In royal John, with Philip angry grown,

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I thought he would have knock'd poor Davies down.
Inhuman tyrant! was it not a shame

To fright a king so harmless and so tame?
But spite of all defects his glories rise,

And art, by judgment form'd, with nature vies.
Behold him sound the depth of Hubert's soul, 1021
Whilst in his own contending passions roll;
View the whole scene, with critic judgment scan,
And then deny him merit if you can.

Where he falls short 'tis Nature's fault alone; 1025
Where he succeeds the merit's all his own.

Last Garrick came.-Behind him throng a train Of snarling critics, ignorant and vain.

One finds out-"He's of stature somewhat low"Your heroes always should be tall, you know.→ "True nat'ral greatness all consists in height."1031 Produce your voucher, Critic." Sergeant Kyte." Another cann't forgive the paltry arts

By which he makes his way to shallow hearts; Mere pieces of finesse, traps for applause. 1035 "Avaunt! unnat'ral start, affected pause.".

For me, by Nature form to judge with phlegm, I can't acquit by wholesale nor condemn. The best things carry'd to excess are wrong; The start may be too frequent, pause too long; 1040 But, only us'd in proper time and place, Severest judgment shall allow them grace.

If bunglers, form'd on Imitation's plan, Just in the way that monkies mimic man,

Their copy'd scene with mangled arts disgrace, 1045
And pause and start with the same vacant face,
We join the critic laugh; those tricks we scorn
Which spoil the scenes they mean them to adorn;
But when from Nature's pure and, genuine source
These strokes of acting flow with gen'rous force, 1050
When in the features all the soul's portray'd,

And passions such as Garrick's are display'd,

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To me they seem from quickest feelings caught,
Each start is Nature, and each pause is thought.
When reason yields to passion's wild alarms, 1955
And the whole state of man is up in arms,
What but a critic could condemn the play'r
For pausing here when cool sense pauses there? >>
Whilst, working from the heart, the fire I trace,
And mark it strongly flaming on the face, 1960
Whilst in each sound I hear the very man, e
I can't catch words, and pity those who can.
Let wits, like spiders, from the tortur'd brain
Fine-draw the critic-web with curious pain
The gods-a kindness Iwith thanks must pay-106-5
Have form'd me of a coarser kind of clay;

Nor
stung with envy nor with spleen diseas'd,
A poor dull creature still with Nature pleas'd;
Hence to thy praises, Garrick, I agree,

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And pleas'd with Nature must be pleas'd with thee.

Now might I tell how silence reign'd throughout, And deep attention hush'd the rabble rout, How ev'ry claimant, tortur'd with desire, Was pale as ashes or as red as fire;

But, loose to fame, the Muse more simply acts,1075 Rejects all flourish, and relates mere facts.

The judges, as the sev'ral parties came, With temper heard, with judgment weigh'd each And in their sentence happily agreed, [claim, In name of both great Shakespeare thus decreed.1080 "If manly sense, if nature link'd with art; "If thorough knowledge of the human heart; "If pow'rs of acting vast and unconfin'd; "If fewest faults with greatest beauties join'd; "If strong expression, and strange pow'rs, which lie "Within the magic circle of the eye;

1086 "If feelings which few hearts like his can know, "And which no face so well as his can show, "Deserve the pref 'rence-Garrick! take the chair, "Nor quit it-till thou place an equal there*.1099

*Unhappy for this country (if the theatre be of service to a nation's virtue) that while the pen is tracing this reflection, Garrick is taking possesion of a grave near his own Shakspeare! He hath quitted the chair, but left no equal in his place.

THE APOLOGY.

ADDRESSED TO THE

CRITICAL REVIEWERS*.

LAUGHS
GHS not the heart when giants,big with pride,
Assume the pompous port, the martial stride,
O'er arm Herculean heave th' enormous shield,
Vast as a weaver's beam the jav❜lin wield,
With the loud voice of thund'ring Jove.defy,
And dare to single combat-What?—A fly.
And laugh we less when giant names, which shine
Establish'd as it were by right divine,

Critics, whom every captive art adores,

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To whom glad Science pours forth all her stores, 10
Who high in letter'd réputation sit,

And hold, Astræa like, the scales of wit,
With partial rage rush forth?-Oh! shame to tell!
To crush a bard just bursting from the shell.

Abuse is a common compliment between authors and critics, but the first stone is never thrown by the former. This poem was occasioned by the criticism which the Reviewing gentry published of The Rosciad. The ignorant malice of, the critic deserved the pointed severity of the poet; yet it should not be forgotten that Churchill, Lloyd, and Colman, were supposed to have joined in a triumvirate, whose oppression was full as insufferable as the tyranny of any Review past, present, or future.

Great are his perils in this stormy time Who rashly ventures on a sea of rhyme : Around vast surges roll, winds envious blow, And jealous rocks and quicksands furk below; Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends: He hurts me most who lavishly commends.

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'Look thro' the world-in ev'ry other trade The same employment 's cause of kindness made, At least appearance of good will creates, And ev'ry fool puffs off the fool he hates : Coblers with coblers smoke away the night, And in the common cause e'en play'rs unite: Authors alone, with more than savage rage, Unnat'ral war with brother authors wage. The pride of Nature would as soon admit Competitors in empire as in wit; Onward they rush at Fame's imperious call, And less than greatest would not be at all.

Smit with the love of honour-or the penceO'errun with wit, and destitute of sense, Should any novice in the rhyming trade With lawless pen the realms of verse invade, Forth from the court, where sceptred sages sit, Abus'd with praise and flatter'd into wit, Where in lethargic majesty they reign, And what they win by dulness still maintain, Legions of factious authors throng at once, Fool beckons fool, and dunce awakens dunce.

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