Ink.I perhaps may as well hold my tongue; But there's five hundred people can tell you you're wrong. Tra. You forget Lady Lilac's as rich as a Jew. Ink. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you pursue? Tra. Why, Jack, I'll be frank with you—something of both. The girl's a fine girl. Ink.And you feel nothing loth80 To her good lady-mother's reversion; and yet Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I demand Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and hand. Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand—that hand on the pen. Tra. A propos—Will you write me a song now and then? Ink. To what purpose? Tra.You know, my dear friend, that in prose My talent is decent, as far as it goes; But in rhyme—— Ink.You're a terrible stick, to be sure. Tra. I own it; and yet, in these times, there's no lure90 For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two; And so, as I can't, will you furnish a few? Ink. In your name? Tra.In my name. I will copy them out, To slip into her hand at the very next rout. Ink. Are you so far advanced as to hazard this? Tra.Why, Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye, So far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme What I've told her in prose, at the least, as sublime? Ink. As sublime! If i be so, no need of my Muse. Tra. But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the "Blues."100 Ink. As sublime!—Mr. Tracy—I've nothing to say. Stick to prose—As sublime!!—but I wish you good day. Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow—consider—I'm wrong; I own it; but, prithee, compose me the song. Ink. As sublime!! Tra.I but used the expression in haste. Ink. That may be, Mr. Tracy, but shows damned bad taste. Tra. I own it, I know it, acknowledge it—what Can I say to you more? Ink.I see what you'd be at: You disparage my parts with insidious abuse, Till you think you can turn them best to your own use.110 Tra. And is that not a sign I respect them? Ink.Why that Tra.I know what is what: And you, who're a man of the gay world, no less Than a poet of t'other, may easily guess That I never could mean, by a word, to offend A genius like you, and, moreover, my friend. Ink. No doubt; you by this time should know what is due To a man of——but come—let us shake hands. Tra.You knew, And you know, my dear fellow, how heartily I, Whatever you publish, am ready to buy.120 Ink. That's my bookseller's business; I care not for sale; Indeed the best poems at first rather fail. There were Renegade's epics, and Botherby's plays, And my own grand romance—— Tra.Had its full share of praise. I myself saw it puffed in the "Old Girl's Review." Ink. What Review? Tra.Tis the English "Journal de Trevoux;" A clerical work of our Jesuits at home. Ink.That pleasure's to come. Tra. Make haste then. Ink.Why so? Tra.I have heard people say That it threatened to give up the ghost t'other day. Ink. Well, that is a sign of some spirit. Tra.No doubt. Shall you be at the Countess of Fiddlecome's rout? Ink. I've a card, and shall go: but at present, as soon As friend Scamp shall be pleased to step down from the moon, (Where he seems to be soaring in search of his wits), And an interval grants from his lecturing fits, I'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation, To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation: 'Tis a sort of reunion for Scamp, on the days Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and praise.140 And I own, for my own part, that 'tis not unpleasant. Will you go? There's Miss Lilac will also be present. Tra. That "metal's attractive." Sir Richard Bluebottle solus. Was there ever a man who was married so sorry? Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry. My life is reversed, and my quiet destroyed; My days, which once passed in so gentle a void, Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employed; The twelve, do I say?—of the whole twenty-four, Is there one which I dare call my own any more? What with driving and visiting, dancing and dining, What with learning, and teaching, and scribbling, and shining, Myself from my wife; for although we are two, Yet she somehow contrives that all things shall be done In a style which proclaims us eternally one. But the thing of all things which distresses me more Than the bills of the week (though they trouble me sore) Is the numerous, humorous, backbiting crew Of scribblers, wits, lecturers, white, black, and blue, Who are brought to my house as an inn, to my cost— For the bill here, it seems, is defrayed by the host— No pleasure! no leisure! no thought for my pains,20 But