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The Jealous Wife! on that thy trophies raise, For how should moderns, mushrooms of the day, Inferior only to the author's praise.

Who ne'er those masters knew, know how to play? From Dublin, fum'd in legends of romance Grey-bearded vet'rans, who, with partial tongue, For mighty magic of enchanted lance,

Extol the times when they themselves were young, With which her heroes arm’d victorious prove, Who, having lost all relish for the stage, And like a flood rush o'er the land of Love, See not their own defects, but lash the age, Mossop and Barry came — names ne'er design d Receiv'd with joyful murmurs of applause, By Fate in the same sentence to be join'd. Their darling chief, and lin'd his fav’rite cause. Rais'd by the breath of popular acclaim,

Far be it from the candid Muse to tread They mounted to the pinnacle of Fame;

Insulting o'er the ashes of the dead, There the weak brain, made giddy with the height, But, just to living merit, she maintains, Spurr'd on the rival chiefs to mortal fight.

And dares the test, whilst Garrick's genius reigns; Thus sportive boys, around some hason's brim, Ancients in vain endeavour to excel, Behold the pipe-drawn bladders circling swim : Happily prais'd, if they could act as well. But if from lungs more potent, there arise But though prescription's force we disallow, Two bubbles of a more than common size,

Nor to antiquity submissive bow; Eager for honour they for tight prepare,

Though we deny imaginary grace, Bubble meets bubble, and both sink to air.

Founded on accidents of time and place; Mossop, attach'd to military plan,

Yet real worth of ev'ry growth shall bear Still kept his eye fix'd on his right-hand man. Due praise, nor must we, Quin, forget thee there. Whilst the mouth measures words with seeming His words bore sterling weight, nervous and skill,

strong, The right-hand labours, and the left lies still ; In manly tides of sense they roll'd along. for he resolv'd on scripture-grounds to go, Happy in art, he chiefly had pretence Nhat the right doth, the left-hand shall not know. To keep up numbers, yet not forfeit sense. Vith studied impropriety of speech,

No actor ever greater heights could reach le soars beyond the hackney critic's reach ; In all the labour'd artifice of speech. o epithets allots einphatic state,

Speech! Is that all ? And shall an actor found Vhilst principals, ungrac'd, like lacquies wait; An universal fame on partial ground ? n ways first trodden by himself excels,

Parrots themselves speak properly by rote, ind stands alone in indeclinables ;

And, in six months, my dog shall howl by note. 'onjunction, preposition, adverb join

I laugh at those, who, when the stage they tread, 'o stamp new vigour on the nervous line : Neglect the heart, to compliment the head; a monosyllables his thunders roll,

With strict propriety their cares confiu'd IE, SHE, IT, AND, WE, YE, THEY, fright the soul. To weigh out words, while passion halts behind. In person taller than the common size,

To syllable-dissectors they appeal, lehold where Barry draws admiring eyes ! Allow them accent, cadence, — fools may feel ; Vhen lab'ring passions, in his bosom pent, But, spite of all the criticising elves, 'onvulsive rage, and struggling heave for vent; Those who would make us feel, must feel themselves. pectators, with imagin’d terrours warın,

His eyes, in gloomy socket taught to roll, nxious expect the bursting of the storm :

Proclaim'd the sullen habit of his soul. ut, all unfit in such a pile to dwell,

Heavy and phlegmatic he trod the stage, lis voice comes forth, like Echo from her cell ; Too proud for tenderness, too dull for rage. o swell the tempest needful aid denies,

When Hector's lovely widow shines in tears, nd all a-down the stage in feeble murmur dies. Or Rowe's gay rake dependant virtue jeers,

What man, like Barry, with such pains can err With the same cast of features he is seen i elocution, action, character ?

To chide the libertine, and court the queen. That man could give, if Barry was not here, From the tame scene, which without passion flows, uch well-applauded tenderness to Lear?

With just desert his reputation rose; Tho else can speak so very, very fine,

Nor less he pleas'd, when, on some surly plan, hat sense may kindly end with ev'ry line ? He was, at once, the actor and the man. Some dozen lines before the ghost is there,

In Brute he shone unequallid: all agree ehold him for the solemn scene prepare.

