Classic Poem

Success makes people vain. — The maxim's true —
We all confess it — and not over new.
The veriest clown, who stumps along the streets,
And doffs his hat to each grave cit he meets,
Some twelvemonths hence, bedaub'd with livery lace,
Shall thrust his saucy flambeau in your face.

Not so our bard — though twice your kind applause
Has, on this fickle spot, espous'd his cause:
He owns, with gratitude, th' obliging debt;
Has twice been favour'd, and is modest yet.

Your giant wits, like those of old, may climb
Olympus high, and step o'er space and time;
May stride, with seven-leagu'd boots, from shore to shore,
And, nobly by transgressing, charm you more.
Alas! our author dares not laugh at schools —
Plain sense confines his humbler Muse to rules:
He shifts no scenes — But here I stop'd him short —
Not change your scenes? said I — I'm sorry for't:
My constant friends above, around, below,
Have English tastes, and love both change and show:
Without such aids, even Shakespear would be flat —
Our crouded pantomimes are proofs of that.
What eager transport stares from every eye,
When pullies rattle, and our genii fly!
When tin-cascades like falling waters gleam:
Or through the canvas — bursts the real stream:
While thirsty Islington laments in vain
Half her New River roll'd to Drury-lane.

Lord, sir, said I, for gallery, boxes, pit,
I'll back my Harlequin against your wit —
Yet still the author, anxious for his play,
Shook his wise head — What will the critics say?
As usual, sir — abuse you all they can! —
And what the ladies — He's a charming man!
A charming piece! — One scarce knows what it means:
But that's no matter — where there's such sweet scenes!
Still he persists — and let him — entre nous —
I know your tastes, and will indulge 'em too.
Change you shall have; so set your hearts at ease:
Write as he will, we'll act it as you please .