THE FOLLOWING

THEATRICAL ADDRESS,

With a double allusion to the Times, was written expressly by Thomas Lowndes Esq for Mrs. M

Benefit at the Dover Theatre, Febrary 9th 1825, and was recited by her to an overflowing House with considerable applause.

In this enlighten'd age of steam and gas,
When ev'ry wild goose scheme, to make it pass,
Assumes the shape of an Association

Not for the Directors good, but for the Nation;
While mines, railways, baths, and joint stock dairy,
With Premiums to gudgeon the most wary

Of eight, ten, twelve, and ninety-six per cent
For shares, (on which no ready has been lent)

Take in the Flats, and poets fare so well

By this rash novel taste, who us'd to dwell

In Garrets, that they in their Chariots ride,

Deck'd out with ev'ry sort of worldly pride,

Qld England's money'd spirit you must own,

Like Jack's fam'd bean stalk, has most quickly grown. Especially, if I to days of old

Refer, when Milton's copyright was sold

Of his sublime poem, Paradise Lost,

(Thus on life's ocean are poor poets tost)

For the disgraceful sum of fifteen pounds.

A fact, howe'er incredible it sounds,

Which is too true, shall then the Country Player
Partake not of the improv'd poets fare,'

By sometimes taking in her spendthrift head
To substitute a chop, for cheese and bread,

And deeming brown stout, when her turn to sing,
Much more refreshing, than the pump or spring.
Lux'ries, however great, no lib'ral mind
Will think extravagant, if e'er so blind
By prejudice, e'en tho' the London stage,
Infected by the vices of the age

(Vices we hope, that, by the yard or foot,
Those most Keen to blame will not on us put)
Has lately set afloat the Public spleen

Against all Players, therefore 'gainst us I ween.
The greatest proof of which you may have seen
In the old Times, that, in its moral zeal

For what relateth to the common weal,

Has all at once become so very pure,

No Prostitute Repentant could sham more demure,
When, conscience stung, she, with artful grievings
Gives, in loud groans to God, the Devil's leavings.
Yes, Tempora mutantur, and so quick,
These Times-serving new morals make one sick.
For its choice old friends being forgotten
And on dunghills thrown, as fruit that's rotten,
The honest Rads, of whom it made such brags,
Are now call'd by it skum, and rogues in rags.
Who then can wonder, if Othello Kean,

(Like Desdemona smother'd with its spleen,)

Is only fit for Pillories or Stocks,

When hot press'd by the old Times printing blocks.

Rejoic'd that I your sympathy obtain,

Conscious, whate'er you give, will be my gain,
Permit me now to thank you for my mite

Of your protection, on this joint Stock Night.
Assuring you my heart is so replete

With grateful feelings, that it cannot meet
My wishes, (copious as our Language be)
In diction strong enough to set it free

From debt, wherefore I hope you'll let me pay
My loan of Gratitude, on some future day.

A PROLOGUE

For Miss Vernon's Benefit at Dover, 5th February, 1825, (her Play being, The Way to keep him, written by Mr. Murphy,) but not spoken, as intended, from Miss V. being too much engag'd to recite it from

memory.

The Dramatist in this corrupted age,
Making his plays subservient to the Stage,
And, like Procrustes bed, shaping his wit
The Actor's talent for grimace to fit,

Fills ev'ry act, in spite of wisdom's laws,

(To gain a vulgar gallery's coarse applause)

With such stale clap traps, that each monkey trick
Probes the old school of critics to the quick;
Not so our bard, who, heedless of the pence,
Has shap'd his play to please a world of sense;