young Roscius, as an infant prodigy, is flying over the back of Kemble,
both the performers being dressed in the habit then customary for
Hamlet--'Alas!' cries Kemble, 'is it come to this? Ah, woe is me!
seeing what I have seen, seeing what I see! O Roscius!'
_December, 1804._ _Melpomene in the Dumps, or Child's Play defended by
Theatrical Monarchs._ Published by Ackermann, Strand.--Mrs. Siddons in
tragic swathings, one arm resting on a table, her other hand extended
in an interlocutory attitude, while her foot is resting on a stool; on
the table are books--_Salary Benefits_, _The Rights of Woman_, and _The
Duty of Man_. On the wall is hung Bunbury's _Propagation of a Lie_.
John Philip Kemble is resting his hand on her shoulder, and another
gentleman, hat in hand, is pointing with his finger to a shorter
figure, probably intended for the person of Colonel Topham, Editor of
_The World_, '_More Soldier than Scholar!_'
THE DEBATE OR ARGUMENT.
_Melpomene._ And pray, Mr. Monarch, how long am I to be confined
to this _box fever_, or nervous rheumatism in my loins? A pretty
business you have made of this season; what between your _Blind
Bargain_ and _Infant Roscius_, you think to send me to the ground;
but let me caution you, that 'if once I do but stir or lift this
arm, the best of you shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know how
this foul rout began, who set it on, and he that is approved in
the offence, though he hath twinned with me, _both at a birth_
shall lose me.'
_First Monarch._ [Probably intended to designate Sheridan.] Why
really, Madam, all I can say in my defence or that of my _Infant_
is this, that if John Bull chooses to feed on slink calf, instead
of substantial roast beef, _yet consents to pay for the roast_,
it is not for me to complain; but, Madam, should there be a fault
laid at my charge, let me tell you it is not entirely mine; your
brother here, beside me, has had _his share_ in it, and between
friends, I must observe, that you have had your day; and if a
good salary during this _Infant fever_ and frigid weather cannot
encourage you to wear flannel, gird up your loins, and rest
contented on your arm (I mean arms). I will be bound to say, you
are not the woman I took you for; and rather than _be subject_ to
such complaints while I _reign_ 'King of shreds and patches,' I
would forego the advantages of government, and 'live on scraps at
proud men's surly doors.'
_Second Monarch._ [John Philip Kemble, otherwise familiarly
designated _Black Jack_.] Sister, be of comfort, our friend speaks
home; you may relish him more in the soldier than the scholar, but
though his oratory is bad, his _argumentum argentum_ is good; his
voice like mine is husky; but his _silver_ tones are delightful.
It is true we have both had our day; 'our May of life is gone;
'tis fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf, and that which should
accompany old age' _we have got_. 'The world's a stage, and all
the men and women merely players.' Public taste is similar, it
is now in second childishness; and when mere oblivion takes
place, then you shall make a sally, and should the Town require a
_filip_,[4] I will be at your elbow.
_December 14, 1804._ _The Death of Madame République._--The moribund
République is stretched on her death-bed, the tricolour cockade is
worn on the side of her nightcap; by the side are bottles of _Purging
Mixture_ and _Laudanum_. _Vive la Liberté_ and _Vive la République_
are put out of sight; the Abbé Sièyes, as doctor, is holding the new
Emperor, an infant in long clothes, the crown is on his head, a sceptre
and orb are in either hand. John Bull, spectacles on nose, and with his
hand in his waistcoat pocket, has stepped in; he is much astonished at
the change of affairs: 'Pray Mr. Abbé Sièyes, what was the cause of the
poor Lady's death? She seemed at one time in a tolerable thriving way.'
'She died in childbed, Mr. Bull, after giving birth to this little
Emperor!'