Classic and Contemporary Poetry
EPILOGUE: HURLO-THRUMBO; A PLAY BY SAMUEL JOHNSON, by JOHN BYROM Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Hurlo: ladies and gentlemen, my lord of flame Last Line: Their looks make sense or nonsense in our isle. Subject(s): Authors & Authorship; Johnson, Samuel (1709-1784); Supernatural; Writing & Writers | ||||||||
HURLO-THRUMBO, CRITIC, AND AUTHOR. HURLO. LADIES and Gentlemen, my Lord of flame Has sent me here to thank you in his name; Proud of your smiles he's mounted many a story Above the tip-top pinnacle of glory; Thence he defies the sons of claythe critics "Fellows," says he, "that are mere paralytics; "With judgments lame and intellects that halt, "Because a man outruns them, they find fault." He is, indeed, to speak my poor opinion, Out of the reach of critical dominion. (Enter Critic.) Adso! here's one of them CRITIC. A strange odd play, Sir; (Enter Author who pushes Hurlo-Thrumbo aside.) AUTHOR. Let me come to him.Pray, what's that you say, Sir? CRITIC. I say, Sir, rules are not observ'd here AUTHOR. Rules, Like clocks and watches, were all made for fools. "Rules make a play?" that is CRITIC. What, Mr. Singer? AUTHOR. As if a knife and fork should make a finger. CRITIC. Pray, Sir, which is the hero of your play? AUTHOR. Hero? why they're all heroes in their way. CRITIC. But here's no plot! or none that's understood. AUTHOR. There's a rebellion, tho'; and that's as good. CRITIC. No spirit, nor genius in't AUTHOR. Why, didn't here A SPIRIT and a GENIUS both appear? CRITIC. Poh! 'tis all stuff and nonsense AUTHOR. Lack-a-day! Why that's the very essence of a play. Your old house, new house, opera, and ball, 'Tis NONSENSE, critic, that supports them all; As you yourselves ingeniously have shewn, Whilst on their nonsense you have built your own. CRITIC. Here wants AUTHOR. Wants what?Why, now, for all your canting, What one ingredient of a play is wanting? Music, love, war, death, madness without sham, Done to the life by persons of the Dram; Scenes and machines descending, and arising, Thunder and lightning;ev'ry thing surprising! CRITIC. Play, farce, or op'ra is't? AUTHOR. No matter whether; 'Tis a REHEARSAL of them all together. But come, Sir, come! troop off, old blundermonger! And interrupt the epilogue no longer. (Author drives the Critic off the stage.) Hurlo, proceed! HURLO. Troth! he says true enough; The stage has given rise to wretched stuff. Critic or player, a Dennis or a Cibber, Vie only which shall make it go down glibber. A thousand murd'rous ways they cast about To stifle it, but, murder like, 'twill out. Our author fairly, without so much fuss, Shews it in "puris naturalibus," Pursues the point beyond its highest height, Then bids his men of fire and ladies bright Mark how it looks, when it is out of sight. So true a stage, so fair a play for laughter There never was before, nor ever will come after. Never; no, never! not while vital breath Defends ye from that long liv'd mortalDeath. Death!Something hangs on my prophetic tongue; I'll give it utt'rance, be it right or wrong; Handel himself shall yield to Hurlo-Thrumbo, And Bononcini too shall cry, "Succumbo." That's if the ladies condescend to smile, Their looks make sense or nonsense in our isle. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CELL, SELECTION by LYN HEJINIAN OXOTA: A SHORT RUSSIAN NOVEL: CHAPTER 126: THE DOUBTING MAN by LYN HEJINIAN WAKING THE MORNING DREAMLESS AFTER LONG SLEEP by JANE HIRSHFIELD COMPULSIVE QUALIFICATIONS by RICHARD HOWARD DEUTSCH DURCH FREUD by RANDALL JARRELL LET THEM ALONE by ROBINSON JEFFERS ON BUILDING WITH STONE by ROBINSON JEFFERS A HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS DAY (2) by JOHN BYROM |
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