licentiouſneſs of Wycherly's muſe," ſays this modern corrector, "rendered her ſhocking to us, with all her charms: or, in other words, we could allow no charms in a tainted beauty, who brought contagion along with her." Of the play of the Plain-dealer, in particular, he intimates that it had been long excluded the theatre; becauſe, to the honour of the preſent age, it was immoral and indecent: that on a cloſe examination, he found in it exceſſive obſcenity; that the character of Manly was rough even to outrageous brutality; and that he thought it neceſſary to work the whole materials up again, with a mixture of alloy agreeable to the rules of modern refinement! SEE PREFACE TO B—FF'S PLAIN-DEALER. What a champion for decency and delicacy, morality and humanity! What improvement may not ſterling wit receive from the mixture of ſuch alloy! What an idea may we not hence acquire of modern refinement! IMITATIONS. Torva leaena lupum ſequitur, lupus ipſe capellam, Te Corydon, O Alexis: trahit ſua quemque voluptas. Ah me! how wanton wit will ſhame the ſtage, And ſhock this delicate, this virtuous age! How will Plain-dealers A character thus admirably depicted by Wycherly, in the ſcene between Manly and Plauſible. Manly.

I have more of the maſtiff than the ſpaniel in me, I own it: I cannot fawn, and fetch and carry; neither will I ever practiſe that ſervile complaiſance, which ſome people pique themſelves on being maſters of.— I will not whiſper my contempt or hatred; call a man fool or knave by ſigns and mouths, over his ſhoulder; while I have him in my arms: I will not, as you do—

Plauſible.

As I do! Heaven defend me! upon my honour! I never attempted to abuſe or leſſen any one in my life.

Manly.

What! you were afraid?

Plauſible.

No: but ſeriouſly I hate to do a rude thing. No, faith, I ſpeak well of all mankind.

Manly.

I thought ſo: but know that this is the worſt ſort of detraction, for it takes away the reputation of the few good men in the world by making all alike! Now I ſpeak ill of many men, becauſe they deſerve it.

triumph, to my ſorrow! And PAPHOS riſe o'er SODOM and GOMORRAH!

〈1 page missing〉 APPENDIX.

A Certain circumſtance,Viz. The groſs publication of a direct, abominable charge againſt ROSCIUS, in the Public Ledger of June 18. to which the author of the foregoing piece was an utter ſtranger, having happened about the time of its publication, and given riſe to rumours equally falſe and foreign to the writer; it appears that Roſcius, or ſome of his friends, was pleaſed to inſert the following queries in the Morning Chronicle of July 2d.

CANDOUR preſents her compliments to Mr.—, ſhe begs his pardon—to Dr.— Kenrick, and deſires to aſk him a few ſimple queſtions; to which, if he be the Plain-dealer he pretends, he will give a plain and direct anſwer.

Query I. Whether you are not the author of the eclogue, entitled, Love in the Suds, as well as of the letter prefixed to it? II. Whether you did not mean, though you have artfully evaded the law, by affecting the tranſlation of a claſſical cento, to throw out the moſt ſcandalous inſinuations againſt the character of Roſcius? III. Whether you were not likewiſe the author of an infamous, anonymous paragraph in a public paper; for which that paper is under a juſt proſecution? IV. Whether you have not openly acknowledged notwithſtanding, that you really entertained a very different opinion of Roſcius? V. Whether any cauſe of diſpute, that might ſubſiſt between you and Roſcius, can authorize ſo cruel, ſo unmanly an attack? VI. Whether the brother of Roſcius did not perſonally wait on you to require, in his name, the ſatisfaction of a gentleman, which you refuſed him? CANDOUR.

To theſe queries, the author judged it expedient to make the following reply in the ſame paper of July 4th.

To CANDOUR. MADAM,

Though I think your ſignature a miſnomer, to ſhew that I am no ſtranger to the name and quality you aſſume, I ſhall not ſtand on the punctilio of your being an anonymous queriſt; but anſwer your ſeveral queſtions explicitly.