Garrick's not half so great a brute as hc. ze how he frames his eyes, poises each limb, When Cato's labour'd

scenes are brought to view, uts the whole body into proper trim.

With equal praise the actor labour'd too; rom whence we learn, with no great stretch of art, | For still you 'll find, trace passions to their root, ive lines hence comes a ghost, and ha! a start. Small dif"rence 'twixt the stoic and the brute.

When he appears most perfect, still we find In fancied scenes, as in life's real plan, omething which jars upon, and hurts the mind. He could not, for a moment, sink the man. Thatever lights upon a part are thrown,

In whate'er cast his character was laid, le see too plainly they are not his own.

Self still, like oil, upon the surface play'd. o flame from Nature ever yet he caught ; Nature, in spite of all his skill, crept in : for knew a feeling which he was not taught; Horatio, Dorax, Falstaff, - still 't was Quin. (e rais'd his trophies on the base of art,

Next follows Sheridan - a doubtful name, nd conn'd his passions, as he conn'd his part As yet unsettled in the rank of Fame. Quin, from afar, lur'd by the scent of fame, This, fondly lavish in his praises grown, stage Leviathan, put in his claim,

Gives him all merit; that allows him none. upil of Betterton and Booth. Alone,

Between them both we 'll steer the middle course, ullen he walk'd, and deem'd the chair his own. Nor, loving praise, rob Judgment of her force.

Just his conceptions, natural and great : But, only us'd in proper time and place, His feelings strong, his words enforc'd with weight. Severest judgment must allow them grace. Was speech-fam'd Quin himself to hear him speak, If bunglers, form'd on Imitation's

plan, Envy would drive the colour from his cheek : Just in the way that monkies mimic man, But step-dame Nature, niggard of her grace, Their copied scene with mangled arts disgrace, Deny'd the social pow'rs of voice and face. And pause and start with the same vacant face; Fir'd in one frame of features, glare of eye, We join the critic laugh; those tricks we score, Passions, like chaos, in confusion lie:

Which spoil the scenes they mean them to adors In vain the wonders of his skill are try'd

But when, from Nature's pure and genuine sourc, To form distinctions Nature hath deny'd.

These strokes of acting flow with gen'rous furce

, His voice no touch of harmony admits,

When in the features all the soul 's pourtray'd, Irregularly deep and shrill by fits :

And passions, such as Garrick's, are display'd, The two extremes appear like man and wife, To me they seem from quickest feelings caught: Coupled together for the sake of strife.

Each start is Nature ; and each pause is Thought His action 's always strong, but sometimes such, When Reason yields to Passion's wild alarms, That candour must declare he acts too much. And the whole state of man is up in arms; Why must impatience fall three paces back ? What but a critic could condemn the play'ı, Why paces three return to the attack ?

For pausing here, when Cool-Sense pauses there? Why is the right leg too forbid to stir,

Whilst, working from the heart, the fire I true, Unless in motion semicircular ?

| And mark it strongly flaming to the face; Why must the hero with the Nailor vie,

Whilst, in each sound, I hear the very man; And hurl the close-clench'd fist at nose or eye ? I can't catch words, and pity those who can In royal John, with Philip angry grown,

Let wits, like spiders, from the tortur'd brain, I thought he would have knock'd poor Davies Fine-draw the critic-web with curious pain : down.

The gods, - a kindness I with thanks must pa,Inhuman tyrant! was it not a shame,

Have form'd me of a coarser kind of clay; To fright a king so harmless and so tame? Not stung with envy, nor with pain diseas'd, But, spite of all defects, his glories rise ;

A poor dull creature, still with Nature pleas'd; And Art, by Judgment form’d, with Nature vies : Hence to thy praises, Garrick, I agree, Behold him sound the depth of Hubert's soul, And, pleas'd with Nature, must be pleas'd with the Whilst in his own contending passions roll;

Now I might tell, how silence reign'd throughout View the whole scene, with critic judgment scan, And deep attention hush'd the rabble rout: And then deny him merit if you can.

How ev'ry claimant, tortur'd with desire, Where he falls short, 't is Nature's fault alone; Was pale as ashes, or as red as fire; Where he succeeds, the merit 's all his own. But, loose to fame, the Muse more simply acts,

Last Garrick came. - Behind him throng a train Rejects all flourish, and relates mere facts. Of snarling critics, ignorant as vain.