to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains; A smatter and chatter, gleaned out of reviews, By the rag, tag, and bobtail, of those they call "Blues;" A rabble who know not——But soft, here they come! Would to God I were deaf! as I'm not, I'll be dumb. Enter Lady Bluebottle, Miss Lilac, , MR. Botherby, Inkel, Tracy, Miss Mazarine, and others, with Scamp the Lecturer, etc., etc. Lady Blueb. Ah! Sir Richard, good morning: I've brought you some friends. Sir Rich. (bows, and afterwards aside). If friends, they're the first. Lady Blueb.But the luncheon attends. I pray ye be seated, "sans cÉrÉmonie." Mr. Scamp, you're fatigued; take your chair there, next me. [They all sit. Sir Rich. (aside). If he does, his fatigue is to come. Lady Blueb.Mr. Tracy— Lady Bluemount—Miss Lilac—be pleased, pray, to place ye;31 And you, Mr. Botherby— Both.Oh, my dear Lady, I obey. Lady Blueb. Mr. Inkel, I ought to upbraid ye: You were not at the lecture. Ink.Excuse me, I was; But the heat forced me out in the best part—alas! And when— Lady Blueb. To be sure it was broiling; but then You have lost such a lecture! Both.The best of the ten. Tra. How can you know that? there are two more. Both.Because I defy him to beat this day's wondrous applause. The very walls shook. Ink.Oh, if that be the test,40 I allow our friend Scamp has this day done his best. Miss Lilac, permit me to help you;—a wing? Miss Lil. No more, sir, I thank you. Who lectures next spring? Both. Dick Dunder. Ink.That is, if he lives. Miss Lil.And why not? Ink. No reason whatever, save that he's a sot. Lady Bluemount! a glass of Madeira? Lady Bluem.With pleasure. Ink. How does your friend Wordswords, that Windermere treasure? Does he stick to his lakes, like the leeches he sings, And their gatherers, as Homer sung warriors and kings? Lady Bluem. He has just got a place. Ink.As a footman? Lady Bluem.For shame! Nor profane with your sneers so poetic a name.51 Ink. Nay, I meant him no evil, but pitied his master; For the poet of pedlers 'twere, sure, no disaster To wear a new livery; the more, as 'tis not The first time he has turned both his creed and his coat. Lady Bluem. For shame! I repeat. If Sir George could but hear Lady Blueb. Never mind our friend Inkel; we all know, my dear, 'Tis his way. Sir Rich.But this place—— Ink.Is perhaps like friend Scamp's, A lecturer's. Lady Bluem. Excuse me—'tis one in the "Stamps:" He is made a collector. Tra.Collector! Sir Rich.How? Miss Lil.What?60 Ink. I shall think of him oft when I buy a new hat: There his works will appear—— Lady Bluem.Sir, they reach to the Ganges. Ink. I sha'n't go so far—I can have them at Grange's. Lady Bluem. Oh fie! Miss Lil.And for shame! Lady Bluem.You're too bad. Both.Very good! Lady Bluem. How good? Lady Blueb.He means nought—'tis his phrase. Lady Bluem.He grows rude. Lady Blueb. He means nothing; nay, ask him. Lady Bluem.Pray, Sir! did you mean What you say? Ink.Never mind if he did; 'twill be seen That whatever he means won't alloy what he says. Both. Sir! Ink.Pray be content with your portion of praise; 'Twas in your defence. Both.If you please, with submission70 I can make out my own. Ink.It would be your perdition. While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend Yourself or your works; but leave both to a friend. Apropos—Is your play then accepted at last? Both. At last? Ink.Why I thought—that's to say—there had passed A few green-room whispers, which hinted,—you know That the taste of the actors at best is so so. Both. Sir, the green-room's in rapture, and so's the Committee. Ink. Aye—yours are the plays for exciting our "pity And fear," as the Greek says: for "purging the mind,"80 I doubt if you'll leave us an equal behind. Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to have prayed For a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid. Ink. Well, time enough yet, when the play's to be played. Is it cast yet? Both.The actors are fighting for parts, As is usual in that most litigious of arts. Lady Blueb. We'll all make a party, and go the first night. Tra. And you promised the epilogue, Inkel. Ink.Not quite. However, to save my friend Botherby trouble, I'll do what I can, though my pains must be double.90 Tra. Why so? Ink.To do justice to what goes before. Both. Sir, I'm happy to say, I've no fears on that score. Your parts, Mr. Inkel, are—— Ink.Never mind mine; Stick to those of your play, which is quite your own line. Lady Bluem. You're a fugitive writer, I think, sir, of rhymes? Ink. Yes, ma'am; and a fugitive reader sometimes. On Wordswords, for instance, I seldom alight, Lady Bluem. Sir, your taste is too common; but time and posterity Will right these great men, and this age's severity100 Become its reproach. Ink.I've no sort of objection, So I'm not of the party to take the infection. Lady Blueb. Perhaps you have doubts that they ever will take? Ink. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake Have taken already, and still will continue To take—what they can, from a groat to a guinea, Of pension or place;—but the subject's a bore. Lady Bluem. Well, sir, the time's coming. Ink.Scamp! don't you feel sore? What say you to this? Scamp.They have merit, I own; Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown,110 Ink. Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures? Scamp. It is only time past which comes under my strictures. Lady Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness;—the joy of my heart Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art. Wild Nature!—Grand Shakespeare! Both.And down Aristotle! Lady Bluem. Sir George And my Lord Seventy-four, For the poet, who, singing of pedlers and asses, Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus.120 Tra. And you, Scamp!— Scamp.I needs must confess I'm embarrassed. Ink. Don't call upon Scamp, who's already so harassed With old schools, and new schools, and no schools, and all schools Tra. Well, one thing is certain, that some must be fools. I should like to know who. Ink.And I should not be sorry To know who are not:—it would save us some worry. Lady Blueb. A truce with remark, and let nothing control This "feast of our reason, and flow of the soul." Oh! my dear Mr. Botherby! sympathise!—I Now feel such a rapture, I'm ready to fly,130 I feel so elastic—"so buoyant—so buoyant!" Ink. Tracy! open the window. Tra.I wish her much joy on't. Both. For God's sake, my Lady Bluebottle, check not This gentle emotion, so seldom our lot Upon earth. Give it way: 'tis an impulse which lifts Our spirits from earth—the sublimest of gifts; For which poor Prometheus was chained to his mountain: 'Tis the source of all sentiment—feeling's true fountain; 'Tis the Vision of Heaven upon Earth: 'tis the gas Of the soul: 'tis the seizing of shades as they pass,140 And making them substance: 'tis something divine:— Ink. Shall I help you, my friend, to a little more wine? Both. I thank you: not any more, sir, till I dine. Ink. Apropos—Do you dine with Sir Humphry to day? Tra. I should think with Duke Humphry Ink. It might be of yore; but we authors now look To the Knight, as a landlord, much more than the Duke. The truth is, each writer now quite at his ease is, And (except with his publisher) dines where he pleases. But 'tis now nearly five, and I must to the Park.150 Tra. And I'll take a turn with you there till 'tis dark. And you, Scamp— Scamp.Excuse me! I must to my notes, For my lecture next week. Ink.He must mind whom he quotes Out of "Elegant Extracts." Lady Blueb.Well, now we break up; But remember Miss Diddle Ink. Then at two hours past midnight we all meet again, For the sciences, sandwiches, hock, and champagne! Tra. And the sweet lobster salad! Both.I honour that meal; For 'tis then that our feelings most genuinely—feel. Ink. True; feeling is truest then, far beyond question: I wish to the gods 'twas the same with digestion!161 Lady Blueb. Pshaw!—never mind that; for one moment of feeling Is worth—God knows what. Ink.'Tis at least worth concealing For itself, or what follows—But here comes your carriage. Sir Rich. (aside). I wish all these people were d——d with my marriage! [Exeunt. "The last edition see by Long. and Co., Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers of the Row." The Search after Happiness, by Sir Walter Scott.] "I've bribed my Grandmother's Review the British." Don Juan, Canto I. stanza ccix. line 9. And see "Letter to the Editor of 'My Grandmother's Review,'" Letters, 1900, iv. Appendix VII. pp. 465-470. The reference may be to a review of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, which appeared in the British Review, January, 1818, or to a more recent and, naturally, most hostile notice of Don Juan (No. xviii. 1819).] Byron saw her for the last time in Venice, when she borrowed a copy of Lalla Rookh (Letter to Moore, June 1, 1818, Letters, 1900, iv. 237). Sir Walter Scott, who knew her well, records her death: "January 28, [1827]. Heard of Miss White's death—she was a woman of wit, and had a feeling and kind heart. Poor Lydia! I saw the Duke of York and her in London, when Death, it seems, was brandishing his dart over them. 'The view o't gave them little fright.'" (Memoirs of the Life, etc., 1838, iv. 110.)] END OF VOL. IV. |
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