I. I am the author of the eclogue you mention. II. I did not mean to throw out the moſt ſcandalous inſinuations on the character of Roſcius, nor any inſinuation more ſcandalous than his conduct. How far that has been ſo, he knows beſt, and is left to make the application. III. An infamous paragraph I cannot write; and an anonymous one I will not write, to prejudice my greateſt enemy. As to that in queſtion, I have not, to this hour, even ſeen it. CALUMNY I deteſt; but I think vice ſhould be expoſed to infamy; nor have I ſo much falſe delicacy as to conceive, it ſhould be treated with tenderneſs in proportion as it is abominable. IV. I have not acknowledged that I entertain a very different opinion of Roſcius; on the contrary, I declare, that I entertain a very indifferent opinion of him. V. As to the cauſe of our diſpute, I ſhould be very ready to ſubmit it to the publick, were I egotiſt enough to think it deſerved their attention. VI. The brother of Roſcius did perſonally wait on me, to deſire I would meet "him, the ſaid Roſcius, who would bring a friend with him; I being at liberty to do the ſame;" but as nothing of time, place, or weapon was mentioned, I did not look on this meſſage as a challenge; nor well could I, as I never heard of requiring gentleman's ſatisfaction by letter of attorney, and the profeſſed end of our meeting turned merely on a matter of buſineſs.—It is poſſible, indeed, the meſſenger, otherwiſe inſtructed, might imagine it ſuch, eſpecially as, it ſeems, his head has teemed with nothing but challenges and duels, ſince his magnanimous monomachy with one of his brother Roſcius's candle-ſnuffers.—That Roſcius himſelf, however, did not mean to ſend me a challenge, is plain, from his ſolliciting afterwards by letter, a conference in the preſence only of a common friend to both: a requeſt that would have been complied with, had not he thought proper, in a moſt ungentleman-like manner, to make a confidant, in the mean time, of a booby of a bookſeller, who had the folly and impudence to declare that he would, on his [Roſcius's] account, take an opportunity to do me ſome deſperate miſchief.—Leſt I ſhould be yet ſuppoſed, from the purport of this laſt query, to have any fear of a perſonal encounter with the doughty Roſcius, I require only that it may be on an equal footing. I am neither ſo extravagantly fond of life, nor think myſelf ſo conſequential in it, as to fear the end of it from ſuch an antagoniſt; nor, to ſay the truth, ſhould I have any qualms of conſcience, if nothing leſs will ſatisfy him, about putting an end to ſo inſignificant a being as his: but, as "the race is not to the ſwift, nor the battle to the ſtrong," it is but right to provide againſt a miſhap. Roſcius has a large fortune, and little or no family to leave it to: I have a large family, and little or no fortune to leave it. Let Roſcius but previouſly ſettle only half his eſtate on my heirs, on condition that he deprives them of a protector, and I will meet him to-morrow, and engage at his own weapons, not only him, but his brother George into the bargain.The above pleaſantry being miſconſtrued by ſome of Roſcius's friends to the diſadvantage of the author, the latter thought himſelf under the neceſſity of ſeriouſly acquainting the former, of his being ready, as he is, at any time, to give him ſuch ſatisfaction as a gentleman, who ſuppoſes himſelf injured, has a right to require.

And now, Madam CANDOUR, give me leave to aſk you a queſtion or two, in my turn.

Qu. I. Whether, from many groſs inſtances of miſbehaviour, Roſcius hath not long had ſufficient reaſon to ſuſpect the deteſtable character of Nyky.? II. Whether, therefore, granting Roſcius to be himſelf immaculate, he is excuſable for his notorious partialities to ſuch a character? III. Whether he has any right to complain of unjuſt ſeverity, in being ludicrouſly reproached with ſuch partialities, by a writer, whom he hath treated, even in favour of that very wretch, with diſreſpect, with inſolence, with injuſtice. W. KENRICK.