The judges, as the several parties came, (daia One finds out, “ He 's of stature somewhat with temper heard, with judgment weigh'd easi low

And, in their sentence happily agreed, Your hero always should be tall, you know. In name of both, great Shakspeare thus decreed True nat’ral greatness all consists in height.'

“ If manly sense ; if Nature link'd with Art; Produce your voucher, Critic. “ Sergeant Kite.” If thorough knowledge of the human heart; Another can't forgive the paltry arts

If pow'rs of acting vast and unconfin'd; By which he makes his way to shallow hearts; If fewest faults with greatest beauties join'd; Mere pieces of finesse, traps for applause - If strong expression, and strange pow'rs which be “ Avaunt, unnat'ral start, affected pause." Within the magic circle of the eye;

For me, by Nature form'd to judge with phlegm, If feelings which few hearts, like his, can know, I can't acquit by wholesale, nor condemn.

And which no face so well as his can show, The best things carried to excess are wrong: Deserve the preforence - Garrick, take the chair, The start may be too frequent, pause too long ; Nor quit it till thou place an equal there."

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EDWARD YOUNG.

Edward Young, a poet of considerable celebrity, the “ Night Thoughts.” This production is truly was the only son of Dr. Edward Young, fellow of original in design and execution : it imitates none, Winchester College, and rector of Upham, Hamp- and has no imitators. Its spirit is, indeed, gloomy shire. He was born at his father's living, in 1684, and severe, and its theology awful and overwhelmand was educated at Winchester school, whence he ing. It seems designed to pluck up by the roots was removed to New College, and afterwards to every consolation for human evils, except that Corpus Christi College, Oxford. By the favour of founded on the scheme of Christianity which the Archbishop Tenison he obtained a law-fellowship writer adopted; yet it presents reflections which at All-Souls. At this time his chief pursuit are inculcated with a force of language, and sub appears to have been poetry; and it is little to his limity of imagination, almost unparalleled. It credit, with respect to his choice of patrons, that he abounds with the faults characteristic of the writer, has sought them through all the political changes of and is spun out to a tedious length, that of nine the time. Tragedy was one of his favourite pur- books; but if not often read through, it will never suits, in which his “ Revenge," dedicated in 1721 sink into neglect. It was evidently the favourite to the Duke of Wharton, was regarded as his work of the author, who ever after wished to be principal effort. Many other performances, how known as the composer of the “ Night Thoughts." ver, took their turn, of which the most noted at The numerous editions of the work sufficiently this time were his “ Paraphrase on Part of the prove the hold which it has taken of the public Book of Job ;” and “ The Love of Fame, or the mind. Universal Passion."

The lyric attempts of Young were singularly Young, now in his forty-fourth year, having unfortunate, not one of his pieces of that class given up his prospects as a layman, took orders, having a claim for perusal ; indeed, many of and was nominated one of the Royal Chaplains. his other poetical writings display inequalities, and He published some prose works as the fruits of his defects of taste and judgment, very extraordinary new profession, of which were, “The True Estimate for a writer of his rank. In an edition of his of Human Life," representing ony its dark side; | works, published during his life, in four vols. Avo., und “ An Apology for Princes, or the Reverence he himself excluded several compositions, wbich he lue to Government,” a sermon, well suited to a thought of inferior merit, and expunged many de. court chaplain. In 1730 he was presented, by his dications, of which he was doubtless ashamed. А College, to the rectory of Welwyn, in Hertfordshire; letter to him, from Archbishop Secker, proves, ind in the following year he married Lady Eliza- however, that at a late period of life he had not peth Lee, widow of Colonel Lee, and daughter of ceased to solicit preferment. He latterly fell unthe Earl of Lichfield. This lady he lost in 1741, der domestic sway, and was entirely subdued to after she had borne him one son. Other affecting the controul of a housekeeper. Young continued family losses occurred about that period, and aggra- to exist till April 1765, when he expired in his vated his disposition to melancholy; and it was in 84th year. this year that he commenced his famous poem,

A PARAPHRASE

ON PART OF.

