"The very reverend Dean Smedley,
Of dullness, pride, conceit, a medley,
Was equally allow'd to fhine,
As poet, fcholar, and divine.
With godliness could well difpenfe,
Would be a rake, but wanted fenfe.
Would ftrickly after truth enquire,
Because he dreaded to come nigh her.
For liberty no champion bolder,
He hated bailiffs at his fhoulder.
To half the woild a standing jest,
A perfect nuifance to the rest.
From many (and we may believe him)
Had the best wishes they could give him.
1728, whence it appears that he had then published the Specimen of "An Univerfal View of all the eminent Writers on the Holy "Scriptures; being a Collection of the differtations, explications, and opinions of learned men in all ages, concerning the difficult paffages and obfcure texts of the Bible; and of whatsoever is to "be met with in profane authors, which may contribute towards the better underfanding of them." This letter the author of The Intelligencer has happily burlefqued in verfe: and, in N° xx, has given the following hiftory of the Dean: "His firft rife in the
church was a fmall living in the diocefe of Corke, given him by "the government, to the furprize of the whole world. This "living he fwapped foon after for a chaplain's poft in a regiment, "which he fold for five hundred pounds. He turned his hand "with this money, and in a very little time got a deanry; this "he fwapped likewife for another living. After this again he "got another deanry, by fome unaccountable methods; but, being much in debt, he was forced to fly his country, and difpofed " of it, in what manner nobody can tell, but himself and ano"ther. He has left one living behind him, which he could not * avoid doing, because it was fequeftered for his debts. When he "went for England, in order to turn the penny, he received subfcriptions from numbers of gentlemen, to carry on a work, "which would have taken ten years to accomplish, if the most ingenious and learned perfon had undertaken it, and which he himfelf could not have done in ten thousand years. After all this, he run off to Fort St. George, and left the following cha“ racter of himself." This from the Political State for the Month of February 1729, p. 209.
To all mankind a conftant friend,
Provided they had cash to lend.
One thing he did before he went hence,
He left us a laconic fentence,
By cutting of his phrafe, and trimming,
To prove
that bishops were old women.
Poor Envy durft not fhew her phiz,
She was fo terrified at his."
He waded, without any fhame,
Through thick and thin, to get a name,
Tried every fharping trick for bread,
And after all he feldom fped.
When Fortune favour'd, he was nice;
He never once would cog the dice:
But if the turn'd against his play,
He knew to ftop à quater trois.
Now found in mind, and found in corpus,
(Says he) though fwell'd like any porpus,
He heys from hence at forty-four,
(But by his leave he finks a score),
To The Eaft Indies, there to cheat,
Till he can purchase an estate;
Where after he has fill'd his cheft,
He'll mount his tub, and preach his beft,
And plainly prove, by dint of text,
This world is his, and theirs the next.
Left that the Reader fhould not know
The bank where laft he fet his toe;
'Twas Greenwich. There he took a fhip,
And gave his creditors the flip.
But, left chronology fhould vary,
Upon the ides of February,
In feventeen hundred eight and twenty,
To Fort St. George a pedlar went he.
Ye Fates, when all he gets is spent,
RETURN HIM BEGGAR AS HE WENT!"
PROLOGUE
To the Farce of " PUNCH turn'd School master," spoken by M. GRIFFITH.
Written by DR. SHERIDAN.
GALLANTS, our business is to let you know
This night we represent a Puppet-shew;
Where every
actor comes to make a figure,
Big as the life, and fome indeed much bigger.
The truth of what I tell you will appear,
When you behold our Punch and Banimeer.
We found this House was almost empty grown
From the first moment Stretch appear'd in town.
What could we do but learn to fqueak and hop it?
Each actor change into his favourite puppet?
Think not in this we banter or abufe
you:
We'll turn to any thing before we 'll lofe you.
