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A LITERARY ECLOGUE.
"Nimium ne crede colori."-Virgil.
O trust not, ye beautiful creatures, to hue,
London.-Before the Door of a Lecture Room.
Is it over?
Nor will be this hour. But the benches are cramm'd like a garden in flower, With the pride of our belles. who have made it the fashion;
So instead of "beaux arts," we may say "la belle pas-
For learning, which lately has taken the lead in
With studying to study your new publications.
(Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a brother's)
What, won't you return to the lecture' Ink. Why, the place is so cramm'd, there's not room for a spectre.
Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd
Tra. How can you know that till you hear him?
Loss!-such a palaver!
Tra. I make you!
Yes, you! I said nothing until
Is that your deduction?
To speak ill?
When speaking of Scamp, ill,
But we two will be wise.
And think you that I
Excuse me; I meant no offence
To the Nine; though the number who make some pre- A fair lady—
To their favours is such-but the subject to drop,
The devil! why, man!
Say rather an angle. That is, as the phrase goes, extremely "refreshing." If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle. What a beautiful word!
I say she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether.
Not left him a tatter-She's so learned in all things, and fond of concern
Which they call a disgrace to the age and the nation. Herself in all matters connected with learning. Ink. I'm sorry to hear this; for friendship, you
Our poor friend!-but I thought it would terminate so.
Tra. You forget Lady Lilac's as rich as a Jew.
The girl's a fine girl.
Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I de-
Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and hand.
Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand-that hand Shall you be at the Countess of Fiddlecome's rout? Ink. I've a card, and shall go; but at present, as
on the pen.
Tra. Apropos-Will you write me a song now and then?
Ink. To what purpose?
You know, my dear friend, that in prose (Where he seems to be soaring in search of his wits,) My talent is decent, as far as it goes;
But in rhyme-
You're a terrible stick, to be sure.
Ink. As sublime !-Mr. Tracy-I've nothing to say. Stick to prose-As sublime!!-but I wish you good day.
Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow-consider-I'm
I own it; but prithee, compose me the song.
And an interval grants from his lecturing fits,
But for God's sake let's go, or the bore will be here.
[Exit INKEL You are right, and I'll follow; 'Tis high time for a "Sic me servavit Apollo." And yet we shall have the whole crew on our kibes, Tra. I own it-I know it - acknowledge it what Blues, dandies, and dowagers, and second-hand scribes, Can I say to you more?
Tra. And is that not a sign I respect them?
To be sure makes a difference.
An Apartment in the House of LADY BLUEBOTTLE.—
SIR RICHARD BLUEBOTTLE, solus.
Ink. No doubt; you by this time should know what My days, which once pass'd in so gentle a void, is due
To a man of-but come-let us shake hands.
Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employ'd:
In science and art, I'll be curst if I know
Had its full share of praise. In a style that proclaims us eternally one.
But the thing of all things which distresses me more Than the bills of the week (though they trouble me sore)
Is the numerous, humorous, backbiting crew
Ink. I shall think of him oft when I buy a new hat: Enter LADY BLUEBOTTLE, MISS LILAC, LADY BLUE-There his works will appearMOUNT, MR. BOTHERBY, INKEL, TRACY, MISS MAZARINE, and others, with SCAMP the Lecturer, &c. &c.
Lady Blucb. He means nothing; nay, ask him. Lady Bluem. What you say?
Never mind if he did; 't will be seen That whatever he means won't alloy what he says.
Ink. Pray be content with your portion of praise; T was in your defence. Both.
If you please, with submission,
I can make out my own. Ink.
It would be your perdition. While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend Yourself or your works; but leave both to a friend. Apropos-Is your play then accepted at last? Both. At last?
Ink. Why I thought-that's to say-there had past That the taste of the actors at best is so so. A few green-room whispers, which hinted-you know
Both. Sir, the green-room's in rapture, and so's the
Ink. Ay-yours are the plays for exciting our “pity And fear," as the Greek says: for "purging the mind," I doubt if you'll leave us an equal behind.
Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to have pray'd
For a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid.
Ink. Well, time enough yet, when the play's to be play'd. Is it cast yet?
Bath. The actors are fighting for parts, As is usual in that most litigious of arts. Lady Blueb. We'll all make a party, and go the first
Tra. And you promised the epilogue. Inkel. Ink. Not quite. However, to save my friend Botherby trouble, I'll do what I can, though my palas must be double. Tra. Why so?
As a footman?
Nor profane with your sneers so poetic a name.
For the poet of pedlars 't were, sure, no disaster
The first time he has turn'd both his creed and his coat.
To do justice to what goes before. Both. Sir, I'm happy to say, I've no fears on that
Lady Bluem. You're a fugitive writer, I think, sir,
Ink. Yes, ma'am; and a fugitive reader sometimes.
Lady Bluem. Sir, your taste is too common; but time
Will right these great men, and this age's severity
I've no sort of objection,
Lady Blueb. Perhaps you have doubts that they ever will take?
Ink. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake
To take-what they can, from a groat to a guinea,
Scamp! don't you feel sore?
They have merit, I own;
What say you to this?
Both. I thank you; not any more, sir, till I dine. Ink. Apropos-Do you dine with Sir Humphrey to day?
Tra. I should think with Duke Humphrey was more in your way.
Ink. It might be of yore; but we authors now look
The truth is, each writer now quite at his ease is,
He must mind whom he quotes
Out of "Elegant Extracts."
Well, now we break up;
Ink. Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures? For the sciences, sandwiches, hock, and champagne!
I honour that meal; Ink. True; feeling is truest then, far beyond ques tion:
Lady Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness :-the joy For 'tis then that our feelings most genuinely-feel. of my heart
This "feast of our reason, and flow of the soul."
I feel so elastic-" so buoyant !—so buoyant !"*
"Tis the source of all sentiment-feeling's true foun
Tis the Vision of Heaven upon Earth: 'tis the gas
It is well;
But it is well to have known it, though but once:
Her. My lord, the Abbot of St. Maurice craves
Enter the ABBOT OF ST. MAURICE.
Who dwell within them.
Would it were so, Count; But I would fain confer with thee alone.
Man. Herman retire. What would my reverend
And good intent, must plead my privilege;
And of unholy nature, are abroad,
Proceed, I listen.
Abbot. "Tis said thou holdest converse with the
Which are forbidden to the search of man;
Which walk the valley of the shade of death,
On the raven stone,
And his black wing flits
O'er the milk-white bone;
To and fro, as the night winds blow,
The fetters creak-and his ebon beak
Croaks to the close of the hollow sound;
Merrily, merrily, speeds the ball:
The dead in their shrouds, and the demons in clouds,
Abbot. I fear thee not-hence-hence
Avaunt thee, evil one!-help, ho! without there!
To its extremest peak-watch with him there
Man. And what are they who do avouch these Convent and all, to bear him company?
Man. No, this will serve for the present. Take him
Ash. Come, friar! now an exorcism or two,
ASHTAROTH disappears with the ABBOT, singing as
A prodigal son and a maid undone,
And a widow re-wedded within the year; And a worldly monk and a pregnant nun, Are things which every day appear. MANFRED alone.
Man. Why would this fool break in on me, and
My art to pranks fantastical?-no matter,
There is the stake on earth, and beyond earth eter. And there is danger in them. Such a rest
+ "Raven-stone, (Rabenstein,) a translation of the German word for It will be perceived that, as far as this, the original matter of the the gibbet, which in Germany and Switzerland is permanent, and tsade of Third Act has been retained. stone."