[] The Modern Poetaſters.

SCENE, The Piazza in Covent-Garden.

YOu're welcome, dear Sauney, from the Northern Climate to a more Friendly Air, and this famous Metropolis; where your great and exalted Genius will meet with its merited Reward, and your poetical Abilities ſhine in their full Splendor.

Upon my Soul Man you ſay too much to an unworthy Brother—I am a Stranger to England, but extraordinarily pleas'd with your good Acquaintance, which recompences the Toil of my fatiguing Journey from the City of Edinburgh.

Your Toil, my Friend, you'll think the greateſt Pleaſure of your Life, when you find by my unequall'd Pen your Character is rais'd to the Top Pinacle of Fame—Virgil's Shade will envy the Reputation I am capable of giving you.

Virgil was an Eminent Poet: He's une⯑quall'd in this Age, unleſs it be in you.

You ſpeak like a Man of Judgment, Bro⯑ther, and I doubt not to convince the ignorant World, that Virgil, amidſt his ſoaring Flights and pompous Elegance, was an Aſs to S—l.

But we ſhall find it a plaguy Task to per⯑ſuade the giddy Multitude to this Opinion: You may ſeem to reſemble the Style and Manner of the Ancients, but I fear the Colours are faint, and will not bear Examination—They are ſtrong and ſublime, we weak and ſpiritleſs.

I thought you Gentlemen had more of the Hibernian Quality than to entertain a mean Opinion of your ſelves, and your own Capacities: Lay aſide Humility, if you intend to thrive in the Engliſh Territories, and let Conceit, Hy⯑pocriſy and Pride take place; be bold and auda⯑cious in ſelf-praiſes; learn to Cabal, flatter, and Condemn, and the Game's your own.

To all theſe I'm a Stranger, my Dear—

For what did you deſert your Native Country?—Can you expect Services from me, and you entirely unqualified?

But hold! 'tis not too late to learn—I believe I can deſpiſe Merit, and for a conſide⯑rable Sum be a conſiderable Flatterer; but the greateſt Work is to compliment my ſelf.

Pugh, that's the eaſieſt Thing in the World; you've Nature on your ſide, which in⯑cites Fondneſs in all to Works of their own Pro⯑duction; I can do it with an Air of Gravity, and damn with a Grace the Misbelievers of an Un⯑truth.

But you have the Happineſs, Brother, to be Eſtabliſh'd, and it requires ſome Time for a Man to be Entered in any thing, altho' it be in Iniquity.

Every airy Female tells ye her Ware is the beſt, moſt charming, the moſt inviting, and all that—And cannot we extoll our own Verſes, many whereof deſcribe thoſe Beauties they falſly pretend to be Miſtreſſes of.

Woud'nt it be better that like a fair vir⯑tuous Woman, we make no Boaſtings of our ſelves, but let our own real Worth recommend us to Mankind.

There's no ſuch thing as real Worth, my Friend, 'tis all imaginary: The whole Univerſe is a ſham, and falſe Repreſentation—Generals are not always made with Fighting, Scholars by Learning, nor Divines by Study: No, Manage⯑ment and Caballing will ſave infinite Trouble of that kind—'Tis but to place proper Fame-brokers at the moſt remarkable Parts of the Town, Fellows of good Lungs to bellow out your Praiſe, the Work is done; the ignorant Populace, fam'd for Credulity, will believe it with as much Eager⯑neſs as they entertain Scandal againſt true Merit; and thus is a Reputation at once acquired.

But this ſeems, according to my Notion of Things, to be inconſiſtent with true Senſe, and 'tis contrary to all Scottiſh Politicks; we are equally backward in Praiſing as in Condemning.

Senſe, Sir, is nothing elſe but a Rule of acting on the Principle of Intereſt; ſo that if it promotes my Profit, I'll applaud my ſelf, or any ſenſeleſs Wretch; and if my Fortune cannot be raiſed without calumniating what is truly Great and Glorious, the doing it is an Argument of ſound Senſe, and perfectly conſonant with the Di⯑ctates of Nature, and the great SENECA's Philoſophy.

I cannot be of your Opinion, Brother, I muſt term that Abuſe, which you are pleas'd to call Senſe, in Spite of the greateſt Oratory to recommend it.

You muſt learn to think more advanta⯑giouſly, if you expect Proſperity here—But that I may not be tedious in my firſt Lectures, we'll quit this Converſation, and retire to a Houſe of Diverſion in the Hundreds of Drury; we'll drink 'till we rival the Sun with our ruddy Com⯑plexions; ſet up all Night with the Moon; lye with half a Dozen Virgins; break all the Win⯑dows of the Manſion; and then, like true Sons of Parnaſſus, make a haſty Eſcape, and pay no Reckoning, but leave that to be accounted for by the Gods.

Will not the Subſtitutes of Venus exhauſt our Poetical Fire?

No, they'll encreaſe it.—

But have ye no Salamanders—I fear I ſhall be metamorphiz'd to a Glow-worm.

None at all, my Dear—I'll help ye to an agreeable Female with whom Safety will be your Lot.

The Deel damn me, if I don't think the Lot of Jonas will be mine.

You'll be in no Belly of a Whale, I'll aſſure ye.

But perhaps of ſomething worſe—or the Jaws of ſome terrible Monſter—

Let not your Courage be caſt down—Come, we'll away to Mother W—yb—ns.

Have I found my Enemy at laſt.—

I'm an Enemy to nothing, but that Merit which is of a ſuperiour kind, Sir.—Dear Sauney, repair to Button's; I'll be with you pre⯑ſently.

Have you any Pretence, Sir, to Merit?

As much as you have to be a Coxcomb, Sir.

The Coxcomb does not belong to me at preſent.

I can write Senſe and Engliſh, a Capacity you are unacquainted with.

In your Walk to St. J—'s-ſtreet, there is neither Engliſh, Senſe, nor Grammar; and your beſt Pieces of Poetry are but Trifles.

It would be an Honour to you, Sir, to be the Author of ſuch Trifles.

I can receive no Honour from your Ac⯑compliſhments.—You have by good Fortune indeed wrote one Piece that has ſold, but more from the Popularity of the Subject, than the Per⯑formance; [9] your beſt Scenes of Love are notoriouſly worſe than thoſe of the loweſt Poet in this or any other Age.—The few Similies are no way adapted, and really appear like Flowers in a Dung⯑hill.—In your other Poetical Writings all the Beauties are borrow'd: If we diveſt you of your Thefts, you'll reſemble the Crow in the Fable, and little will remain but Froth and Rhime.

Thou fooliſh Boy, do'ſt Thee pretend to criticiſe on the Greateſt Genius of the Age.

You may compliment your Genius as you pleaſe, and your Friends may give it out, but I ſhall take Liberty to affirm that 'tis far from being a perfect one in Poetry: A perfect Genius is capable of producing a finiſh'd Piece of the greateſt Length, which is what you will never be Maſter of.—A few good Lines I confeſs you ſometimes happen to write, but more from a Flaſhy Wit, than a true Native Genius.

My Genius is eminently conſpicuous in every thing I do—Can you peruſe any Per⯑formance of mine, where I don't ſtrike out with a ſurprizing Strength of Poetical Fury?—And in my Odes, my Flights are very Extraordi⯑nary.

Your Flights are like thoſe of the Owl, never Soaring or Lofty. If you intend to gain a ſolid Reputation, you muſt ſtrike out the great⯑eſt part of what you have written: Leave off re⯑commending the Works of others, in order to aſſume the Honour of the Whole yourſelf, and [10] blaming that which you cannot mend, for no o⯑ther Reaſon than becauſe you've had no Hand in't.

Why all this unmerited Calumny?

Your Talent is Calumny, Brother, tho' prepoſterouſly mix'd with Panegyrick.—You can condemn and praiſe even the ſame thing, and at ſuch times as it merits neither your Cenſure, nor Approbation.—You can lam⯑poon your beſt Friends, and abuſe your greateſt Benefactors, in their Abſence; and, ſupported by a Gameſter, you think to Bully Mankind.

This is provoking with a Vengeance; wou'd any one but a Poet bear all this?

You are born to bear the Burthen of your Folly, and the Repetition of your Faults.—A firſt RateMiniſter of State was firſt your Patron; him you've commended to Exceſs; ſince you've let fly at him at leaſt twenty Satyrs. On a great Stateſman whom you've lately prais'd, firſt a Sa⯑tyr, then a Panegyrick: On a certain Noble Lord firſt a Panegyrick, then a Lampoon: A great Com⯑moner, firſt a Satyr, then a Compliment; and ma⯑ny other Inſtances of this kind I could enumerate: And as Hypocriſy is your Principle, the Whigs have your preſent Praiſes, but the Tories and Jacobites your Affections.

If I ſhould gain any Honour by beating of a Monkey, I wou'd do it.

Come on—I've ſome Inches of my Sword at your Service.

But few Inches for a Lady I preſume.—You're a Child, and deſerve the Rod—Farewell.

Adieu.—What a vain conceited Wretch is this? He gives me an Averſion to all Poetry and Poets, and almoſt to my ſelf as one of the Number.

Your Servant, Mr. Smart—I've been looking for you an Age, and want to conſult you in an Affair of the greateſt Conſequence.

I am at your Service.—What is your Buſineſs, Madam?

To correct a Poem of my Writing, on the Man in the Moon.

Your Subject, Madam, is equally high with your Exalted Genius.—I ſoar beneath your airy Flights; and you might as well ask me to Correct the Skies.

O Dear Sir, I am much obliged t'ye; but I'm no Angel as yet.

Your Flights are extraordinary, Ma⯑dam, I'll aſſure ye.—My Pegaſus is a Jade to yours.

You ſhall mount mine, if you pleaſe.

I ſhould be glad to mount—my Dear.

Pugh, if you won't correct my Poem, I'll leave you to the Tormentors of the Hundreds of Drury.

I may find a Woman's Caſe there.

You have wicked Imaginations—My De⯑ſigns are honeſt, but you ungenerouſly conſtrue all for the worſt.

I conſtrue every thing according to Na⯑ture, Madam, and Nature's Rules are a Law to me.

Nature is a Jeſt.

When purſued jeſtingly, with a fair Lady, or ſo—

When purſued in Earneſt.—

And the Gallant laid breathleſs at your Feet.

This is intolerable, I can't bear it. Adieu.

Nor I neither.

Scene, Mother W—yb—n's in Drury-lane.

MY Sons you're welcome to my Palace, but you dear Sauncy muſt firſt kneel down, and ask my Bleſſing, e'er you're admit⯑ted to my Favours.

She tells ye the Truth, Brother, 'tis what is cuſtomary; and tho' I've already done it, I'll lead you the way.

There, dear Son, you're doubly free.—

The De'el damn the Freedom—What muſt I loſe my Eye-ſight before I can be admitted, for the Benefit of Feeling.

'Tis nothing but a decent Sprinkling—'twill have an extraordinary Effect.—Thus Plants are water'd e'er they riſe.—

But not between a Woman's Thighs—

Kneel down, dear Sauney, or you ſhall have it ſtanding.

Plague on the Bleſſing—Your Water is damnable ſtrong.—

That's a certain Sign of ſetled Health.—You ſhall have another Taſte, unleſs you ſubmiſ⯑ſively kneel.

Forbear, dear Mother, he has had his Share.—What he wants in Duty, ſhall be made up by me in filial Obedience.

Pox take the Obedience—Where is the Girl?

O Mother, I deſire you to ſend for the lovely Mrs. Scentwell.

Let us firſt drink, my Dear—

—Fill me a Bumper.

Yes, Madam.

Dear Sauney you're the greateſt Stranger, my Service to you.—May your Purſe and—never fail you.

A good Health, upon my Soul, Man—

Fill him a Bumper.

Here, Brother Gooſecap, here's Health to our Pleaſures, and Wealth to our Pockets.

With all my Heart; about we't.—I long for a Taſte of the Brandy, and—

You ſhall have both, my Child, have a lit⯑tle Patience.—Fill him a Bumper.

Madam, I do.

Come, here's to the longeſt and ſtrongeſt, plumpeſt and faireſt—

Let it go round—Maid do you pledge him.

Yes, Madam.

You are to take t'other Glaſs my Friends, and then—

Now where's Mrs. Scentwell.

You muſt have one Dram more, dear Sauney; don't be impatient.—She'll come ſoon enough to cool your Pegaſus.—Maid, fetch ano⯑ther Bottle.

Mother, you muſt not now detain us any longer from the Sight of the Miſtreſs of my Affe⯑ctions.

Pay your Reckoning Gentlemen, and ſh [...] ſhall be immediately brought in.

What is the Damage we've done?

You've Twelve Shillings to pay.

I'll pay this, Brother, if you will ſatisf [...] the following Arrears.

I will—You have my Promiſe.

There's the Money-bring in the Girl—

It ſhall be done—

The Deel damn me if the Sight of a W [...] ⯑man be not plaguy dear in England—For ha [...] this Money I could have lain with twenty Wom [...] in Scotland—But I hope ſhe is very handſom [...] Brother.

She's Divinely Fair—She has the Fa [...] of an Angel, and her lower Cheeks are ſo excee [...] ⯑ing white, plump and beautiful, that you'll [...] tempted to kiſs them.

Gentlemen, your humble Servant—

Your Servant, Madam—By my So [...] Charming Creature—Let me give you a Buſs [...]

With all my Heart, my Dear—What can I refuſe to ſuch fine Gentlemen—

Now 'tis my Turn—Madam, you're to enjoy theſe Ruby Lips, and this delightful Per⯑ſon: Come to my Arms, and make your ſelf Bleſt—

Let me firſt bleſs my ſelf with Liquor, my Dear—I am thirſty, and my Spirits are low—

Is there no Kiſſing without a Continuance of Tipling?

No, Sir, not at this Part of the Town.

Call for it then—

You'll now kiſs me, my Dear.

Yes, with all my Heart—

I hope you'll at laſt permit me to examine thoſe Beauties which are yours.

Let us have another Bottle, and you ſhall do what you pleaſe.

Call for it inſtantly.

Madam, now I expect you'll reſign all your Charms to the ingenious Mr. Sauney.

For Half a Piece I am at his Service.

There it is—

I hope you'll make me a Preſent of a Crown, my Dear, to buy me a Pair of Stockings; and you ſhall then really do what ever you deſire.

I'll give it ye—there is the Crown.

But I want a Pair of Gloves—Give me half a Crown more, and let me die if I don't let you Buſs Breech, or any Thing.

Pox on't—there it is.

Now, my Dear, if you'll give me a Shil⯑ling for Coach Hire to my Lodgings, and pay the Reckoning,—I am entirely at your Service.

Let him have his agreed for Pleaſure, and the Reckoning ſhall afterwards be diſcharg'd.

We never truſt, Sir—There's Eighteen Shillings to pay—

Here, Madam, come and receive your Reckoning.

We're jilted, be Gad—Gooſecap, you are to pay the Money demanded.

I've but a ſingle Six-pence in my Pocket, by Jove.

And I have not remaining a Shilling—What ſhall us do, Madam—

You muſt only ſtrip, Gentlemen—

We'll neither ſtrip nor pay ye, Mrs. Jezabel.

Won't ye, you'll find your ſelves miſta⯑ken—I'll make ye, Sirrah—

I'll teach you to cry out, Raſcals, Villains! D'ye come here to cheat an honeſt induſtrious Woman, ye Scoundrels!

This is abominable Uſage—and by no means agreeable; to a Man of Taſte—I'll go home, and fetch my Blunderbuſs.

A moſt damnable Pleaſure—I'll ſet Fire to the Houſe, and make way to my Lodgings by the Light of the Conflagration.

Scene changes to an Anti-Hall, in Wealthy's Houſe.

HAVE you transferr'd my S— Sea Stock?

Yes, Sir, I have.

How ſtands the preſent State of my Fortune?

At about Two Millions Five hundred thou⯑ſand Pounds, Sir—Your Eſtate is now beyond that of a Lord Treaſurer of Great-Britain, or a Comptroller of the Finances in France.

A Lord Treaſurer is nothing to us—We have ſuperior Methods for the acquiring of Fortunes to any of our Treaſurers, and can make them attend our Levees with an obſequious Air; they are firſt to give the Congee on all Approaches.—We expect to be Dukes by Title, and Princes by Poſſeſſions.

I my ſelf intend to be an Iriſh L—d; and I don't know but my Pretenſions are moſt righteous; 'twill be a worthy and eminent Riſe from the Character of your Worſhip's Footman to that of L—d Ʋpſtart.

Be not too haſty; you muſt firſt have a ſuitable Fortune.

I am already worth Five Hundred Thou⯑ſand Pounds, Sir; and if I marry your Worſhip's Chambermaid Dulcinea, with the Addition of her Riches, I ſhall be in Circumſtances equal to a D—ke.

But you're not Maſter of Behaviour—

I can ſwear gracefully; ſpeak what I ne⯑ver mean inceſſantly; raviſh Virgins decently; lie with other Mens Wives, and beat their Hus⯑bands out of Door couragiouſly; I can contemn my Betters, who have leſs Money, audaciouſly: I can flatter, cringe to and carreſs a Miniſter of State; build magnificent Houſes, and never pay for 'em; Cheat Gameſters, and deceive a Stock⯑jobber.

Theſe are uncommon Qualities indeed—but not ſufficient—

Sir, there's a Gentleman without who ſays he is come from the City of Edinburgh on purpoſe to wait on you—He deſires Audience of your Worſhip.

Since his Applications are proper, let him be admitted.

It ſhall be as you command.

This is ſome Gentleman of Worth, I preſume, who ſollicits to be a Subſcriber in the S— S— a Stock.

I am come, Sir, a Journey from on far, to ſpread your exalted Fame, and that of the un⯑parallell'd S— S—ea Stock.—I have humbly preſum'd to be the Author of a Poetical Performance, inſcrib'd to your Worſhip, which I hope you'll accept.

I cou'd not expect any ſuch thing, Sir—

You ſay too much of me, yet too little to the Purpoſe.—I deſire you'll humbly take your Paper again; but I'll thus far remember you, that when I am advanc'd to Lord-Mayor, for that Year, you ſhall be the City Laureat.

Won't you be pleaſed to give me a Sub⯑ſcription, Sir.

I'll willingly ſubſcribe to your Beating Sir?

That's very kind truly—

If this be all your Buſineſs, quit my Houſe.

Your Servant—I hope you'll not forget me when you're Lord-Mayor.

A Gentleman, Sir, has ſent me to you, to deſire Admittance in an Affair of great Impor⯑tance relating to your Life.

Introduce him—

My Buſineſs, Sir, is to congratulate you on your accumulating the Wealth of the Indies.—I hope you'll receive ſome Lines on your Immortal Fame—

Here, Tom, Tom, beat this Fellow out of my Houſe—Have I nothing elſe to do but to be plagu'd with theſe Mortals, who come a begging in ſuch Numbers? Here's my Cane, give the Lunatick his Correction.

I obey, Sir.

Deviliſh Fortune, to have a Cudgel for the Coin.

Mr. Wealthy, I hope you'll excuſe this ex⯑traordinary Trouble—I have here brought ye my C-a-ſe in Rhime, and I deſire you'll pleaſe to make it your own.

I deſire to be excus'd, Madam—Pox on't, I've but juſt kickt one Poet out of Doors, when another ſteps in.

I hope, Sir, you'll not beat your humble Servant; if you engage with me, it muſt not be with the ſame Weapon as you attack'd my Brother Gooſecap.

Tom, Tom, haſte hither—remove thi [...] talkative impertinent Woman.

I will, Sir.

My Caſe is ruin'd—What's worſe tha [...] ill Luck—

Sir, My Buſineſs, I own has ſome Impe [...] ⯑tinence: I ask your Pardon for treſpaſſing o [...] your important Moments; but Reſpect to you [...] Merit, Sir, is wholly the Occaſion of it.—I ha [...] wrote—

Wrote, what—

A familiar Epiſtle to your Honour, high⯑ly approv'd—It has not the leaſt Grain [...] Flattery, and it is free from Satyr—Be ple [...] ⯑ſed to receive it.

You are very familiar Gentlemen truly.—I've had no leſs than three with me this Morning on the ſame Errand, whom I've Rewarded with an Oaken Cudgel—but you may go if you pleaſe unrewarded.

I thank you for this Favour.—

Theſe Sons of Vanity are the Plague of Greatneſs; the worſt Diſturbers of our Repoſe; and we may truly ſay,