THE BOOK OF JOB.
THRICE happy Job long liv'd in regal state,
Nor saw the sumptuous East a prince so great ;
Whose worldly stores in such abundance flow'd,
Whose heart with such exalted virtue glow'd.
At length misfortunes take their turn to reign,
And ills on ills succeed! a dreadful train !
What now but deaths, and poverty, and wrong,
The sword wide-wasting, the reproachful tongue,

And spotted plagues, that mark'd his limbs all o'er
So thick with pains, they wanted room for more !
A change so sad what mortal here could bear?
Exhausted woe had left him nought to fear;
But gave him all to grief. Low earth he press'd,
Wept in the dust, and sorely smote his breast.
His friends around the deep affliction mourn'd,
Felt all his pangs, and groan for groan return'd;
In anguish of their hearts their mantles rent,
And seven long days in solemn silence spent!
A debt of reverence to distress so great !
Then Job contain'd no more; but curs'd his fate.
His day of birth, its inauspicious light,
He wishes sunk in shades of endless night,

And blotted from the year ; nor fears to crave Are mists begotten ? Who their father kner!
Death, instant death ; impatient for the grave, From whom descend the pearly drops of dew?
That seat of peace, that mansion of repose, To bind the stream by night, what hand can beast,
Where rest and mortals are no longer foes; Or whiten morning with the hoary frost?
Where counsellors are hush'd, and mighty kings Whose powerful breath, from northern regions blown,
(Oh happy turn !) no more are wretched things. Touches the sea, and turns it into stone:

His words were daring, and displeas'd his friends ; A sudden desert spreads o'er realms defacid, His conduct they reprove, and he defends ; And lays one half of the creation waste ? And now they kindled into warm debate,

« Thou know'st me not; thy blindness cannot And sentiments oppos’d with equal heat;

How vast a distance parts thy God from thes. Fix'd in opinion, both refuse to yield,

Canst thou in whirlwinds mount aloft? Canst the And summon all their reason to the field :

In clouds and darkness wrap thy aweful brow? So high at length their arguments were wrought, And, when day triumphs in meridian light, They reach'd the last extent of human thought: Put forth thy hand, and shade the world with night? A pause ensued — When, lo! Heaven interpos'd, “Who launch'd the clouds in air, and bid them And awefully the long contention clos'd.

roll Full o'er their heads, with terrible surprise, Suspended seas aloft, from pole to pole? A sudden whirlwind blacken'd all the skies : Who can refresh the burning sandy plain, (They saw, and trembled !) from the darkness broke And quench the summer with a waste of rain ? A dreadful voice, and thus th' Almighty spoke : Who, in rough deserts far from human toil,

Who gives his tongue a loose so bold and vain, Made rocks bring forth, and desolation smile? Censures my conduct, and reproves my reign; There blooms the rose, where human face near shone Lifts up his thought against me from the dust, And spreads its beauties to the Sun alone. And tells the World's Creator what is just ?

“ To check the shower, who lifts his hand on bigt, Of late go brave, now lift a dauntless eye,

And shuts the sluices of th' exhausted sky, Face my demand, and give it a reply:

When Earth no longer mourns her gaping reirs Where didst thou dwell at Nature's early birth? Her naked mountains, and her russet plains; Who laid foundations for the spacious Earth ? But, new in life, a cheerful prospect yields Who on its surface did extend the line,

Of shining rivers, and of verdant fields; Its form determine, and its bulk confine?

When groves and forests lavish all their bloot, Who fix'd the corner-stone ? What hand, declare, And Earth and Heaven are fill'd with rich perfume Hung it on nought, and fasten'd it on air ;

“ Hast thou e'er scal'd my wintry skies, and sera When the bright morning stars in concert sung, Of hail and snows my northern magazine ? When Heaven's high arch with loud hosannahs ! These the dread treasures of mine anger are, rung

My funds of vengeance for the day of war, When shouting sons of God the triumph crown'd, When clouds rain death, and storms at my con And the wide concave thunder'd with the sound ?

mand Earth’s numerous kingdoms, hast thou view'd them Rage through the world, or waste a guilty land. all ?

