The Borough Part 8

Large the domain, but all within combine To correspond with the dishonoured sign; And all around dilapidates; you call - But none replies--they're inattentive all: At length a ruin'd stable holds your steed, While you through large and dirty rooms proceed, s.p.a.cious and cold; a proof they once had been In honour,--now magnificently mean; Till in some small half-furnish'd room you rest, Whose dying fire denotes it had a guest.

In those you pa.s.s'd, where former splendour reign'd, You saw the carpets torn, the paper stain'd; Squares of discordant gla.s.s in windows fix'd, And paper oil'd in many a s.p.a.ce betwixt; A soil'd and broken sconce, a mirror crack'd, With table underpropp'd, and chairs new back'd; A marble side-slab with ten thousand stains, And all an ancient Tavern's poor remains.

With much entreaty, they your food prepare, And acid wine afford, with meagre fare; Heartless you sup; and when a dozen times You've read the fractured window's senseless rhymes, Have been a.s.sured that Phoebe Green was fair, And Peter Jackson took his supper there; You reach a chilling chamber, where you dread Damps, hot or cold, from a tremendous bed; Late comes your sleep, and you are waken'd soon By rustling tatters of the old festoon.

O'er this large building, thus by time defaced, A servile couple has its owner placed, Who not unmindful that its style is large, To lost magnificence adapt their charge: Thus an old beauty, who has long declined, Keeps former dues and dignity in mind; And wills that all attention should be paid For graces vanish'd and for charms decay'd.

Few years have pa.s.s'd, since brightly 'cross the way, Lights from each window shot the lengthen'd ray, And busy looks in every face were seen, Through the warm precincts of the reigning Queen; There fires inviting blazed, and all around Was heard the tinkling bells' seducing sound; The nimble waiters to that sound from far Sprang to the call, then hasteri'd to the bar, Where a glad priestess of the temple sway'd, The most obedient, and the most obey'd; Rosy and round, adorn'd in crimson vest, And flaming ribands at her ample breast: She, skill'd like Circe, tried her guests to move, With looks of welcome and with words of love; And such her potent charms, that men unwise Were soon transform'd and fitted for the sties.

Her port in bottles stood, a well-stain'd row, Drawn for the evening from the pipe below; Three powerful spirits filled a parted case, Some cordial bottles stood in secret place; Fair acid-fruits in nets above were seen, Her plate was splendid, and her gla.s.ses clean; Basins and bowls were ready on the stand, And measures clatter'd in her powerful hand.

Inferior Houses now our notice claim, But who shall deal them their appropriate fame?

Who shall the nice, yet known distinction, tell, Between the peal complete and single Bell?

Determine ye, who on your s.h.i.+ning nags Wear oil-skin beavers, and bear seal-skin bags; Or ye, grave topers, who with coy delight Snugly enjoy the sweetness of the night; Ye travellers all, superior Inns denied By moderate purse, the low by decent pride; Come and determine,--will you take your place At the full Orb, or half the lunar Face?

With the Black-Boy or Angel will ye dine?

Will ye approve the Fountain or the Vine?

Horses the white or black will ye prefer?

The Silver-Swan or Swan opposed to her - Rare bird! whose form the raven-plumage decks, And graceful curve her three alluring necks?

All these a decent entertainment give, And by their comforts comfortably live.

Shall I pa.s.s by the Boar?--there are who cry, "Beware the Boar," and pa.s.s determined by: Those dreadful tusks, those little peering eyes And churning chaps, are tokens to the wise.

There dwells a kind old Aunt, and there you see Some kind young Nieces in her company; Poor village nieces, whom the tender dame Invites to town, and gives their beauty Fame; The grateful sisters feel th' important aid, And the good Aunt is flatter'd and repaid.

What, though it may some cool observers strike, That such fair sisters should be so unlike; That still another and another comes, And at the matron's tables smiles and blooms; That all appear as if they meant to stay Time undefined, nor name a parting day; And yet, though all are valued, all are dear, Causeless, they go, and seldom more appear.

