What son of physic, but his art extends,As well as hand, when call'd on by his friends?What landlord is so weak to make you fast,When guests like you bespeak a good repast?But weaker still were he whom fate has plac'dTo soothe your cares, and gratify your taste,Should he neglect to bring before your eyesThose dainty dramas which from genius rise;Whether your luxury be to smile or weep,His and your profits just proportion keep.To-night he brought, nor fears a due reward,A Roman Patriot by a Female Bard.Britons who feel his flame, his worth will rate,No common spirit his, no common fate.InflexibleandCaptivemust be great."How!" cries a sucking fop, thus lounging, straddling(Whose head shows want of ballast by its nodding),"A woman write? Learn, Madam, of your betters,And read a noble Lord's Post-hù-mous Letters.There you will learn the sex may merit praiseBy making puddings—not by making plays:They can make tea and mischief, dance and sing;Their heads, though full of feathers, can't take wing."I thought they could, Sir; now and then by chance,Maids fly to Scotland, and some wives to France.He still went nodding on—"Do all she can,Woman's a trifle—play-thing—like her fan."Right, Sir, and when a wife therattleof a man.And shall suchthingsas these become the testOf female worth? the fairest and the bestOf all heaven's creatures? for so Milton sung us,And, with such champions, who shall dare to wrong us?Come forth, proud man, in all your pow'rs array'd;Shine out in all your splendour—Who's afraid?Who on French wit has made a glorious war,Defended Shakspeare, and subdu'd Voltaire?—Woman![A]—Who, rich in knowledge, knows no pride,Can boast ten tongues, and yet not satisfied?Woman![B]—Who lately sung the sweetest lay?A woman! woman! woman![C]still I say.Well, then, who dares deny our power and might?Will any married man dispute our right?Speak boldly, Sirs,—your wives are not in sight.What! are you silent? then you are content;Silence, the proverb tells us, gives consent.Critics, will you allow our honest claim?Are you dumb, too? This night has fix'd our fame.
What son of physic, but his art extends,As well as hand, when call'd on by his friends?What landlord is so weak to make you fast,When guests like you bespeak a good repast?But weaker still were he whom fate has plac'dTo soothe your cares, and gratify your taste,Should he neglect to bring before your eyesThose dainty dramas which from genius rise;Whether your luxury be to smile or weep,His and your profits just proportion keep.To-night he brought, nor fears a due reward,A Roman Patriot by a Female Bard.Britons who feel his flame, his worth will rate,No common spirit his, no common fate.InflexibleandCaptivemust be great."How!" cries a sucking fop, thus lounging, straddling(Whose head shows want of ballast by its nodding),"A woman write? Learn, Madam, of your betters,And read a noble Lord's Post-hù-mous Letters.There you will learn the sex may merit praiseBy making puddings—not by making plays:They can make tea and mischief, dance and sing;Their heads, though full of feathers, can't take wing."I thought they could, Sir; now and then by chance,Maids fly to Scotland, and some wives to France.He still went nodding on—"Do all she can,Woman's a trifle—play-thing—like her fan."Right, Sir, and when a wife therattleof a man.And shall suchthingsas these become the testOf female worth? the fairest and the bestOf all heaven's creatures? for so Milton sung us,And, with such champions, who shall dare to wrong us?Come forth, proud man, in all your pow'rs array'd;Shine out in all your splendour—Who's afraid?Who on French wit has made a glorious war,Defended Shakspeare, and subdu'd Voltaire?—Woman![A]—Who, rich in knowledge, knows no pride,Can boast ten tongues, and yet not satisfied?Woman![B]—Who lately sung the sweetest lay?A woman! woman! woman![C]still I say.Well, then, who dares deny our power and might?Will any married man dispute our right?Speak boldly, Sirs,—your wives are not in sight.What! are you silent? then you are content;Silence, the proverb tells us, gives consent.Critics, will you allow our honest claim?Are you dumb, too? This night has fix'd our fame.
FOOTNOTESA: Mrs. Montague, Author of an Essay on the Writings of Shakspeare.B: Mrs. Carter, well known for her skill in ancient and modern languages.C: Miss Aikin, whose Poems were just published.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Hyphenation is inconsistent.In view of the Roman context, the word "virtus" was left in place in a speech by Manlius in Act III, although it may be a misprint for "virtue".