“ Who taught the rapid winds to fly so fast, And can thy span of knowledge grasp the ball ? Or shakes the centre with his eastern blast ? Who heav'd the mountain, which sublimely stands, Who from the skies can a whole deluge pour? And casts its shadow into distant lands?

Who strikes through Nature with the solemn roer “ Who, stretching forth his sceptre o'er the deep, Of dreadful thunder, points it where to fall, Can that wide world in due subjection keep? And in fierce lightning wraps the flying ball ? I broke the globe, I scoop'd its hollow side, Not be who trembles at the darted fires, And did a bason for the floods provide;

Falls at the sound, and in the flash expires I chain'd them with my word ; the boiling sea, “Who drew the comet out to such a size, Work'd up in tempests, hears my great decree ; And pour'd his flaming train o'er half the skies? • Thus far, thy floating tide shall be convey’d; Did thy resentment bang him out? Does he And here, O main, be thy proud billows stay'd.' Glare on the nation, and denounce, from thee?

“ Hast thou explor'd the secrets of the deep, “ Who on low Earth can moderate the rein, Where, shut from use, unnumber'd treasures sleep? | That guides the stars along th' ethereal plain? Where, down a thousand fathoms from the day, Appoint their seasons, and direct their course, Springs the great fountain, mother of the sea? Their lustre brighten, and supply their force? Those gloomy paths did thy bold foot e'er tread, Canst thou the skies' benevolence restrain, Whole worlds of waters rolling o'er thy head ? And cause the Pleiades to shine in vain?

“ Hath the cleft centre open'd wide to thee? Or, when Orion sparkles from his sphere, Death's inmost chambers didst thou ever see? Thaw the cold season, and unbind the year? E'er knock at his tremendous gate, and wade Bid Mazzaroth his destin'd station know, To the black portal through th' incumbent shade ? And teach the bright Arcturus where to glow? Deep are those shades; but shades still deeper hide Mine is the night, with all her stars ; I pour My counsels from the ken of human pride. Myriads, and myriads I reserve in store.

[born “ Where dwells the light? In what refulgent “ Dost thou pronounce where day-light shall be dome?

And draw the purple curtain of the morn; And where has darkness made her disma, home? Awake the Sun, and bid him come away, Thou know'st, no doubt, since thy large heart is And glad thy world with his obsequious ray? fraught

Hast thou, enthron'd in flaming glory, driven
With ripen’d wisdom, through long ages brought; Triumphant round the spacious ring of Heaven?
Since Nature was call'd forth when thou wast by,
And into being rose beneath thinc eye!

That pomp of light, what hand so far displays
That distant Earth lies basking in the blaze?

(me,

" Who did the soul with her rich powers invest, Did thy command her yellow pinion lift And light up reason in the human breast ? So high in air, and set her on the clift, To shine, with fresh increase of lustre bright, Where far above thy world she dwells alone, When stars and Sun are set in endless night? And proudly makes the strength of rocks her own; To these my various questions make reply."

Thence wide o'er Nature takes her dread survey, Th’ Almighty spoke ; and, speaking, shook the sky. And with a glance predestinates her prey?

What then, Chaldæan sire, was thy surprise ! She feasts her young with blood; and, hovering o'er Thus thou, with trembling heart and down-cast Th' unslaughter'd host, enjoys the promis'd gore. eyes:

“ Know'st thou how many moons, by me assign’d, · Once and again, which I in groans deplore, Roll o'er the mountain goat, and forest hind, My tongue has err'd; but shall presume no more. While pregnant they a mother's load sustain ? My voice is in eternal silence bound,

They bend in anguish, and cast forth their pain. And all my soul falls prostrate to the ground.". Hale are their young, from human frailties freed;

He ceas'd: when, lo, again tho Almighty spoke; Walk unsustain'd, and unassisted feed ; The same dread voice from the black whirlwind They live at once ; forsake the dam's warm side ; broke.

Take the wide world, with Nature for their guide ; “ Can that arm measure with an arm divine ? Bound o'er the lawn, or seek the distant glade; Ind canst thou thunder with a voice like mine? And find a liome in each delightful shade. Dr in the hollow of thy hand contain

Will the tall reem, which knows no Lord but The bulk of waters, the wide-spreading main, Low at the crib, and ask an alms of thee? Vhen, mad with tempests, all the billows rise Submit his unworn shoulder to the yoke, n all their rage, and dash the distant skies? Break the stiff clod, and o'er thy furrow smoke ?

