The Crowe. Than the crowe was put in his araye, I am not nowe as I was yesterdaye;

I am able, without offence,

To speake in the Kynges presence.

The Hauke. The hauke sayde to the commons, By dene, Enuy and pride would fayne be sene;

He is worthy none audience to haue,

That can not say but knaue, knaue.

The Commyns. Than asked the byrdes, by aduysement, Who is that taketh to vs no tent,

He presumeth before vs all to fle,

To the Kynges hyghe Maieste.

The Hauke. The hauke answered to the white semewe,

It is the sory blacke crowe,

And for him fareth no man the better,

Let him crowe therfore neuer the greater.

The Lordes. Then sayde the Lordes euerychone,

We wyll aske of the Kynge abone,

That euery byrde shall resume

Agayne his fether, and his plume,

And make the crowe agayne a knaue,

For he, that nought hath, nought shall haue.

The Hauke. Then sayde the hauke, as some sayne,

Borowed ware wyll home

agayne.

And who will herken what euery man dose,

Maye goe helpe to sho the gose.

The Cormoraunte. For the crowe spake the cormoraunte,

And of his rule made great auannt,

Suche worship is reason that euery man haue,

As the Kynges highnes vouchsaue.

The Hauke. It is sothe, sayde the hauke, that thou doest say,

Whan all turneth to sporte and playe,

Thou mayst leeste speake for the crowes pelfe,

For all thing loueth that is lyke it selfe.

The hole Parlyament. Than prayed the hole Parlyament,

To the Kynge with one assent,

That euery byrde her fether myght

Take from that proude knyght.

The Kynge. The Kynge sayde, ye shall leauc haue,

A knyght should neuer come of a knaue;

All thynge wyll shew from whence it come,

Where is his place and his home.

The Hauke. Now trewly, said the hauke, than

It is a great comfort to all men,

Of the Kynges great prosperite,

Whan the Kynge ruleth well his communalty.

Than was plucked from the crowe anone

All his fethers by one and by one,

And laste all blacke in stede of reed,

And called hym a page of the fyrst heed.

The Hauke. Quod the hauke, the crowe is now as he should

be,

A kynde knaue in his degre,

And he that weneth no byrde is hym lyke,

Whan his fethers are plucked, he may hym go pike.

The Commyns. Than made the Commyns great noyse,
And asked of the Lordes wyth one voyce,

That they would the hauke exyle
Out of this lande many a myle,
Neuer to come agayne hyther;
But the Kynge sent for him thyder:
Hym to trust we haue no theson,
For it is proued in trust is treason;
And, sythe ye say, he shall nat dye,
Plucke of his hokes and let hym flye.

The Lordes. To that, sayde the Lordes, we pretende
This statute and other to amende;

So in this, that ye accorde

To put all in souerayne Lorde,

The Commyns. The Cominyus sayde, it is great skyll, All thynge to be at the Kynges wyll;

And, vnder the hande of his great myght,

By grace the people to seke theyr ryght.

The Hauke. Than sayde the hauke, now to, now fro,

Thus goeth the worlde in well and wo.

The Kynge. Than sayde the Kynge in his maiestye,

We wyll disseuer this great semble;

He commaunded his chauncelere,

The best statutes to rede that he myght here:

Thus the fynal iudgement

He redde of the byrdes parlyament,

Whether they be whyte or blacke,

None shall others fethers take;

Nor the ravyn plucke the pecockes tayle,

To make him fresshe for his auayle,

For the Commyns fethers want,

For wyth some they be ryght skant.

The Iaye. Thus sayeth the cosen of the iay,

That none shall vse others aray,

For who so mounteth wyth egle on hye,

Shall fayle fethers when he would flye.

Sapiencia. Be nat greedy glede to gader,

For good fadeth and foules fether,

And, though thy fether be not gaye,

Haue none enuye at the swannes aray.

Concludent. For, thoughe an astryche may eat a nayle,

Wrath wyll plucke him winge and tayle,

And, yf thou lye in swalowes nest,
Let nat slouth in thy fethers rest;
Betrew as turtyll in thy kynde,

For lust wyll part as fethers in wynde:
And he that is a glotnus gull,

Deth wyll soon his fethers pull;
Thoughe thou be as hasty as a wype,
And thy fethers slyght rype,

Loke thy fethers and wryting be dene,
What they say and what they mene,
For here is none other thynge,
But fowles, fethers, and wrytynge:
Thus endeth the byrdes parlyament,
By theyr Kynges commaundement.

AN

ESSAY ON THE THEATRES:

OR,

The Art of Acting. In Imitation of Horace's Art of Poetry.

