SPOKEN BY MR. CORRY, IN THE
AFTER THE PLAY OF THE DRAMATIST, AT THE KILKENNY THEATRE.
(Entering as if to announce the Play.)
LADIES and Gentlemen, on Monday night,
For the ninth time-oh accents of delight
To the poor author's ear, when three times three
With a full bumper crowns his Comedy !
When, long by money, and the muse, forsaken,
He finds at length his jokes and boxes taken,
And sees his play-bill circulate-alas,
The only bill on which his name will pass!
Thus, Vapid, thus shall Thespian scrolls of fame
Through box and gallery waft your well-known name,
While critic eyes the happy cast shall con,
And learned ladies spell your Dram. Person.
'Tis said our worthy Manager* intends
To help my night, and he, you know, has friends.
Friends, did I say? for fixing friends, or parts,
Engaging actors, or engaging hearts,
There's nothing like him! wits, at his request,
Are turn'd to fools, and dull dogs learn to jest ;
Soldiers, for him, good "trembling cowards" make,
And beaus, turn'd clowns, look ugly for his sake;
For him ev'n lawyers talk without a fee,
For him (oh friendship!) I act tragedy!
In short, like Orpheus, his persuasive tricks
Make boars amusing, and put life in sticks.
With such a manager we can't but please,
Tho' London sent us all her loud O. P.'s†,
Let them come on, like snakes, all hiss and rattle,
Arm'd with a thousand fans, we'd give them battle;
*The late Mr. Richard Power.
†The brief appellation by which those persons were distinguished who, at the opening of the new theatre of Covent Garden, clamoured for the continuance of the old prices of admission.
Soon should we teach the saucy O. P.'s manners: And show that, here howe'er John Bull may
In all our plays, the Riot-Act's cut out;
And, while we skim the cream of many a jest,
Your well-timed thunder never sours its zest.
Oh gently thus, when three short weeks are past,
At Shakspeare's altar†, shall we breathe our last;
And, ere this long-lov'd dome to ruin nods,
Die all, die nobly, die like demigods!
The initials of our manager's name.
+ This alludes to a scenic representation then preparing for the last night of the performances.
FROM A PROLOGUE WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE AUTHOR, AT THE OPENING OF THE KILKENNY THEATRE, OCTOBER, 1809.
YET, even here, though Fiction rules the hour,
There shine some genuine smiles, beyond her power;
And there are tears, too-tears that Memory sheds
Ev'n o'er the feast that mimic fancy spreads,
When her heart misses one lamented guest*,
Whose eye so long threw light o'er all the rest!
There, there, indeed, the Muse forgets her task,
And drooping weeps behind Thalia's mask.
Forgive this gloom-forgive this joyless strain,
Too sad to welcome pleasure's smiling train.
But, meeting thus, our hearts will part the lighter,
As mist at dawn but makes the setting brighter;
*The late Mr. John Lyster, one of the oldest members and best actors of the Kilkenny Theatrical Society.
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