Inſtead of candidly replying, however, to the above three queries, a very difficult taſk, indeed, to Roſcius, he cauſed the Court of King's Bench to be moved for a rule to ſhew cauſe, why leave ſhould not be given him to file an information againſt the author for a libel: which being granted of courſe, the ſame was exultingly anounced in the following paragraphs inſerted in all the news-papers:

Yeſterday morning Mr. Dunning made a motion in the Court of King's Bench, for a rule to ſhew cauſe why an information ſhould not be laid againſt the author of Love in the Suds. When the court was pleaſed to grant a rule for the firſt day of next term. The poem was read in court by the Clerk of the Crown, and afforded no ſmall diverſion when it came to that part which reflects upon a certain Chief Juſtice, who was preſent all the time.

Beſides Mr. Wallace and Mr. Dunning, who are employed by a greatactor, in his proſecution of ſome deteſtable charges which have been lately urged with as much folly as wickedneſs againſt his character, Mr. Murphy and Mr. Mansfield are alſo engaged, and the cauſe now becomes a matter of much expectation with the publick.

To theſe paragraphs the author judged it neceſſary to make the following reply, in the above-mentioned Morning Chronicle; almoſt all the reſt of the news-papers, by the indefatigable induſtry and powerful influence of Roſcius, a proprietor in moſt of them, being ſhut againſt him.

The AUTHOR of LOVE in the SUDS to the PRINTER of the MORNING CHRONICLE. SIR,

In reprehending the faults of other men you ſhould ever be cautious of falling into the error you condemn. In yeſterday's paper you indirectly charge me, among others, with having "urged a deteſtable charge with as much folly as wickedneſs againſt a certain great actor."—What other people have done I know not, nor does it concern me; but I may ſafely defy all the Lawyers in Weſtminſter-Hall fairly to deduce ſuch a charge as you hint at from the eclogue in queſtion. In this reſpect it is certainly as innocent as the great actor's Jubilee Ode! But granting it otherwiſe with any one elſe, how can you take upon you to ſay that ſuch a charge is urged fooliſhly and wickedly? Can you know it to be falſe or groundleſs? And if not, on what grounds do you charge the accuſers with folly and wickedneſs? Why does not the CANDOUR of the great actor, reply to the Queries put to him in your paper of Saturday laſt? But no; unable to juſtify himſelf at the bar of the publick, he flies for refuge to the quirks and quibbles of Weſtminſter-Hall; and even this at the latter end of a term, in order to deceive the town into a notion that the court will countenance his proſecution. Why was not his motion made ſooner, that cauſe might have been ſhewn in time, and the futility of it made immediately evident? Believe me, Sir, before an end is put to this buſineſs, the publick will be better enabled to judge on which ſide the folly and wickedneſs lies, than you appear to do at preſent.

I am, yours, &c. W. K.

THE POETICAL ALTERCATION BETWEEN BENEDICK and BEATRICE. EXTRACTED FROM THE MORNING CHRONICLE.

