Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ODE: TO GARRICK, by EDWARD MOORE (1712-1757)


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ODE: TO GARRICK, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: No, no; the left - hand box in blue
Last Line: Unvisited by ranby.
Subject(s): Dramatists; Garrick, David (1717-1779); Marriage; Plays & Playwrights; Poetry & Poets; Shakespeare, William (1564-1616); Weddings; Husbands; Wives


NO, no; the left-hand box in blue:
There! don't you see her?—'See her! Who?'
Nay hang me if I tell:
There's Garrick in the music-box!
Watch but his eyes: see there!—'O p-x!
Your servant, Ma'moiselle.'

But tell me, David, is it true?
Lord help us! what will some folks do?
How will they curse this stranger!
What! fairly taken in for life!
A sober, serious, wedded wife!
O fie upon you, Ranger!

The clergy too have join'd the chat:
'A papist!—Has he thought of that!
Or means he to convert her?'
Troth, boy! unless your zeal be stout,
The nymph may turn your faith about
By arguments experter.

The ladies, pale and out of breath,
Wild as the witches in Macbeth,
Ask if the deed be done?
O David! listen to my lay,
I'll prophesy the things they'll say;
For tongues, you know, will run.

'And pray what other news d'ye hear?
Married!—But don't you think, my dear!
He's growing out of fashion?
People may fancy what they will,
But Quin's the only actor still
To touch the tender passion.

'Nay, Madam, did you mind last night
His Archer? not a line on't right!
I thought I heard some hisses.
Good God! if Billy Mills, thought I,
Or Billy Havard, would but try,
They'd beat him all to pieces.

''Twas prudent though to drop his Bayes—
And (entre nous) the Laureat says
He hopes he'll give up Richard:
But then it tickles me to see,
In Hastings, such a shrimp as he
Attempt to ravish Pritchard.

'The fellow pleas'd me well enough
In—what d'ye call it? Hoadley's stuff;
There's something there like nature:
Just so in life he runs about,
Plays at bo-peep, now in, now out,
But hurts no mortal creature.

'And then there's Belmont, to be sure—
O ho! my gentle Neddy Moore!
How does my good Lord-Mayor?
And have you left Cheapside, my dear!
And will you write again next year,
To show your favourite player?

'But Merope, we own, is fine;
Eumenes charms in every line;
How prettily he vapours!
So gay his dress, so young his look,
One would have sworn 'twas Mr. Cook,
Or Matthews cutting capers.'

Thus, David, will the ladies flout,
And councils hold at every rout,
To alter all your plays;
Yates shall be Benedict next year,
Macklin be Richard, Taswell Lear,
And Kitty Clive be Bayes.

Two parts, they readily allow,
Are your's, but not one more, they vow;
And thus they close their spite:
You will be Sir John Brute, they say,
A very Sir John Brute all day,
And Fribble all the night.

But tell me, fair-ones! is it so?
You all did love him once, we know;
What then provokes your gall?
Forbear to rail—I'll tell you why;
Quarrels may come or Madam die,
And then there's hope for all.

And now a word or two remains,
Sweet Davy! and I close my strains.
Think well ere you engage;
Vapours and ague-fits may come,
And matrimonial claims at home
Unnerve you for the stage.

But if you find your spirits right,
Your mind at ease and body tight,
Take her; you can't do better:
A pox upon the tattling Town!
The fops, that join to cry her down,
Would give their ears to get her.

Then if her heart be good and kind,
(And sure that face bespeaks a mind
As soft as woman's can be)
You'll grow as constant as a dove,
And taste the purer sweets of love,
Unvisited by Ranby.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net