“ Come forth, in beauty's excellence array'd; Since great his strength, go trust him, void of care ; ind be the grandeur of thy power display'd ; Lay on his neck the toil of all the

year ; 'ut on omnipotence, and, frowning, make Bid him bring home the seasons to thy doors, The spacious round of the creation shake;

And cast his load among thy gather'd stores. Jispatch thy vengeance, bid it overthrow

“ Didst thou from service the wild ass discharge, riumphant vice, lay lofty tyrants low,

And break his bonds, and bid him live at large, nd crumble them to dust. When this is done, Through the wide waste, his ample mansion, roam, grant thy safety lodg'd in thee alone;

And lose himself in his unbounded home? If thee thou art, and mayst undaunted stand By Nature's hand magnificently fed, ehind the buckler of thine own right-hand. His meal is on the range of mountains spread ;

“ Fond man! the vision of a moment made ! As in pure air aloft he bounds along, Jream of a dream! and sbadow of a shade! He sees in distant smoke the city throng; What worlds hast thou produc'd, what creatures Conscious of freedom, scórns the smother'd train, fram'd;

The threatening driver, and the servile rein. That insects cherish'd, that thy God is blam'd ? “ Survey the warlike horse ! didst thou invest 'hen paind with hunger, the wild raven's brood With thunder his robust distended chest ? pud calls on God, importunate for food :

No sense of fear his dauntless soul allays; 'ho hears their cry, who grants their hoarse request, 'Tis dreadful to behold his nostrils blaze; nd stills the clamour of the craving nest? To paw the vale he proudly takes delight, " Who in the stupid ostrich has subdued And triumphs in the fullness of his might; parent's care, and fond inquietude?

High rais'd he snuffs the battle from afar, hile far she flies, her scatter'd eggs are found, And burns to plunge amid the raging war ; ithout an owner, on the sandy ground ;

And mocks at death, and throws his foam around, ist out on fortune, they at mercy lie,

And in a storm of fury shakes the ground. ad borrow life from an indulgent sky:

How does his firm, his rising heart advance lopted by the Sun, in blaze of day,

Full on the brandish'd sword, and shaken lance : rey ripen under his prolific ray.

While his fix'd eye-balls meet the dazzling shield, imindful she, that some unhappy tread,

Gaze, and return the lightning of the field ! ay crush her young in their neglected bed., He sinks the sense of pain in generous pride, hat time she skims along the field with speed, Nor feels the shaft that trembles in his side; e scorns the rider, and pursuing steed.

But neighs to the shrill trumpet's dreadful blast " How rich the peacock! what bright glories run Till death; and when he groans, he groans his last. om plume to plume, and vary in the Sun ! “ But, fiercer still, the lordly lion stalks, a proudly spreads them to the golden ray, Grimly majestic in his lonely walks ; ves all his colours, and adorns the day; When round he glares, all living creatures fly; ith conscious state the spacious round displays,

He clears the desert with his rolling eye. id slowly moves amid the waving blaze. Say, mortal, does he rouse at thy command, " Who taught the hawk to find, in seasons wise, And roar to thee, and live upon thy hand ? rpetual summer, and a change of skies ? Dost thou for him in forests bend thy bow, hen clouds deform the year, she mounts the wind, And to his gloomy den the morsel throw, oots to the south, nor fears the storm behind ; Where bent on death lie hid his tawny brood, le Sun returning, she returns again,

And, couch'd in dreadful ambush, pant for blood; ves in his beams, and leaves ill days to men. Or, stretch'd on broken limbs, consume the day, “Though strong the hawk, though practis'd well In darkness wrapt, and slumber o'er their prey? to Ay,

By the pale Moon they take their destin'd round, n eagle drops her in a lower sky;

And lash their sides, and furious tear the ground. n eagle, when, deserting human sight,

Now shrieks and dying groans the desert fill ; le seeks the Sun in her unwearied fight :

They rate, they rend; their ravenous jaws distil

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