Part 8 (2/2)

They arrive in the Borough--Welcomed by their former Friends--Are better fitted for Comic than Tragic Scenes: yet better approved in the latter by one Part of their Audience--Their general Character and Pleasantry--Particular Distresses and Labours--Their Fort.i.tude and Patience--A private rehearsal--The Vanity of the aged Actress--A Heroine from the Milliner's Shop--A deluded Tradesman--Of what Persons the Company is composed--Character and Adventures of Frederick Thompson.

DRAWN by the annual call, we now behold Our Troop Dramatic, heroes known of old, And those, since last they march'd, enlisted and enrolled: Mounted on hacks or borne in waggons some, The rest on foot (the humbler brethren) come.

Three favour'd places, an unequal time, Join to support this company sublime: Ours for the longer period--see how light Yon parties move, their former friends in sight, Whose claims are all allow'd, and friends.h.i.+p glads the night.

Now public rooms shall sound with words divine, And private lodgings hear how heroes s.h.i.+ne; No talk of pay shall yet on pleasure steal, But kindest welcome bless the friendly meal; While o'er the social jug and decent cheer, Shall be described the fortunes of the year.

Peruse these bills, and see what each can do, - Behold! the prince, the slave, the monk, the Jew; Change but the garment, and they'll all engage To take each part, and act in every age: Cull'd from all houses, what a house are they!

Swept from all barns, our Borough-critics say; But with some portion of a critic's ire, We all endure them; there are some admire: They might have praise, confined to farce alone; Full well they grin, they should not try to groan; But then our servants' and our seamen's wives Love all that rant and rapture as their lives; He who 'Squire Richard's part could well sustain, Finds as King Richard he must roar amain - ”My horse! my horse!”--Lo! now to their abodes, Come lords and lovers, empresses and G.o.ds.

The master-mover of these scenes has made No trifling gain in this adventurous trade; Trade we may term it, for he duly buys Arms out of use and undirected eyes: These he instructs, and guides them as he can, And vends each night the manufactured man: Long as our custom lasts they gladly stay, Then strike their tents, like Tartars! and away!

The place grows bare where they too long remain, But gra.s.s will rise ere they return again.

Children of Thespes, welcome; knights and queens!

Counts! barons! beauties! when before your scenes, And mighty monarchs thund'ring from your throne; Then step behind, and all your glory's gone: Of crown and palace, throne and guards bereft, The pomp is vanish'd and the care is left.

Yet strong and lively is the joy they feel, When the full house secures the plenteous meal; Flatt'ring and flatter'd, each attempts to raise A brother's merits for a brother's praise: For never hero shows a prouder heart, Than he who proudly acts a hero's part; Nor without cause; the boards, we know, can yield Place for fierce contest, like the tented field.

Graceful to tread the stage, to be in turn The prince we honour, and the knave we spurn; Bravely to bear the tumult of the crowd, The hiss tremendous, and the censure loud: These are their parts,--and he who these sustains, Deserves some praise and profit for his pains.

Heroes at least of gentler kind are they, Against whose swords no weeping widows pray, No blood their fury sheds, nor havoc marks their way.

Sad happy race! soon raised and soon depress'd, Your days all pa.s.s'd in jeopardy and jest; Poor without prudence, with afflictions vain, Not warn'd by misery, not enrich'd by gain; Whom Justice, pitying, chides from place to place, A wandering, careless, wretched, merry race, Whose cheerful looks a.s.sume, and play the parts Of happy rovers with repining hearts; Then cast off care, and in the mimic pain Of tragic woe feel spirits light and vain, Distress and hope--the mind's the body's wear, The man's affliction, and the actor's tear: Alternate times of fasting and excess Are yours, ye smiling children of distress.

Slaves though ye be, your wandering freedom seems, And with your varying views and restless schemes, Your griefs are transient, as your joys are dreams.

Yet keen those griefs--ah! what avail thy charms, Fair Juliet! what that infant in thine arms; What those heroic lines thy patience learns, What all the aid thy present Romeo earns, Whilst thou art crowded in that lumbering wain With all thy plaintive sisters to complain?

Nor is there lack of labour--To rehea.r.s.e, Day after day, poor sc.r.a.ps of prose and verse; To bear each other's spirit, pride, and spite; To hide in rant the heart ache of the night; To dress in gaudy patchwork, and to force The mind to think on the appointed course; - This is laborious, and may be defined The bootless labour of the thriftless mind.

There is a veteran Dame: I see her stand Intent and pensive with her book in hand; Awhile her thoughts she forces on her part, Then dwells on objects nearer to the heart; Across the room she paces, gets her tone, And fits her features for the Danish throne; To-night a queen--I mark her motion slow, I hear her speech, and Hamlet's mother know.

Methinks 'tis pitiful to see her try For strength of arms and energy of eye; With vigour lost, and spirits worn away, Her pomp and pride she labours to display; And when awhile she's tried her part to act, To find her thoughts arrested by some fact; When struggles more and more severe are seen, In the plain actress than the Danish queen, - At length she feels her part, she finds delight, And fancies all the plaudits of the night; Old as she is, she smiles at every speech, And thinks no youthful part beyond her reach, But as the mist of vanity again Is blown away, by press of present pain, Sad and in doubt she to her purse applies For cause of comfort, where no comfort lies; Then to her task she sighing turns again - ”Oh! Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain!”