Yet let Suspicion hide her odious head, And Scandal vengeance from a burgess dread; A pious friend, who with the ancient dame At sober cribbage takes an evening game; His cup beside him, through their play he quaffs, And oft renews, and innocently laughs; Or growing serious, to the text resorts, And from the Sunday-sermon makes reports; While all, with grateful glee, his wish attend, A grave protector and a powerful friend: But Slander says, who indistinctly sees, Once he was caught with Sylvia on his knees; - A cautious burgess with a careful wife To be so caught!--'tis false, upon my life.

Next are a lower kind, yet not so low But they, among them, their distinctions know; And when a thriving landlord aims so high, As to exchange the Chequer for the Pye, Or from Duke William to the Dog repairs, He takes a finer coat and fiercer airs.

Pleased with his power, the poor man loves to say What favourite Inn shall share his evening's pay; Where he shall sit the social hour, and lose His past day's labours and his next day's views.

Our Seamen too have choice; one takes a trip In the warm cabin of his favourite s.h.i.+p; And on the morrow in the humbler Boat He rows till fancy feels herself afloat; Can he the sign--Three Jolly Sailors--pa.s.s, Who hears a fiddle and who sees a la.s.s?

The Anchor too affords the seaman joys, In small smoked room, all clamour, crowd, and noise; Where a curved settle half surrounds the fire, Where fifty voices purl and punch require; They come for pleasure in their leisure hour, And they enjoy it to their utmost power; Standing they drink, they swearing smoke, while all Call, or make ready for a second call: There is no time for trifling--"Do ye see?

We drink and drub the French extempore."

See! round the room, on every beam and balk, Are mingled scrolls of hieroglyphic chalk; Yet nothing heeded--would one stroke suffice To blot out all, here honour is too nice, - "Let knavish landsmen think such dirty things, We're British tars, and British tars are kings."

But the Green-Man shall I pa.s.s by unsung, Which mine own James upon his sign-post hung?

His sign his image,--for he was once seen A squire's attendant, clad in keeper's green; Ere yet, with wages more and honour less, He stood behind me in a graver dress.

James in an evil hour went forth to woo Young Juliet Hart, and was her Romeo: They'd seen the play, and thought it vastly sweet For two young lovers by the moon to meet; The nymph was gentle, of her favours free, E'en at a word--no Rosalind was she; Nor, like that other Juliet, tried his truth With--"Be thy purpose marriage, gentle youth?"

But him received, and heard his tender tale, When sang the lark, and when the nightingale; So in few months the generous la.s.s was seen I' the way that all the Capulets had been.

Then first repentance seized the amorous man, And--shame on love!--he reason'd and he ran; The thoughtful Romeo trembled for his purse, And the sad sounds, "for better and for worse."

Yet could the Lover not so far withdraw, But he was haunted both by Love and Law; Now Law dismay'd him as he view'd its fangs, Now Pity seized him for his Juliet's pangs; Then thoughts of justice and some dread of jail, Where all would blame him, and where none might bail; These drew him back, till Juliet's hut appear'd, Where love had drawn him when he should have fear'd.

There sat the father in his wicker throne, Uttering his curses in tremendous tone: With foulest names his daughter he reviled, And look'd a very Herod at the child: Nor was she patient, but with equal scorn, Bade him remember when his Joe was born: Then rose the mother, eager to begin Her plea for frailty, when the swain came in.

To him she turn'd, and other theme began, Show'd him his boy, and bade him be a man; "An honest man, who, when he breaks the laws, Will make a woman honest if there's cause."

With lengthen'd speech she proved what came to pa.s.s Was no reflection on a loving la.s.s: "If she your love as wife and mother claim, What can it matter which was first the name?

But 'tis most base, 'tis perjury and theft, When a lost girl is like a widow left; The rogue who ruins .. " here the father found His spouse was treading on forbidden ground.

"That's not the point," quoth he, "I don't suppose My good friend Fletcher to be one of those; What's done amiss he'll mend in proper time - I hate to hear of villany and crime: 'Twas my misfortune, in the days of youth, To find two la.s.ses pleading for my truth; The case was hard, I would with all my soul Have wedded both, but law is our control; So one I took, and when we gain'd a home, Her friend agreed--what could she more?--to come; And when she found that I'd a widow'd bed, Me she desired--what could I less?--to wed.

An easier case is yours: you've not the smart That two fond pleaders cause in one man's heart.