K—K, whom we may juſtly claſs in Th' envenom'd race of Scribes-aſſaſſin, Accoſts the celebrated Davy, With "Sir, your humble—Phoebus ſave ye! "A comedy I've newly written— Curſe me! if any bard in Britain Can ſhew you one of equal merit; Nay, half ſo full of wit and ſpirit. You'll find it, Sir, all air, all life; E'en better than my Widowed Wiſe. A piece like this muſt always pleaſe one: By G—d 'twill run you half the ſeaſon! Therefore, Sir Roſcius, pray remember To have it ready in November." Garrick refus'd—Curſe me, cries Ken, I'll trounce the ſcoundrel with my pen. Refuſe my piece! I'll make him play't, or I'll brand him for fair Beauty's traitor. I'll have him in the Suds—I'll maul him, And Bickerſtaff's Accomplice call him. When I have chriſten'd him Indorſer, His fame is gone, his acting's o'er, Sir: The men in a tumultuous rage Will hiſs and pelt him off the ſtage; Nay not one female—I'll ſo ſnap him— Will even condeſcend to clap him. So a young brim in Catharine-ſtreet A man of ſober caſt will greet; "Give me," ſhe cries, with luring leer, "Give me a glaſs of wine, my dear." Then graſps his arm with ſeeming rapture, In hopes of making him her capture. But if in prudence he forbear To venture on her dangerous ware, Or to her painted beauty cold, He force the nymph to quit her hold, Th' indignant brim exclaims aloud, T' exaſperate the paſſing crowd; And, in moſt diabolic ſpite, Pronounces him a Sodomite. BENEDICK.

To BENEDICK. G—K, whom men, of ev'ry claſs, call A ſhuffling, avaricious r-ſc-l, For full five years had K —k fobb'd off, And his fair name and fortune robb'd of; Allowing Falſtaff's Wedding merit, And ſworn to get it up with ſpirit, Yet ſhrinking back, from year to year, Thro' meanneſs, or invidious fear, Leſt any other ſhould be thought By Shakeſpeare's genius to be taught, Prior engagements ſtill pretending, Which K—k finding ſtill no end in; Each muſhroom produce of the ſeaſon To put off him ſtill made a reaſon, Reſolv'd at length its fate to know He claims an anſwer, yes, or no: Bent, as in G—k there no truſt is, To do himſelf poetic juſtice; To ſhew for whom and what rejected, A piece approv'd is thus neglected. G—k, who ſans equivocation, Deceit or mental reſervation, Mean ſubterfuge or ſly ſuggeſtion, Ne'er anſwer'd yet the plaineſt queſtion; Conſcious of ev'ry partial trick He others play'd, for ſake of Bick, Demurs, and threatens life and law, If K—k dare his pen to draw; Who riſing G—k's fair accuſer, Is branded as a baſe traducer; By G—k ev'ry odium thrown On K—k's name, to ſave his own. So th' outlaw'd ſmuggler, baſe invader Of th' intereſts of the honeſt trader, His cargo ſeiz'd, himſelf in danger, Addreſſes ev'ry paſſing ſtranger; To bring the officer to ſhame, Brands him with an Informer's name. Informer, vile! he cries aloud, Informer, echoes thro' the crowd; Boys hoot, men cuff, and women ſcoff; Meanwhile the miſcreant ſhuffles off: Thus knaves, ſupported by the mob, The private and the public rob. BEATRICE.

