I. V.
[Communications respecting the ceremony referred to in the preceding letter will be very acceptable, and are therefore solicited.—Editor.]
Garrick Plays.
No. XXXIV.
[From the “Antipodes,” further extracts: see [No. XX]]
A Doctor humours his patient, who is crazed with reading lying books of travels, by pretending that he himself has been a great traveller in his time.
Peregrine, the patient. Doctor. Lady.
Peregrine. All the world over have you been?
Doctor. Over and under too.
Per. In the Antipodes?
Doct. Yes, through and through.
Nor isle nor angle in the other world
But I have made discovery of. Do you
Think, Sir, to the Antipodes such a journey?
Per. I think there’s none beyond it, and that Mandevil
Was the only man came near it.
Doct. Mandevil went far.
Per. Beyond all English legs that I can read of.
Doct. What think you, Sir, of Drake, our famous countryman?
Per. Drake was a Didapper to Mandevil.
Candish and Hawkins, Frobisher, all our voyagers
Went short of Mandevil: but had he reach’d
To this place—here—yes here—this wilderness;
And seen the trees of the sun and moon, that speak,
And told King Alexander of his death;
He then
Had left a passage ope for travellers,
That now is kept and guarded by wild beasts;
Dragons and serpents, elephants white and blue;
Unicorns and lions, of many colours;
And monsters more, as numberless as nameless.
Doct. Stay there—
Per. Read here else: can you read?
Is it not true?
Doct. No truer, than I have seen it
You hear me not deny that all is true,
That Mandevil delivers of his travels;
Yet I myself may be as well believed.
Per. Since you speak reverently of him, say on.
Doct. Of Europe I’ll not speak, ’tis too near home;
Who’s not familiar with the Spanish garb,
Th’ Italian cringe, French shrug, and German hug?
Nor will I trouble you with my observations
Fetch’d from Arabia, Paphlagonia,
Mesopotamia, Mauritania,
Syria, Thessalia, Persia, India;
All still is too near home: tho’ I have touch’d
The clouds upon the Pyrenean mountains;
And been on Paphos hill, where I have kiss’d
The image of bright Venus; all is still
Too near home to be boasted. They sound
In a far traveller’s ear,
Like the reports of those, that beggingly
Have put out on returns from Edinburgh,
Paris, or Venice; or perhaps Madrid,
Whither a Millaner may with half a nose
Smell out his way; and is not near so difficult,
As for some man in debt, and unprotected,
To walk from Charing Cross to the Old Exchange.
No, I will pitch no neare than the Antipodes;
That which is furthest distant; foot to foot
Against our region.
Lady. What, with their heels upwards?
Bless us, how ’scape they breaking of their necks?
Doct. They walk upon firm earth, as we do here;
And have the firmament over their heads,
As we have here.
Lady. And yet just under us!
Where is Hell then? if they, whose feet are toward us
At the lower part of the world, have Heaven too
Beyond their heads, where’s Hell?
Doct. You may find that
Without enquiry.
Scene, at the Antipodes.