Classic Poem

As some brave Knight, who once with Spear and Shield
Had sought Renown in many a well-fought Field;
But now no more with sacred Fame inspir'd,
Was to a peaceful Hermitage retir'd:
There, if by Chance disast'rous Tales he hears,
Of Matrons Wrongs, and captive Virgins Tears,
He feels soft Pity urge his gen'rous Breast,
And vows once more to succour the Distress'd.
Buckl'd in Mail, he sallies on the Plain,
And turns him to the Feats of Arms again.
So we, to former Leagues of Friendship true,
Have bid once more our peaceful Homes adieu,
To aid old Thomas , and to pleasure you.
Like errant Damsels, boldly we engage,
Arm'd, as you see, for the defenceless Stage.
Time was, when this good Man no Help did lack,
And scorn'd that any She should hold his Back;
But now, so Age an Frailty have ordain'd,
By two at once he's forc'd to be sustain'd,
You see what failing Nature brings Man to;
And yet let none insult, for ought we know,
She may not wear so well with some of you.
Tho' old, you find his Strength is not clean past,
But true as Steel he's Mettle to the last.
If better he perform'd in Days of Yore,
Yet now he gives you all that's in his Pow'r;
What can the youngest of you all do more?
What he has been, tho' present Praise be dumb,
Shall haply be a Theme in Times to come,
As now we talk of R OSCIUS , and of Rome .
Had you withheld your Favors on this Night,
Old S HAKESPEAR'S Ghost had ris'n to do him Right.
With Indignation had you seen him frown
Upon a worthless, witless, tasteless Town;
Griev'd and repining, you had heard him say,
Why are the Muses Labors cast away?
Why did I write what only he could play?
But since, like Friends to Wit, thus throng'd you meet.
Go on and make the gen'rous Work compleat;
Be true to Merit, and still own his Cause,
Find something for him more than bare Applause,
In just Remembrance of your Pleasures past,
Be kind, and give him a Discharge at last,
In Peace and Ease Life's Remnant let him wear,
And hang his consecrated Buskin there.