To BEATRICE. SINCE, Beatrice, you've undertaken To ſave a ſland'rous culprit's bacon, (A culprit of guilt's blackeſt roll, and Unprincipled as Jemmy Bolland.) By telling us how, where, and when Dan GARRICK has ill-treated KEN; Give me, good dame, I humbly crave you, A hearing for my fav'rite Davy; I've my objections—let me ſtart 'em— The rule is, "audi alteram partem." Some years ago an honeſt fellow, As ever with ſheer ſack was mellow, Who long has plac'd his hopes, his all, in The gains of hiſtrionic calling, Who now is journeyman, now maſter, (Oh may he never meet diſaſter! Was offer'd, for the truth aſk KEN of it— Jack Falſtaff's Wedding for his benefit. LOVE, who at genius is no ſcoffer, Makes KEN a bow, accepts his offer. The piece was play'd—the audience claw'd it? Not they; nor did they much applaud it. But as it 'ſcap'd the trial ordeal, To K—k's ſpirits 'twas a cordial. He bounc'd, look'd big, and ſwell'd: his vanity Was not to be reſtrain'd by any tie: He ſwore his comedy might claim a Precedence in the Britiſh drama: Its flights ſo high, its wit ſo attic, 'Twou'd crown him king of bards dramatic. Happy for KEN had Drury's ſultan Eſteem'd his bantling an adult one! But—fatal to the ſale of tickets! He ſaid the child had got the rickets; Tho' ſome few features in't were ſprightly, Yet altogether 'twas unſightly. Howe'er to ſoften KEN's diſpleaſure, For diſappointed ſame and treaſure, He charitably ſtood his patron, And brought him out the Widow'd Matron, Than Falſtaff's Wedding heavier bruited, Yet to the reigning taſte more ſuited. Some years elaps'd, the doughty KEN Applies to Drury's Chief again: He ſhook his head, and ſcrew'd his phyz hard, (The Widow'd Wife ſtuck in his gizzard) "Muſt I, (cries he) place in my liſt "A waſpiſh Epigrammatiſt? "Accept his traſh, and be the cully "Of ſuch a ſnarling, ſcribbling bully? "I've had enough of this ſame ſquire; "A burnt child ever dreads the fire." KEN vow'd revenge, made ſame his Pandar; Hell ſhudder'd at the horrid ſlander. Thus, Beatrice, have I unfolded (And fairly too, I will uphold it) The cauſe of quarrel literary, 'Twixt Kenrick and renowned Garry. But were the Manager's behaviour (As you relate) in KEN's disfavour, Pray could it juſtify to true ſage Your rancorous friend's informal uſage? In the next term, at leaſt in Hilary, I hope your friend will grace the pillory: And, as he has prepar'd the Suds, My wiſh is, the plebean bloods May recompence the ſcribbling adder, By giving him a hearty lather. BENEDICK.

To BENEDICK. KEN vow'd revenge, made fame his Pandar; Hell ſhudder'd at the horrid ſlander. BENEDICK. HA! Benedick! and are you there? Caught in your own deſigning ſnare! Doth K—k's eclogue ſay no more Than common ſame had ſaid before? So horrid is't become the crime To turn the town-talk into rhime? To hint in dark and diſtant terms What foul-mouth'd rumour loud affirms? Is ſatire only too ſevere, When more is meant than meets the ear? So cruel is't to ſpeak not out, But leave avow'd report in doubt? Fame is, we know, a lying ſtrumpet; And yet the muſes blow her trumpet. Your lines would elſe not run ſo glib, At ev'ry ſecond word a fib. Lying, 'tis therefore plain, in thy ſenſe, Is founded on poetic licence. A falſhood all that you relate, Of Falſtaff's Wedding and its fate; Of G—k's patronizing charity: How ill beſtow'd ſo great a rarity! Tho' K—k e'er had too much pride To kiſs a manager's backſide Shunn'd, with vile Nyky to be ſeen, In G—k's train, behind the ſcene; Yet, not ſo far the world above His labour to give up for Love; His lawful right he ſtill maintains, To what he claim'd as honeſt gains. Nor this alone the ſecret cauſe Why K—k his dread gooſe-quill draws. Let others crouch; but, while a man, He never will forgive, nor can, 'Till full redreſs'd on fair confeſſion, A bare affront, or baſe oppreſſion. Much leſs will he reſtrain his pen, In fear of wretches leſs than men: That pen, which truth excites to gall Both the great vulgar, and the ſmall; The ſcourge of guilt, when Juſtice claims Its aid againſt the greateſt names. Much leſs will he its aid refuſe, Or tamely check his daring muſe, Becauſe a ſtage-play'r ſtalks abroad, Whoſe antic tricks the crowd applaud; By his profeſſion dead to ſhame, And truſting to theatric fame; Preſumptuous that our Engliſh laws Perverted, to avenge his cauſe, The free-born muſe in chains will bind, Diſgraceful unto human kind; Of ridicule will check the vein, And ſatire's wholeſome power reſtrain; That Vice and Folly, thus ſet free, May laugh at future infamy. No, Sir, next Term indeed, or Hillary, May bring your Nyky to the pillory; Securely as you think he's cloſetted, And ſafe from law's purſuit depoſited. But think not the indignant town Will let his farces ſtill go down; Or that with ſuch a hateful croney, You ſtill may ſhare the public money: Attempt it not; leſt, in a rage, The audience drive thee from the ſtage. BEATRICE.