If you 're well pleas'd with this, you foon fhall fee
Thefe very puppets act a tragedy;
The "Rival Queens," we 'll play, if you command,
Much finer than the "Queen of Ivy Land.”
I now proceed to beg, our Punch may meet
As much applaufe as he in Capel-freet:
Our Banimeer fpeaks Hebrew, Greek, and Latin;
Their Punch speaks nonfenfe, yet is ever prating.
O, let not Learning want its juft reward!
Since Punch, to please you, ftudied very hard,
Let not your eager thirft of knowledge cool;
Come and improve your talents here's your School
We'll teach the Ladies a genteeler fqueak;
And powder'd Beaux fhall fhew their parts in Greek!
A famous puppet-shew man.
Enter Scholar, riding on an Ass.
HE fcenes are new, and every thing compact,
And all our yonkers ready juft to act.
But why this racket? why this hurly-burly?
Some laugh, fome fneer, and fome look very furly.
You 're mighty judges in your own conceit:
Am I the only Afs that rides in ftate?
Our Play 's th' Adelphi➡I 'm to be a brother,
And my Supporter Afs to be another
But, Gentlemen, forbear; for, as it passes,
The greater part among us are but Affes.
If you came hither to imbibe inftruction,
And to receive fome wonderful production;
Expect half-wit from th' Officers of Schools;
Affes produce no prodigies, but Mules.
Don't think that I intend to be uncivil,
I fhall not ride, like Beggars, to the Devil.
Too oft', alas! am I accoutred thus,
And forc'd to mount the standing Pegafus.
Our Mafter ftill (which you will think a wonder)
Exalts the dull, and keeps the witty under.
But, ah! the Tyrant then without remorfe
The Rider lashes, who fhould lafh the horse;
And in promotion takes away command;
For ftill the under has the upper hand.
But hold-how's this!-who's that that yonder fcules,
With beaver, powder'd wig, and cambrick ruffles?
I value not his pageantry a loufe!
Sir Fopling, know, this is no Coffee-house;
Since you're fo prudent as to come to School,
You must observe the true Scholaftic rule;
Our mafter hates a felf-conceited elf,
And bears no noife but what he makes himself.
He writes but I fhall not reveal the mystery,
We must beware of fcandalum magiftri.
He that tells tales is worfe than he that witches,
That man may come to School without his breeches.
Who'd purchafe vain applaufe with real forrow?
Your Bays to-night, would turn to Birch to-morrow.
PROLOGUE
TO HIPPOLYTUS,
Intended to be spoken by To м PUTLAND, a Boy of Six Years old.
Written by DR. SHERIDAN, in 1720.
UNDER the notion of a Play, you fee,
We're fairly coax'd to act a Tragedy.
Lord! how can any man of reason say
That fo much labour can be call'd a Play?
Should any one be fo abfurd a fool,
I'd be the first should kick him out of school:
For, I am fure, it cost us aching hearts,
And aching heads, before we got our parts.
Not all the learning of the year behind
Laid half fo great a load upon our mind.
My mother told me in thefe words last night, "Dear Tommy, child, books will deftroy you quite: "That you should read at all, I'm very loth; "My life, my dear, I fear they'll fpoil your growth." And the fays right; they coft me fo much pains, I with ten thousand times I had no brains, Or had no breech to whip why then I'd play, But not in Greek I'd find a better way.
Now, Gentlemen, 'tis worth your while to look:
You fee this Gig I have, you see this book:
The Gig can fpin, and hop, and frisk, and tolt,
The Book's a lazy, fluggish, heavy dolt.
See how much life is in this bouncing Ball;
Now fmoak the Book, it cannot bounce at all.
This Top I carry, to play "Mug and Glofs;"
This Bone I have, to play at "Pitch and Tofs."
But this is neither fit for Glofs or Mug,
A lifeless drone, it is a perfect flug;
I fwear, the very fight on 't makes me fick ;
I'm fure it is a curfed bone to pick.
See the ftory of this, and of the piece which follows it,
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