You've not to wait from year to year distress'd, Before your conscience can be laid at rest; There smiles your bride, there sprawls your new-born son, A ring, a licence, and the thing is done." - "My loving James,"--the La.s.s began her plea, I'll make thy reason take a part with me; Had I been froward, skittish, or unkind, Or to thy person or thy pa.s.sion blind; Had I refused, when 'twas thy part to pray, Or put thee off with promise and delay; Thou might'st in justice and in conscience fly, Denying her who taught thee to deny: But, James, with me thou hadst an easier task, Bonds and conditions I forbore to ask; I laid no traps for thee, no plots or plans, Nor marriage named by licence or by banns; Nor would I now the parson's aid employ, But for this cause,"--and up she held her boy.

Motives like these could heart of flesh resist?

James took the infant and in triumph kiss'd; Then to his mother's arms the child restored, Made his proud speech and pledged his worthy word.

"Three times at church our banns shall publish'd be, Thy health be drunk in b.u.mpers three times three; And thou shalt grace (bedeck'd in garments gay) The christening-dinner on the wedding-day."

James at my door then made his parting bow, Took the Green-Man, and is a master now.

LETTER XII.

These are monarchs none respect, Heroes, yet an humbled crew, n.o.bles, whom the crowd correct, Wealthy men, whom duns pursue; Beauties shrinking from the view Of the day's detecting eye; Lovers, who with much ado Long-forsaken damsels woo, And heave the ill-feign'd sigh.

These are misers, craving means Of existence through the day, Famous scholars, conning scenes Of a dull bewildering play; Ragged beaux and misses gray, Whom the rabble praise and blame, Proud and mean, and sad and gay, Toiling after ease, are they, Infamous, and boasting fame.

PLAYERS.

They arrive in the Borough--Welcomed by their former Friends--Are better fitted for Comic than Tragic Scenes: yet better approved in the latter by one Part of their Audience--Their general Character and Pleasantry--Particular Distresses and Labours--Their Fort.i.tude and Patience--A private rehearsal--The Vanity of the aged Actress--A Heroine from the Milliner's Shop--A deluded Tradesman--Of what Persons the Company is composed--Character and Adventures of Frederick Thompson.

DRAWN by the annual call, we now behold Our Troop Dramatic, heroes known of old, And those, since last they march'd, enlisted and enrolled: Mounted on hacks or borne in waggons some, The rest on foot (the humbler brethren) come.

Three favour'd places, an unequal time, Join to support this company sublime: Ours for the longer period--see how light Yon parties move, their former friends in sight, Whose claims are all allow'd, and friends.h.i.+p glads the night.

Now public rooms shall sound with words divine, And private lodgings hear how heroes s.h.i.+ne; No talk of pay shall yet on pleasure steal, But kindest welcome bless the friendly meal; While o'er the social jug and decent cheer, Shall be described the fortunes of the year.

Peruse these bills, and see what each can do, - Behold! the prince, the slave, the monk, the Jew; Change but the garment, and they'll all engage To take each part, and act in every age: Cull'd from all houses, what a house are they!

Swept from all barns, our Borough-critics say; But with some portion of a critic's ire, We all endure them; there are some admire: They might have praise, confined to farce alone; Full well they grin, they should not try to groan; But then our servants' and our seamen's wives Love all that rant and rapture as their lives; He who 'Squire Richard's part could well sustain, Finds as King Richard he must roar amain - "My horse! my horse!"--Lo! now to their abodes, Come lords and lovers, empresses and G.o.ds.

The master-mover of these scenes has made No trifling gain in this adventurous trade; Trade we may term it, for he duly buys Arms out of use and undirected eyes: These he instructs, and guides them as he can, And vends each night the manufactured man: Long as our custom lasts they gladly stay, Then strike their tents, like Tartars! and away!

The place grows bare where they too long remain, But gra.s.s will rise ere they return again.

Children of Thespes, welcome; knights and queens!

Counts! barons! beauties! when before your scenes, And mighty monarchs thund'ring from your throne; Then step behind, and all your glory's gone: Of crown and palace, throne and guards bereft, The pomp is vanish'd and the care is left.

