EPISTLE 66 TO THE PROPRIETOR OF CUMBERLAND'S BRITISH THEATRE." A WORD in your ear, Mr. Cumberland, pray— And to write himself up, he writes other folks down; Yet laughs not indeed at our farces, but Us! Talks of Avon's sweet swan-Mr. C, who the deuce Is Avon's sweet swan ?-Does he mean Mother Goose? A player must either be dying or dead, To have grace in his action, or sense in his head- And take from the dunghill hight critical, no cock * The following festive chant is attributed to Mr. Lunn, whose physiognomy is peculiarly harmonious : Three merry men, three merry men, Three merry men are we; Comedy, Farce, and Pantomime, Thackeray, Buckstone, and Me!!! : Thack. has the tact to translate through an act, Buckstone writes what Milner indites, Homer of old, and Virgil, we're told, And Shakespeare, they say, make a ThreeBuckstone, you and I, O, and Thackeray, chant a TrioBravo, my lads, so do We. Three merry men, three merry men, Three merry men we be; Push round the rum, who cares for Cum Who cares a fig for D. G.? It is whispered that Dibdin Pitt is hard at work upon Hamlet, which he intends bringing out at one of our metro O blindly infatuate! thus to permit This Midas in judgment, this coxcomb in wit, Or D.G. no matter which, truce to the letters- politans under the title of "The Ghost of Denmark Hill, or the Spectre of Camberwell!" The following dedication has been handed about in manuscript :— 66 "My dear Ball! Why write yourself Fitz?' You are no spurious offspring of Apollo, but a true swan of Helicon! I should as soon think of saying Fitz-Homer, Fitz-Milton, or FitzShakespeare, as Fitz-Ball. Talking of Shakespeare, puts me in mind of myself! I found Hamlet brick-I leave it stucco; nobody will know it to be Shakespeare's-every body when I play it, will swear it to be mine. "You have been called Victor Hugo of the Surrey side. Yet, my dear Ball, (I love to be droll!) how much farther do you go than Victor, in the ghastly-terrible, and ghostlygrim! His tintinabulum is a muffin-bell, compared to your triple bob major. "Never mind that D. G., however queer on your cognomen. He says you are a tennis ball, because you take loftier flights than your brother bards; a cricket ball, because you are chirruping; a billiard ball, because you have an eye to the pockets; a trap ball, because you have been If my humble talent might try such a leap, I'll do the thing well, and I'll do the thing cheap; If Me you invest with the critical staff, Why fine me a pot if I'm found in a laugh. For Shakespeare-I know not and care not whọ wrote him So you'll guess that I'm not very likely to quote him! And Massinger, Fletcher, and surly Old Ben, Shall never be grac'd with a scratch of my pen, They liv'd, scribbled, died―n'importe where, what, and when ! trapped by the club. Be content that you are an earthly ball, with a touch of the heavenly. It has been hinted that I am jealous of your transcendant genius! Jealous!-Come, I like that; as the cat said to the sugared cream 66 Together we have ranged the flies, And stalk'd the boards, and smelt the lamps The man that says I'm jealous, lies; And all who think the same are scamps! To you I dedicate the rhymes Our club(1) pronounce a lucky hit; To waft the names to future times, Of Neddy Ball and Dibdin Pitt!" (1) "The Miller and his Men," in Henrietta Street. My Jerrold's the herald of wit and romance, Of all the old school I remember not one, But I've seen Mr. Serle, and I've seen Mrs. Bunn. *Paired, but not matched.-The talented dramatist of "Charles XII," and the writer of the following! "When a Lord of the Creation says, Pray, madame, do so and so,' She to his solicitation, says, Monsieur, non.'" For both is this plan most delightful, As experience shows every day; For never are men half so frightful, As when they have all their own way!" &c. &c. &c.!! |