To Dr. K—. DOCTOR, I have been out of town, or This packet would have reach'd you ſooner. Prithee pull off your maſk; for no man Should injure that dear creature, woman. In Beatrice you give a handle To fix on the dear ſex a ſcandal. What lady would take up gooſe quill in Defence of ſuch a ſlanderous villain? At the word Fame you cloſely nibble, And ſtrive, by jeſuitic quibble, T' explain away an obvious meaning; (An art that Ken was always keen in.) Thus a Solicitor, who daily Attends the ſeſſions at Old Bailey, In fraud deep ſkill'd, to law a nuiſance, Will catch a word, pervert its true ſenſe, To ſave a thorough-pac'd, and callous Offender from his due—the gallows. You tax as falſe what I relate "Of Falſtaff's Wedding, and its fate." But will a Kenrick's ipſe dixit Blaſt my report, and falſehood fix it? No, Doctor; he that knows us both, Will truſt my word before your oath. The Comedy (howe'er you laud it) I told you was not much applauded. Many can witneſs my aſſertion Is truth; not envy, nor aſperſion. Love's friends and your's were all agreed in The celebration of Jack's Wedding; Or poſſibly the critic clans Had ſtepp'd in—to forbid the bans. If on the town again you'd puſh'd it Another audience might have cruſh'd it— That play, whoſe only merit lies In imitation, ſcarce can riſe. You rail at Bick—with all my heart: Think you I mean to take his part? Think you I would one diſtich write T'exculpate a vile ſ—e? No, on him let thy rage be hurl'd: No—laſh him naked thro' the world: Expoſe in ſatire's keeneſt lays This ſkulking, damn'd, deteſted race. Hang up to publick ſcorn each brute Who dares Love's rites to proſtitute: But never tax, in proſe or rhyme, The guiltleſs with ſo black a crime. Your hints to celebrated Garry Seem uſeleſs and unneceſſary. Davy is— what?—a man of prudence: Now mark what comment I obtrude-hence— He would deſerve a cane, or thicker ſtaff, To favour in futuro Bickerſtaff: For ſhould a brat the town be ſibb'd on, Father'd by Paul, compil'd by Dibden, The ſecret could he hope to ſmother? No; it would out ſome time or other: Then hey! what havock, rage and fury, Would reign tumultuous at old Drury! Down go the boxes! up the benches!— The ſcenes are fir'd!—how great the ſtench is— By h—! each Britiſh fair would fly out, And eager join the general riot: Wives, widows, maids, turn warlike Knights, T' avenge their broken Bill of Rights. 'Twere juſt; for ſure no back-door cub, like Vile Bick, ſhould profit by the public. Doctor, I mean this rhyming letter The laſt for which you'll be my debtor. In friendſhip's name I therefore crave you To make it up with injur'd Davy. Your heart of envious ſpleen a maſs call, And own yourſelf a ſland'rous raſcal. Speak truth for once, and ſhame the Devil— Shame, my old Friend? 'twould be uncivil! Pho! he'll excuſe you on that ſcore; You never made him bluſh before. You think I'm Drury's ſtage-director. Upon my honour, mere conjecture! I've put on Benedick's diſguiſe, To be conceal'd from critic ſpies; And Garrick knows no more than Bick, Or Ken, the name of BENEDICK.

To BENEDICK. THUS coſtive bards themſelves excuſe, And lay the fault upon the muſe; A ſlattern, rambling up and down, That, when they're dull, is out of town. But, come, for once, we'll let it paſs, A witling is ſometimes an aſs.