Classic Poem

WRITTEN FOR MRS. CRESPIGNY'S PRIVATE THEATRE .

A S when a vessel scuds before the gale,
With flying streamers, and inflated sail,
The eye with pleasure views the ocean's boast,
And distant danger in the prospect's lost!
So the young author dares the drama's sea,
Buoyant with hope, from ev'ry terror free,
'Till driven by party's waves, and envy's blast,
His rudder broken, and unship'd his mast,
On whelming sands his hopeful bark is toss'd,
His fame diminish'd, and his fortune cross'd!
For all the scribbling witlings of the age,
Who gain clandestine footing on the stage,
'Gainst rising genius make one common cause,
And sicken should an Otway gain applause;
They view another's muse with jaundic'd eyes,
That blast the buds of genius as they rise;
That chill young merit in its earliest dawn,
And nip the blossom ere the fruit be born!
But may our bard a milder fate attend,
And in each critic find a candid friend.
On love and jealousy we found our play,
Passions which all have felt and most obey!
The first can soothe the varied ills of life,
And make the mistress dearer in the wife;
Brighten the languid eye of drooping health,
And make content a substitute for wealth.
But when unequal fires the bosom burn,
And ardent passion meets with no return;
When jealous cares distract the madd'ning brain,
Hell has no torment equal to the pain!
Oh! could our author borrow Shakspeare's pen,
That wrote like nature on the hearts of men;
Th' aspiring bard might seize the laurel'd crown,
And mount one step on his immortal throne!
For Shakspeare, like the glorious orb of day,
Cheers ev'ry plant of genius with his ray;
Though none shall ever with his muse compare,
Or equal beauties fancy scatter'd there!
Fir'd by his thoughts new Otways may be born,
And future Rowes our latter age adorn;
Like smaller planets pleasing light afford,
And glitter in the absence of their lord!
If flights sublime our author can't pursue,
Yet still plain nature will be kept in view;
And should the feeling mind confess her reign,
'Twill more than compensate our present pain:
Should friendship kindly foster this essay,
And stamp its seal, to night, upon our play,
Our modest bard may check each anxious fear,
The British Orphan finds a parent here.