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appalling the amount they've read. How make our entertainmentstriking, new,

And yet significant and pleasing too? For to be plain, I love to see the throng,



As to our booth the living tide progresses; As wave on wave successive rolls

along, And through heaven's narrow portal forceful presses; Still in broad



daylight, ere the clock strikes four, With blows their way towards the box

they take; And, as for bread in famine, at the baker's door, For tickets are



content their necks to break. Such various minds the bard alone can sway,

My friend, oh work this miracle to - day!



Poet

Oh of the motley throng speak not before me, At whose aspect the Spirit



wings its flight! Conceal the surging concourse, I implore thee, Whose vortex

draws us with resistless might. No, to some peacefulheavenly nook restore



me, Where only for the bard blooms pure delight, Where love and friendship

yield their choicest blessing, Our heart's true bliss, with god - like hand



caressing.

What in the spirit's depths was there created, What shyly there the lip shaped



forth in sound; A failure now, with words now fitly mated, In the wild tumult

of the hour is drown'd; Full oft the poet's thought for years hath waited Until



at length with perfect form 'tis crowned; What dazzles, for the moment born,

must perish; What genuine is posterity will cherish.



Merryman

This cant about posterity I hate; About posterity were I to prate, Who then



the living would amuse? For they Will have diversion, ay, and 'tis their due. A

sprightly fellow's presence at your play, Methinks should also count for



something too; Whose genial wit the audience still inspires, Knows from their

changeful mood no angry feeling; A wider circle he desires, To their heart's



depths more surely thus appealing. To work, then! Give a master - piece, my

friend; Bring Fancy with her choral trains before us, Sense, reason, feeling,



passion, but attend! Let folly also swell the tragic chorus.

Manager



In chief, of incident enough prepare! A show they want, they come to gape

and stare. Spin for their eyes abundantoccupation, So that the multitude may



wondering gaze, You by sheer bulk have won your reputation, The man you

are all love to praise. By mass alone can you subdue the masses, Each then



selects in time what suits his bent. Bring much, you something bring for various

classes, And from the house goes every one content. You give a piece,



abroad in pieces send it! 'Tis a ragout - success must needs attend it; 'Tis easy

to serve up, as easy to invent. A finish'd whole what boots it to present! Full



soon the public will in pieces rend it.

Poet



How mean such handicraft as this you cannot feel! How it revolts the genuine

artist's mind! The sorry trash in which these coxcombs deal, Is here approved



on principle, I find.

Manager



Such a reproof disturbs me not a whit! Who on efficient work is bent, Must

choose the fittest instrument. Consider! 'tis soft wood you have to split; Think



too for whom you write, I pray! One comes to while an hour away; One from

the festive board, a sated guest; Others, more dreaded than the rest, From



journal - reading hurry to the play. As to a masquerade, with absent minds,

they press, Sheer curiosity their footsteps winging; Ladies display their






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