Yet strong and lively is the joy they feel, When the full house secures the plenteous meal; Flatt'ring and flatter'd, each attempts to raise A brother's merits for a brother's praise: For never hero shows a prouder heart, Than he who proudly acts a hero's part; Nor without cause; the boards, we know, can yield Place for fierce contest, like the tented field.

Graceful to tread the stage, to be in turn The prince we honour, and the knave we spurn; Bravely to bear the tumult of the crowd, The hiss tremendous, and the censure loud: These are their parts,--and he who these sustains, Deserves some praise and profit for his pains.

Heroes at least of gentler kind are they, Against whose swords no weeping widows pray, No blood their fury sheds, nor havoc marks their way.

Sad happy race! soon raised and soon depress'd, Your days all pa.s.s'd in jeopardy and jest; Poor without prudence, with afflictions vain, Not warn'd by misery, not enrich'd by gain; Whom Justice, pitying, chides from place to place, A wandering, careless, wretched, merry race, Whose cheerful looks a.s.sume, and play the parts Of happy rovers with repining hearts; Then cast off care, and in the mimic pain Of tragic woe feel spirits light and vain, Distress and hope--the mind's the body's wear, The man's affliction, and the actor's tear: Alternate times of fasting and excess Are yours, ye smiling children of distress.

Slaves though ye be, your wandering freedom seems, And with your varying views and restless schemes, Your griefs are transient, as your joys are dreams.

Yet keen those griefs--ah! what avail thy charms, Fair Juliet! what that infant in thine arms; What those heroic lines thy patience learns, What all the aid thy present Romeo earns, Whilst thou art crowded in that lumbering wain With all thy plaintive sisters to complain?

Nor is there lack of labour--To rehea.r.s.e, Day after day, poor sc.r.a.ps of prose and verse; To bear each other's spirit, pride, and spite; To hide in rant the heart ache of the night; To dress in gaudy patchwork, and to force The mind to think on the appointed course; - This is laborious, and may be defined The bootless labour of the thriftless mind.

There is a veteran Dame: I see her stand Intent and pensive with her book in hand; Awhile her thoughts she forces on her part, Then dwells on objects nearer to the heart; Across the room she paces, gets her tone, And fits her features for the Danish throne; To-night a queen--I mark her motion slow, I hear her speech, and Hamlet's mother know.

Methinks 'tis pitiful to see her try For strength of arms and energy of eye; With vigour lost, and spirits worn away, Her pomp and pride she labours to display; And when awhile she's tried her part to act, To find her thoughts arrested by some fact; When struggles more and more severe are seen, In the plain actress than the Danish queen, - At length she feels her part, she finds delight, And fancies all the plaudits of the night; Old as she is, she smiles at every speech, And thinks no youthful part beyond her reach, But as the mist of vanity again Is blown away, by press of present pain, Sad and in doubt she to her purse applies For cause of comfort, where no comfort lies; Then to her task she sighing turns again - "Oh! Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain!"

And who that poor, consumptive, wither'd thing, Who strains her slender throat and strives to sing?

Panting for breath and forced her voice to drop, And far unlike the inmate of the shop, Where she, in youth and health, alert and gay, Laugh'd off at night the labours of the day; With novels, verses, fancy's fertile powers, And sister-converse pa.s.s'd the evening hours: But Cynthia's soul was soft, her wishes strong, Her judgment weak, and her conclusions wrong; The morning-call and counter were her dread, And her contempt the needle and the thread: But when she read a gentle damsel's part, Her woe, her wis.h.!.+ she had them all by heart.

At length the hero of the boards drew nigh, Who spake of love till sigh re-echo'd sigh; He told in honey'd words his deathless flame, And she his own by tender vows became; Nor ring nor licence needed souls so fond, Alfonso's pa.s.sion was his Cynthia's bond: And thus the simple girl, to shame betray'd, Sinks to the grave forsaken and dismay'd.

Sick without pity, sorrowing without hope, See her! the grief and scandal of the troop; A wretched martyr to a childish pride, Her woe insulted, and her praise denied: Her humble talents, though derided, used, Her prospects lost, her confidence abused; All that remains--for she not long can brave Increase of evils--is an early grave.

