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Full in the centre of a spacious plain,
On plan entirely new, where nothing vain,
Nothing magnificent appear'd, but Art
With decent modesty perform'd her part,
Rose a tribunal; from no other court

It borrow'd ornament, or sought support;
No juries here were packed to kill or clear,
No bribes were taken, nor oaths broken here;
No gownsmen, partial to a client's cause,
To their own purpose tuned the pliant laws;
Each judge was true and steady to his trust,
As Mansfield wise, and as old Foster just.

In the first seat, in robe of various dyes, A noble wildness flashing from his eyes, Sat Shakspeare.-Ir one hand a wand he bore,

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life, of gentle manners, and very engaging in conversation. He was an excellent scholar and an easy natural poet. His peculiar excellence was the dressing up an old thought in a new, neat, and trim manner. He was contented to scamper round the foot of Parnassus on his little Welsh pony, which seems never to have tired. He left the fury of the winged steed, and the daring heights of the sacred mountain to the sublime genius of his friend Churchill."

258 Sir Michael Foster, one of the puisne judges of the Court of King's Bench, and author of an excellent treatise on Crown Law. He died the 7th of November, 1763.

261 Dr. Johnson's highly poetical delineation of the merits of the two fathers of the British drama was first introduced in an occasional prologue, spoken by Garrick, at the opening of Drury Lane theatre in 1747

When Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes
First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose;
Each change of many colour'd life he drew,

265

For mighty wonders famed in days of yore;
The other held a globe, which to his will
Obedient turn'd, and own'd the master's skill:
Things of the noblest kind his genius drew,
And look'd through nature at a single view:
A loose he gave to his unbounded soul,
And taught new lands to rise, new seas to roll;
Call'd into being scenes unknown before,
And passing Nature's bounds, was something more.
Next Jonson sat, in ancient learning train'd,
His rigid judgment Fancy's flights restrain'd; 272
Correctly pruned each wild luxuriant thought,
Mark'd out her course, nor spared a glorious fault:
The book of man he read with nicest art,
And ransack'd all the secrets of the heart;
Exerted penetration's utmost force,

And traced each passion to its proper source;
Then, strongly mark'd, in liveliest colours drew,
And brought each foible forth to public view: 280

Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new:
Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,
And panting time toil'd after him in vain.
His powerful strokes presiding truth impress'd,
And unresisted passion storm'd the breast.
Then Jonson came, instructed from the school
To please in method and invent by rule;
His studious patience and laborious art,
By regular approach assail'd the heart;

Cold approbation gave the lingering bays,

For those who durst not censure, scarce could praise.

A mortal born, he met the general doom,

But left, like Egypt's kings, a lasting tomb.

The coxcomb felt a lash in every word,

And fools, hung out, their brother fools deterr'd.
His comic humour kept the world in awe,
And laughter frighten'd folly more than law.
But, hark!—the trumpet sounds, the crowd
gives way,

And the procession comes in just array.

Now should I, in some sweet poetic line,
Offer up incense at Apollo's shrine,
Invoke the muse to quit her calm abode,
And waken memory with a sleeping ode:
For how shall mortal man, in mortal verse
Their titles, merits, or their names, rehearse?
But give, kind Dullness! memory and rhyme,
We'll put off Genius till another time.

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First Order came,—with solemn step and slow, In measured time his feet were taught to go. Behind, from time to time, he cast his eye, Lest this should quit his place, that step awry; Appearances to save his only care;

So things seem right, no matter what they are:

290 Alluding to Mason's Ode to Memory, which was also ridiculed by Lloyd in an Ode to Oblivion, as Gray's Odes were by Colman in an Ode to Obscurity. The former was written to expose those poets

Who gently lull the senses all the while
With placid poems in the sinking style,
As Mason sings, whose verse affords
A bevy of the choicest words;

Who meets his lady muse by moss-grown cell,
Adorn'd with epithet and tinkling bell.
10

VOL. I.

In him his parents saw themselves renew'd, 3C1 Begotten by Sir Critic on Saint Prude.

Then came Drum, Trumpet, Hautboy, Fiddle,

Flute;

Next Snuffer, Sweeper, Shifter, Soldier, Mute:
Legions of angels all in white advance;
Furies, all fire, come forward in a dance;
Pantomime figures then are brought to view,
Fools hand in hand with fools go two by two.
Next came the Treasurer of either House,

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810 Covent Garden theatre became rich under the management of Beard, who, with Miss Brent in the Beggar's Opera and Artaxerxes, turned the tide of public favour for several seasons to the advantage of that house.

315 William Havard was the son of a vintner at Dublin, and was originally intended for the practice of surgery. His first engagement as a player was at the theatre in Goodman's Fields; he then entered into the service of Rich, at Covent Garden; but moved to Drury Lane upon his friend Garrick becoming the patentee of that theatre. As an actor he was pleasing though not powerful, and his attention to his part and amiable character recommended him to the good-will of the audience, and the most assiduous performer could not deserve, on that score, more encouragement than Havard; he acted a variety of characters both in tragedy and comedy, and was constantly before the eyes of a critical audience. Such was the soundness of his judgment, and so respectable his character, that he never met with any marks of displeasure from the public; but on the contrary, was constantly favoured with their countenance and approbation. His person was prepossessing, his voice clear and articulate, and his critical judgment and perfect understanding of the meaning of his author shone forth conspicuously in every part he performed. He did not want feeling, but, from a degree of monotony, which seemed natural to his voice, he sometimes fell short of impassioned execution.

One with full purse, t'other with not a sous:
Behind, a group of figures awe create,
Set off with all the impertinence of state;
By lace and feather consecrate to fame,

810

Expletive kings, and queens without a name. 314
Here Havard, all serene, in the same strains
Loves, hates, and rages, triumphs, and complains;
His easy vacant face proclaim'd a heart
Which could not feel emotions, nor impart.

He was however always decent, sensible, and correct, and acquired an ease in his manner of deportment not commonly to be met with, and which rendered him a very useful though not a capital performer. The same mediocrity of genius attached to his literary efforts, consisting of three tragedies and a farce, the names of the former were Scanderbeg, Charles the First, and Regulus, and the latter, which has never been printed, was called The Elopement; his Charles the First met with the most success, and possesses some merit. Lord Chesterfield, in his celebrated speech on the licensing act, said of this play "that the catastrophe was too recent, too melancholy, and of too solemn a nature to be heard of any where but in a pulpit." Havard retired from the stage in May, 1769, and died of a gentle decay at his lodgings in Tavistockstreet, in January 1778, at the age of sixty-eight years. Contrary to the accustomed suavity of his disposition, he was extremely offended at Churchill for the above lines. On this occasion it was pleasant to observe how artfully some of the actors, who were in fact the most hurt, pretended to be unaffected by the injury done to themselves, but to feel extremely for the obloquy thrown upon others. "Why," exclaimed one of these disinterested persons, "should this man attack Mr. Havard? I am not at all concerned for myself; but what has poor Billy Havard done, that he must be treated so cruelly?" "And pray," replied a gentleman, "What has Mr. Havard done that he cannot bear his misfortunes as well as another?"

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