[26] George Alexander Stevens the lecturer, not the Macaroni editor of Shakespeare.
[27] What formidable rivals to the immortal Roscius? Harlequin, Scaramouch, Chimney-sweeper, Bass-viol, Astrologer, Child, Statue and Parrot! But Roscius having received a formal challenge from Mr. Punch and his merry family, a pitch'd-battle, for which great preparations are now making, will be fought between them next winter; when there is no doubt but the triumphant Roscius will, even at their own weapons, rout them all. There is the less reason to fear this, as he hath already exceeded even Mr.—— 's activity in King Richard. It is but three or four years ago since this mock-monarch died so tamely that he was hissed off the stage; on which occasion the following epigram appeared in the papers.
| Roscius redivivus. |
|
George! did'nt I hear the critics hiss, When I was dead?—"Yes, brother, yes, You did not die in high rant." Nay, if they think a dying king Like Harlequin convuls'd, should spring, Let —— be hence their tyrant. |
|
Curse on that Kenrick,[28] with his caustic pen, Who scorns the hate, and hates the love of MEN; Who with such ease envenom'd satire writes, Deeper his ink than aqua fortis[29] bites. Stand his perpetual-motion[30] ever still; Or, if it move, oh, let it move uphill. The curse of Sisiphus, oh, let him feel; The curse of Fortune's still recurring wheel; |
| NOTES. |
Roscius, however, hath chang'd his mind, and acquired new elastic powers; in so much that the following complimentary verses appeared on the agility, which he lately displayed in the performance of that character.
|
Be dumb, ye criticks, dare to hiss no more While crowded boxes, pit and galleries roar. Who says that Roscius feels the hand of Time, To blast his blooming laurels in their prime? With ever supple limbs and pliant tongue, Roscius, like Hebe, will be ever young. See and believe your eyes——did e'er you see So great a feat of pure agility? Nor Hughes nor Astley, vaulting in the air, Like Roscius makes the struck spectators stare. Nor Lun nor Woodward ever gave the spring, He gave last night in Richard, dying king! Th' immortal actor, who can die so clever, In spite of fate will live to die for ever! |
[28]
A Briton blunt, bred to plain mathematics,
Who hates French b—gres, and Italian pathics.
[29] The plaintive Roscius seems here to have an eye to the following lines: