Classic Poem

A TRAGEDY BY DR. YOUNG .

T O woman, sure, the most severe affliction
Is from these fellows, point blank contradiction.
Our Bard, without — I wish he would appear —
Ud! I would give it him — but you shall hear —
Good Sir! quoth I — and curtsey'd as I spoke —
Our pit, you know, expects and loves a joke —
'Twere fit to humour them; for, right or wrong,
True Britons never like the same thing long.
To-day is fair — they strut, huff, swear, harangue —
To-morrow's foul — they sneak aside, and hang.
Is there a war — Peace! peace! is all their cry:
The peace is made — then, blood! they'll fight and die.
Gallants! in talking thus I meant no treason;
I would have brought, you see, the man to reason;
But with some folks 'tis labour lost to strive:
A reasoning mule will neither lead nor drive.
He humm'd and ha'd; then, waking from his dream,
Cried, I must preach to you his moral scheme.
A scheme, forsooth! to benefit the nation!
Some queer odd whim of pious propagation
Lord! talk so here — the man must be a widgeon —
Drury may propagate — but not Religion.
Yet, after all, to give the devil his due,
Our Author's scheme, though strange, is wholly new.
Well, shall the novelty then recommend it?
If not from liking, from caprice befriend it.
For drums and routs make him a while your passion,
A little while let Virtue be the fashion;
And, spite of real or imagin'd blunders,
Ev'n let him live nine days, like other wonders.