Classic Poem

SPOKEN BY MR. CORRY, IN THE CHARACTER OF VAPID, AFTER THE PLAY OF THE DRAMATIST, AT THE KILKENNY THEATRE .

Ladies and Gentlemen, on Monday night,
For the ninth time — oh accents of delight
To the poor author's ear, when three times three
With a full bumper crowns his Comedy!
When, long by money, and the muse, forsaken,
He finds at length his jokes and boxes taken,
And sees his play-bill circulate — alas,
The only bill on which his name will pass!
Thus, Vapid, thus shall Thespian scrolls of fame
Thro' box and gallery waft your well-known name,
While critic eyes the happy cast shall con,
And learned ladies spell your Dram. Person .

'T is said our worthy Manager intends
To help my night, and he , ye know, has friends.
Friends, did I say? for fixing friends, or parts ,
Engaging actors, or engaging hearts,
There's nothing like him! wits, at his request.
Are turned to fools, and dull dogs learn to jest;
Soldiers, for him, good " trembling cowards " make,
And beaus, turned clowns, look ugly for his sake;
For him even lawyers talk without a fee,
For him (oh friendship) I act tragedy!
In short, like Orpheus, his persuasive tricks
Make boars amusing, and put life in sticks .

With such a manager we can't but please,
Tho' London sent us all her loud O. P.'s,
Let them come on, like snakes, all hiss and rattle,
Armed with a thousand fans, we'd give them battle;
You, on our side, R. P. upon our banners,
Soon should we teach the saucy O. P.'s manners:
And show that, here — howe'er John Bull may doubt —
In all our plays, the Riot-Act 's cut out;
And, while we skim the cream of many a jest,
Your well-timed thunder never sours its zest.

Oh gently thus, when three short weeks are past,
At Shakspeare's altar, shall we breathe our last;
And, ere this long-loved dome to ruin nods,
Die all, die nobly, die like demigods!