Classic Poem

How well I remember, when old Drury-lane
First open'd, a child in the Thespian train,
I acted a sprite, in a sky-colour'd cloak,
And danced round the caldron which now I invoke.

Speak, witches! an actor's nativity cast!
How long shall this stage-popularity last?
Ye laugh, jibing beldames. “Ay, laugh well we may:
Popularity! Moonshine! attend to our lay.

“'Tis a breath of light air from Frivolity's mouth;
It blows round the compass, East, West, North and South;
It shifts to all points; in a moment 'twill steal
From Kemble to Stephens, from Kean to O'Neil.

“The actor who tugs half his life at the oar
May founder at sea, or be shipwreck'd on shore;
Grasp firmly the rudder; who trusts to the gale
As well in a sieve for Aleppo may sail.”

Thanks, provident hags! while my circuit I run,
'Tis fit I make hay in so fleeting a sun;
Yon harlequin public may else shift the scene,
And Kean may be Kemble, as Kemble was Kean.

Then let me the haven of competence reach,
And brief, but two lines, be my leave-taking speech:
Hope, Fortune, farewell; I am shelter'd from sea;
Henceforward cheat others, ye once cheated me.