THE MONKEY,
Who shaved himself and his Friends.
A FABLE.
Addressed to the Hon.
A MAN who own'd a barber's shop
At York, and shav'd full many a fop,
A monkey kept for their amusement;
He made no other kind of use on't→→→
This monkey took great observation,
Was wonderful at imitation,
And all he saw the barber do,
He mimic'd straight, and did it too,
It chanc'd in shop, the dog and cat,
While friseur din'd, demurely sat,
Jacko found nought to play the knave in,
So thought he'd try his hand at shaving.
Around the shop in haste he rushes,
And gets the razors, soap, and brushes;
Now puss he fix'd (no muscle miss stirs)
And lather'd well her beard and whiskers,
Then gave a gash, as he began→→
The cat cry'd "waugh!" and off she ran.
Next Towser's beard he try'd his skill in, Though Towser seem'd somewhat unwilling; As badly here again succeeding,
The dog runs howling round, and bleeding.
Nor yet was tir'd our roguish elf;
He'd seen the barber shave himself;
So by the glass, upon the table,
He rubs with soap his visage sable,
Then with left hand holds smooth his jaw
The razor in his dexter paw;
Around he flourishes and slashes,
Till all his face is seam'd with gashes..
His cheeks dispatch'd his visage thin
He cock'd, to shave beneath his chin;
Drew razor swift as he could pull it,
And cut, from ear to ear, his gullet.
Who cannot write, yet handle pens, Are apt to hurt themselves and friends. Though others use them well, yet fools Should never meddle with edge tools.
Spoken by Mr. Hallam, at the Theatre in Philadelphia, May 7, 1790.
THE Gallic muse, this night, prepares our tale,
And shows what rites in other lands prevail;
Displays the widow'd fair a sacrifice,
And draws compassion's drops from melting eyes.
Oh! if your hearts have ever learn'd to feel,
Let sweet compassion o'er your bosoms steal;
Believe the plot, from Eastern story, true,
Believe the shores of Malabar ye view.
The haughty Bramin, with imperious smile,
Propels the fair one to the fun'ral pile:
There-see her mounting, with retorted eyes,
And hear, 'midst bursting flames, her dying cries.
Such tragic strains the noblest charms dispense,
To purge the passions, and refine the sense:
Each virtuous tear confers a new-born grace,
And adds fresh beauty to the fairest face.-
Oh! born to bless, and meliorate mankind,
With manners winning, and with taste refin'd,
What wrongs, ye fair! your gentle bosoms bore,
In each rude age-on ev'ry barb'rous shore!
Doom'd the mean vassals of unfeeling lords,
By western savages, and Tartar hords!
Through Asian climes, see custom reason braves,
And marks the fairest of their sex for slaves:
Hearts form'd for love, but doom'd in vain to glow In prison'd pomp, and weep in splendid woe:Or see their fate in India more severe,
The sad companions of a husband's bier !—
Not such their doom, where genial science shines, And heav'n-born freedom human souls refines, Where polish'd manners social life improve, And teach us to respect the sex we love; Confirm their claims in equal rights to share, Friends in our bliss, and partners in our care:And hail, ye fair, of ev'ry charm possess❜d— Who grace this rising empire of the west; With better fates, and nobler genius born, Your sex to honour, and your land adorn; In this blest age, to share our fond regard, The friends of heroes, and their blest reward!—
Yet when o'er foreign woes ye shed a tear, And find your bliss by contrast still more dear; With humble joy adore th' Almighty hand, Which fix'd your birth in this auspicious land!
Ye gen'rous patrons who protect our stage, Friends to the arts, and guardians of the age; To tragic woes, now lend the list'ning ear, Attend with candour, with indulgence hear! While we display, in pleading nature's cause, Our best attempts to merit your applause!
Spoken by Mrs. Henry, in the Character of Lanissa.
WELL, here I come and almost out of breath,
'Twixt love, fire, fear, and widowhood and death; While I for such fictitious strife am harness'd
I feel I suffer-more than half in earnest:
By Bramins' seiz'd-those bloody-minded fellows
My hair-breadth 'scapes were greater than Othello's!
Nought could have sav'd me from the jaws of fate,
Had my French lover came one breath too late.-
The pile prepar'd and kindling brisk as tinder,
They'd burn'd your poor Lanissa to a cinder!
But well our author had contriv'd the whole,
And seems, in truth, a right good-natur'd soul;
He swears himself his drama, without vanity,
Is founded on the basis of humanity;
Without one RULE or UNITY infringing,
He sav'd his heroine from a mortal singing-
So after all this mighty fire and rattle,
Our bloodless play is like a bloodless battle.
Am I to blame, if, this dear life to save,
I lik'd a lover better than a grave;
Prefer'd your christian maxims for a drama,
To all the murd'rous rites of pagan Brama;
And held, retreating from my fun'ral urn,
""Twas better far to marry than to burn?"
No-I'll be burn'd, but ev'ry maid and widow
Would do, in such a case, just as I did do.
Yes-thank your stars, Columbia's happy dames!
Ye need not fear those frightful fun'ral flames :-
Of other lands let foreign bards be dreaming,
But this, this only is the land for women :-
Here ye invert the Bramins' barb'rous plan,
And stretch your sceptre o'er the tyrant-man.
Ye men, if I offend, I ask your pardon,
I would not for the world your sex bear hard on,
Ye are the fathers, founders of a nation,
The gods on earth, the lords of this creation!
And let philosophers say what they please,
You're not grown less by coming o'er the seas:—
We know your worth, and dare proclaim your merit,-
The world may ask your foes, "if you want spirit?"
Your vict'ries won-your revolution ended—
Your constitution newly made-and mended-
Your fund of wit-your intellectual riches-
Plans in the closet-in the senate speeches-
|