Ye gentle Cynthias of the shop, take heed What dreams you cherish, and what books ye read!

A decent sum had Peter Nottage made, By joining bricks--to him a thriving trade: Of his employment master and his wife, This humble tradesman led a lordly life; The house of kings and heroes lack'd repairs, And Peter, though reluctant, served the Players: Connected thus, he heard in way polite, - "Come, Master Nottage, see us play to night,"

At first 'twas folly, nonsense, idle stuff, But seen for nothing it grew well enough; And better now--now best, and every night, In this fool's paradise he drank delight; And as he felt the bliss, he wish'd to know Whence all this rapture and these joys could flow; For if the seeing could such pleasure bring, What must the feeling?--feeling like a king?

In vain his wife, his uncle, and his friend, Cried--"Peter! Peter! let such follies end; 'Tis well enough these vagabonds to see, But would you partner with a showman be?"

"Showman!" said Peter, "did not Quin and Clive, And Roscius-Garrick, by the science thrive?

Showman!--'tis scandal; I'm by genius led To join a cla.s.s who've Shakspeare at their head."

Poor Peter thus by easy steps became A dreaming candidate for scenic fame, And, after years consumed, infirm and poor, He sits and takes the tickets at the door.

Of various men these marching troops are made, - Pen-spurning clerks, and lads contemning trade; Waiters and servants by confinement teased, And youths of wealth by dissipation eased; With feeling nymphs, who, such resource at hand, Scorn to obey the rigour of command; Some, who from higher views by vice are won, And some of either s.e.x by love undone; The greater part lamenting as their fall, What some an honour and advancement call.

There are who names in shame or fear a.s.sume, And hence our Bevilles and our Savilles come; It honours him, from tailor's board kick'd down, As Mister Dormer to amuse the town; Falling, he rises: but a kind there are Who dwell on former prospects, and despair; Justly but vainly they their fate deplore, And mourn their fall, who fell to rise no more.

Our merchant Thompson, with his sons around, Most mind and talent in his Frederick found: He was so lively, that his mother knew, If he were taught, that honour must ensue; The father's views were in a different line, - But if at college he were sure to s.h.i.+ne.

Then should he go--to prosper who could doubt?

When schoolboy stigmas would be all wash'd out, For there were marks upon his youthful face, 'Twixt vice and error--a neglected case - These would submit to skill; a little time, And none could trace the error or the crime; Then let him go, and once at college, he Might choose his station--what would Frederick be.

'Twas soon determined--He could not descend To pedant-laws and lectures without end; And then the chapel--night and morn to pray, Or mulct and threaten'd if he kept away; No! not to be a bishop--so he swore, And at his college he was seen no more.

His debts all paid, the father, with a sigh, Placed him in office--"Do, my Frederick, try: Confine thyself a few short months and then -"

He tried a fortnight, and threw down the pen.

Again demands were hush'd: "My son, you're free, But you're unsettled; take your chance at sea:"

So in few days the mids.h.i.+pman, equipp'd Received the mother's blessing, and was s.h.i.+pp'd.

Hard was her fortune! soon compell'd to meet The wretched stripling staggering through the street; For, rash, impetuous, insolent, and vain, The Captain sent him to his friends again: About the Borough roved th' unnappy boy, And ate the bread of every chance-employ!

Of friends he borrow'd, and the parents yet In secret fondness authorized the debt; The younger sister, still a child, was taught To give with feign'd affright the pittance sought; For now the father cried--"It is too late For trial more--I leave him to his fate," - Yet left him not: and with a kind of joy, The mother heard of her desponding boy; At length he sicken'd, and he found, when sick, All aid was ready, all attendance quick; A fever seized him, and at once was lost The thought of trespa.s.s, error, crime, and cost: Th' indulgent parents, knelt beside the youth, They heard his promise and believed his truth; And when the danger lessen'd on their view, They cast off doubt, and hope a.s.surance grew; - Nursed by his sisters, cherish'd by his sire, Begg'd to be glad, encouraged to aspire, His life, they said, would now all care repay, And he might date his prospects from that day; A son, a brother to his home received, They hoped for all things, and in all believed.

And now will pardon, comfort, kindness draw The youth from vice? will honour, duty, law?