And who that poor, consumptive, wither'd thing, Who strains her slender throat and strives to sing?

Panting for breath and forced her voice to drop, And far unlike the inmate of the shop, Where she, in youth and health, alert and gay, Laugh'd off at night the labours of the day; With novels, verses, fancy's fertile powers, And sister-converse pa.s.s'd the evening hours: But Cynthia's soul was soft, her wishes strong, Her judgment weak, and her conclusions wrong; The morning-call and counter were her dread, And her contempt the needle and the thread: But when she read a gentle damsel's part, Her woe, her wis.h.!.+ she had them all by heart.

At length the hero of the boards drew nigh, Who spake of love till sigh re-echo'd sigh; He told in honey'd words his deathless flame, And she his own by tender vows became; Nor ring nor licence needed souls so fond, Alfonso's pa.s.sion was his Cynthia's bond: And thus the simple girl, to shame betray'd, Sinks to the grave forsaken and dismay'd.

Sick without pity, sorrowing without hope, See her! the grief and scandal of the troop; A wretched martyr to a childish pride, Her woe insulted, and her praise denied: Her humble talents, though derided, used, Her prospects lost, her confidence abused; All that remains--for she not long can brave Increase of evils--is an early grave.

Ye gentle Cynthias of the shop, take heed What dreams you cherish, and what books ye read!

A decent sum had Peter Nottage made, By joining bricks--to him a thriving trade: Of his employment master and his wife, This humble tradesman led a lordly life; The house of kings and heroes lack'd repairs, And Peter, though reluctant, served the Players: Connected thus, he heard in way polite, - ”Come, Master Nottage, see us play to night,”

At first 'twas folly, nonsense, idle stuff, But seen for nothing it grew well enough; And better now--now best, and every night, In this fool's paradise he drank delight; And as he felt the bliss, he wish'd to know Whence all this rapture and these joys could flow; For if the seeing could such pleasure bring, What must the feeling?--feeling like a king?

In vain his wife, his uncle, and his friend, Cried--”Peter! Peter! let such follies end; 'Tis well enough these vagabonds to see, But would you partner with a showman be?”

”Showman!” said Peter, ”did not Quin and Clive, And Roscius-Garrick, by the science thrive?

Showman!--'tis scandal; I'm by genius led To join a cla.s.s who've Shakspeare at their head.”

Poor Peter thus by easy steps became A dreaming candidate for scenic fame, And, after years consumed, infirm and poor, He sits and takes the tickets at the door.

Of various men these marching troops are made, - Pen-spurning clerks, and lads contemning trade; Waiters and servants by confinement teased, And youths of wealth by dissipation eased; With feeling nymphs, who, such resource at hand, Scorn to obey the rigour of command; Some, who from higher views by vice are won, And some of either s.e.x by love undone; The greater part lamenting as their fall, What some an honour and advancement call.

There are who names in shame or fear a.s.sume, And hence our Bevilles and our Savilles come; It honours him, from tailor's board kick'd down, As Mister Dormer to amuse the town; Falling, he rises: but a kind there are Who dwell on former prospects, and despair; Justly but vainly they their fate deplore, And mourn their fall, who fell to rise no more.

Our merchant Thompson, with his sons around, Most mind and talent in his Frederick found: He was so lively, that his mother knew, If he were taught, that honour must ensue; The father's views were in a different line, - But if at college he were sure to s.h.i.+ne.

Then should he go--to prosper who could doubt?

When schoolboy stigmas would be all wash'd out, For there were marks upon his youthful face, 'Twixt vice and error--a neglected case - These would submit to skill; a little time, And none could trace the error or the crime; Then let him go, and once at college, he Might choose his station--what would Frederick be.

'Twas soon determined--He could not descend To pedant-laws and lectures without end; And then the chapel--night and morn to pray, Or mulct and threaten'd if he kept away; No! not to be a bishop--so he swore, And at his college he was seen no more.

His debts all paid, the father, with a sigh, Placed him in office--”Do, my Frederick, try: Confine thyself a few short months and then -”

He tried a fortnight, and threw down the pen.

Again demands were hush'd: ”My son, you're free, But you're unsettled; take your chance at sea:”

So in few days the mids.h.i.+pman, equipp'd Received the mother's blessing, and was s.h.i.+pp'd.

Hard was her fortune! soon compell'd to meet The wretched stripling staggering through the street; For, rash, impetuous, insolent, and vain, The Captain sent him to his friends again: About the Borough roved th' unnappy boy, And ate the bread of every chance-employ!

Of friends he borrow'd, and the parents yet In secret fondness authorized the debt; The younger sister, still a child, was taught To give with feign'd affright the pittance sought; For now the father cried--”It is too late For trial more--I leave him to his fate,” - Yet left him not: and with a kind of joy, The mother heard of her desponding boy; At length he sicken'd, and he found, when sick, All aid was ready, all attendance quick; A fever seized him, and at once was lost The thought of trespa.s.s, error, crime, and cost: Th' indulgent parents, knelt beside the youth, They heard his promise and believed his truth; And when the danger lessen'd on their view, They cast off doubt, and hope a.s.surance grew; - Nursed by his sisters, cherish'd by his sire, Begg'd to be glad, encouraged to aspire, His life, they said, would now all care repay, And he might date his prospects from that day; A son, a brother to his home received, They hoped for all things, and in all believed.

And now will pardon, comfort, kindness draw The youth from vice? will honour, duty, law?

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