Although I have ventured to call this poem, "The Art of Acting' in Imitation of Horace's Art of Poetry, yet I must observe, that I have rather made a paraphrase on his rules and thoughts, than kept to a strict literal imitation of them. I am sensible therefore, I shall be highly censured by those who are acquainted with those happy imitations of this part of Horace, Dr. King's ' Art of Cookery,' and Mr. Bn's 'Art of Politicks.' All I can say to such an objection, is, that a more close confinement to the text would not suit my subject, which I found was not foreign enough from the original to make it by such a method any way entertaining; yet I have endeavoured to keep as strong an analogy to the sense and manner of Horace as I could possibly. Perhaps, this intention of imitating the method of Horace has led me into a conduct, which may be imputed to me as an unpardonable error, and that negligence in the numbers, which

will often appear, may not be forgiven on my pleading, that in the versification I have been often negligent by design. How far I am wrong in my judgment in this respect, I willingly submit to those who are acquainted with the original.

HOULD Hogarth, with extravagant conceit,

Make a strange group of contrast figures meet,
Beneath a plume that nods with tragic grace
Limn the quaint drollery of H-psl-y's face;
Then to that face add Chloe's neck and breast,
Beauteous as thought e'er form'd, or tongue exprest;
Amass the properties of motley scenes,

Of gods, of kings, of devils, and of queens,
Strike out a form that Nature cannot brag on,
With crest of Cæsar and with tail of dragon,
Part male,-part female,-devil part,-part God,
Who could restrain a smile at sight so odd?

But, odd as such a figure might appear,
It is the just resemblance of a play'r,
Who rashly will depart from Nature's rule,
And rather wonder raise, than touch the soul;
Whose storms and incoherent actions seem,
Like the wild prattlings of a sick man's dream,
Which, while the fev'rish phrenzy may prevail,
Flow unconnected, without head or tail.

Actors and poets have an equal right,
By bold attempts, our pleasure to excite;
New talents still in pointed wit to show,
And make the stream of humour stronger flow;
Or in the tender, or the lofty scene,
Form a new harmony of words and mein;
Leave dull theatric precedents of art,
And with peculiar judgment catch the heart.
Bold are these liberties that actors claim,
And great their freedom in pursuit of fame:
Yet a just licence cannot give pretence,
To break the steady rules of common sense;
To strain the voice and storm with frantic air,
When Oedipus appeals in moving pray'r;
Nor yet a slow soft whining tone assume,

When † peals of thunder shake the conscious room.
Some, when grave scenes should rise with awful state,
And all the heroe be divinely great,

Studious in vain, exert an idle care,

To please the eye, or gently sooth the car:

In senate or in camp, in joy, or woe,

In allusion to these lines in Mr. Dryden's play of Oedipus:

To you, ye gods, I make my last appeal, &c.

Clasp'd in the folds of love: I'll wait my doom,

Aud act my joys, though thunder shakes the room.

The plume must wave, the voice must sweetly flow:
High character by length of train be shown,
And dignity by drawling out the tone.

Justly the plume may grace an actor's mein,
And the imperial robe adorn the scene;
Justly the numbers, flowing o'er the tongue,

May warble sweet as Philomela's song,

While vales, and dales, and murm'ring streams, which rove,
Gently maandring through the flow'ry grove,

The subject are:-But, if ill-judg'd the choice

Of pompous dress, and modulated voice,

The shape though rich, the voice though soft and clear,

With all a dull extravagance appear.

Both sometimes please; but this is not their place;
Consult propriety alone for grace.

Hayman by scenes our senses can controul
And with creative power charm the soul;
His easy pencil flows with just command,
And Nature starts obedient to his hand:
We hear the tinkling rill, we view the trees
Cast dusky shades, and wave the gentle breeze:
Here shoots through leafy bow'rs a sunny ray,
That gilds the grove, and emulates the day:
There mountain tops look glad; there vallies sing;
And through the landschape blooms eternal spring:
But what's this art, should he such art perform,

And join it to the horrors of a storm:

Where quick fork'd lightnings gleam, loud thunders roar,
And foaming billows lash the sounding shoar;
Where driv'n by eddies with impetuous shock,
The whirling vessel bulges on a rock ;
The hopeless sailor rearing high his hand,
And corpse on corpse come rolling on the strand:
In storm and landschape we might beauties find,
But wonder how they came together join'd.

Art rul'd by Nature must direct the soul,
And ev'ry gesture, look, and word controul:

Deceiv'd by specious right, most actors run
Into the contrast errors they wou'd shun:
Some, who wou'd gaiety or passion show,

With smart, lisp'd, catch make half-form'd words to flow;
Swift rolls of jargon sound, a rapid flood,

With not one word distinctly understood:

Thus, lab'ring to avoid a drawling tone,

An equal impropriety is shown.

Others, to seem articulate and clear,

With dull, loud, slow, plain sound fatigue the ear;

The theatrical term for a Roman habit. + A young gentleman, a painter, very excellent in his art, whose scenes at Drury-lane theatre have always inet with the greatest approbation from the spectators.