The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb Volume IV Part 33

Art. IV.

"Whereas their Lords Commissioners (the church) Do strictly authorise the right of search: As always practis'd--you're to understand By these what articles are contraband; Guns, mortars, pistols, halberts, swords, pikes, lances, Ball, powder, shot, and the appurtenances.

Videlicet--whatever can be sent To give the enemy encouragement.

Ogles are small shot (so the instruction runs), Touches hand grenades, and squeezes rifle guns."

Art. V.

"That no free-bottom'd neutral waiting maid Presume to exercise the carrying trade: The prohibition here contained extends To all commerce cover'd by the name of Friends.

Heaven speed the good ship well"--and so it ends.

Oh with such wholesome jealousies as these May Albion cherish his old spouse the seas; Keep over her a husband's firm command, Not with too rigid nor too lax a hand.

Be gently patient to her swells and throws When big with safeties to himself she goes; Nor while she clips him in a fast embrace, Stand for some female frowns upon her face.

But tell the rival world--and tell in Thunder, Whom Nature joined, none ere shall put asunder.

PROLOGUE TO COLERIDGE'S TRAGEDY OF "REMORSE"

(1813)

There are, I am told, who sharply criticise Our modern theatres' unwieldy size.

We players shall scarce plead guilty to that charge, Who think a house can never be too large: Griev'd when a rant, that's worth a nation's ear, Shakes some prescrib'd Lyceum's petty sphere; And pleased to mark the grin from s.p.a.ce to s.p.a.ce Spread epidemic o'er a town's broad face.-- O might old Betterton or Booth return To view our structures from their silent urn, Could Quin come stalking from Elysian glades, Or Garrick get a day-rule from the shades-- Where now, perhaps, in mirth which Spirits approve, He imitates the ways of men above, And apes the actions of our upper coast, As in his days of flesh he play'd the ghost:-- How might they bless our ampler scope to please, And hate their own old shrunk up audiences.-- Their houses yet were palaces to those, Which Ben and Fletcher for their triumphs chose.

Shakspeare, who wish'd a kingdom for a stage, } Like giant pent in disproportion'd cage, } Mourn'd his contracted strengths and crippled rage. } He who could tame his vast ambition down To please some scatter'd gleanings of a town, And, if some hundred auditors supplied Their meagre meed of claps, was satisfied, How had he felt, when that dread curse of Lear's Had burst tremendous on a thousand ears, While deep-struck wonder from applauding bands Return'd the tribute of as many hands!

Rude were his guests; he never made his bow To such an audience as salutes us now.

He lack'd the balm of labor, female praise.

Few Ladies in his time frequented plays, Or came to see a youth with aukward art And shrill sharp pipe burlesque the woman's part.

The very use, since so essential grown, Of painted scenes, was to his stage unknown.

The air-blest castle, round whose wholesome crest, The martlet, guest of summer, chose her nest-- The forest walks of Arden's fair domain, Where Jaques fed his solitary vein.

No pencil's aid as yet had dared supply, Seen only by the intellectual eye.

Those scenic helps, denied to Shakspeare's page, Our Author owes to a more liberal age.

Nor pomp nor circ.u.mstance are wanting here; 'Tis for himself alone that he must fear.

Yet shall remembrance cherish the just pride, That (be the laurel granted or denied) He first essay'd in this distinguish'd fane, Severer muses and a tragic strain.

EPILOGUE TO KENNEY'S FARCE, "DEBTOR AND CREDITOR"

(1814)

_Spoken by Mr. Liston and Mr. Emery in character_

_Gosling._ False world----

_Sampson._ You're bit, Sir.

_Gosling_. Boor! what's that to you?

With Love's soft sorrows what hast thou to do?

'Tis _here_ for consolation I must look.

(_Takes out his pocket book_).

_Sampson_. Nay, Sir, don't put us down in your black book.

_Gosling_. All Helicon is here.

_Sampson_. All h.e.l.l.

_Gosling_. You Clod!

Did'st never hear of the Pierian G.o.d, And the Nine Virgins on the Sacred Hill?

_Sampson_. Nine Virgins!--Sure!

_Gosling_. I have them all at will.

_Sampson_. If Miss fight shy, then--

_Gosling_. And my suit decline.

_Sampson_. You'll make a dash at them.

_Gosling_. I'll tip all nine.

_Sampson_. What, wed 'em, Sir?

_Gosling_. O, no--that thought I banish.

I woo--not wed; they never bring the Spanish.

Their favours I pursue, and court the bays.

_Sampson_. Mayhap, you're one of them that write the plays?

_Gosling_. b.u.mpkin!

_Sampson_. I'm told the public's well-nigh crammed With such like stuff.

_Gosling_. The public may be d.a.m.ned.

_Sampson_. They ha'nt d.a.m.ned you? (_inquisitively_).

_Gosling_. This fellow's wond'rous shrewd!

I'd tell him if I thought he'd not be rude.

Once in my greener years, I wrote a piece.

_Sampson_. Aye, so did I--at school like--