Play, Opera, Farce, with all their trumpery----

All the unaccomplishd works of Authors hands,

Art thou sowing thy WILD OATS yet (the harvest time was still to come with thee) upon casual sands of Avernus? or art thou enacting Rover (as we would gladlier think) by wandering Elysian streams?

Abortive, monstrous, or unkindly mixd,

It irks me to think, that, stript of thy regalities, thou shouldst ferry Over, a poor forked shade, in crazy Stygian wherry. Methinks I hear the old boatman, paddling by the weedy wharf, with raucid voice, bawling "Sculls, Sculls:" to which, with waving hand, and majestic action, thou deignest no reply, other than in two curt monosyllables, "No: Oars."

Crowns, sceptres; shield, sword, and truncheon; thy own coronation robes (for thou hast brou九-九-藏-書ght the whole property mans wardrobe with thee, enough to sink a navy); the judges ermine; the coxcombs wig; the snuff-box a la Foppington -- all must overboard, he positively swears -- and that ancient mariner brooks no denial; for, since the tiresome monodrame of the old Thracian Harper, Charon, it is to be believed, hath shown small taste for theatricals,

Both all Stage things, and all that in Stage things

Damnd upon earth, fleet thither----

In Green Rooms, impervious to mortal eye, the muse beholds thee wielding posthumous empire.

Tartarus we know, and we have read of the Blessed Shades; now cannot I intelligibly fancy thee in either.

So shall we all look -- kings, and keysars -- stript for the last voyage.

But bless me, how little you look!

Up thither like aerial vapou九-九-藏-書rs fly

Is it too much to hazard a conjecture, that (as the schoolmen admitted a receptacle apart for Patriarchs and un-chrisom Babes) there may exist -- not far perchance from that storehouse of all vanities, which Milton saw in visions -- a LIMBO somewhere for PLAYERS? and that

Magnificent were thy capriccios on this globe of earth, ROBERT William Elliston! for as yet we know not thy new name in heaven.

This mortal frame, while thou didst play thy brief antics amongst us, was in truth any thing but a prison to thee, as the vain Platonist dreams of this body to be no better than a county gaol, forsooth, of some house of durance vile, whereof the five senses are the fetters. Thou knewest better than to be in a hurry to cast off those gyves; and had notice to quit, I fear, before 九-九-藏-書thou wert quite ready to abandon this fleshly tenement. It was thy Pleasure House, thy Palace of Dainty Devices; thy Louvre, or thy White Hall.

Thin ghosts of Figurantes (never plump on earth) circle thee in endlessly, and still their song is Fye on sinful Phantasy.

PLAUDITO, ET VALETO.

But mercy! what strippings, what tearing off of histrionic robes, and private vanities! what denudations to the bone, before the surly Ferryman will admit you to set a foot within his battered liner!

Aye, now `tis done, You are just boat weight; pura et puta anima.

But the laws of Plutos kingdom know small difference between king, and cobbler; manager, and call-boy; and, if haply your dates of life were conterminant, you are quietly taking your passage, cheek by cheek (O ignoble levelling of Death) with t九-九-藏-書he shade of some recently departed candle-snuffer.

Rhadamanthus, who tries the lighter causes below, leaving to his two brethren the heavy calendars -- honest Rhadamanth, always partial to players, weighing their parti-coloured existence here upon earth, -- making account of the few foibles, that may have shaded thy real life as we call it, (though, substantially, scarcely less a vapour than thy idlest vagaries upon the boards of Drury,) as but of so many echoes, natural repercussions, and results to he expected from the assumed extravagancies of thy secondary or mock life, nightly upon a stage -- after a lenient castigation, with rods lighter than those Medusean ringlets, but just enough to "whip the offending Adam out of thee" -- shall courteously dismiss thee at the right hand gat九-九-藏-書e -- the O. P. side of Hades -- that conducts to masques, and merry-makings, in the Theatre Royal of Proserpine

But the murky rogue pushes off, Adieu, pleasant, and thrice pleasant shade! with my parting thanks for many a heavy hour of life lightened by thy harmless extravaganzas, public or domestic,

Built their fond hopes of glory, or lasting fame?

JOYOUSEST of once embodied spirits, whither at length hast thou flown? to what genial region are we permitted to conjecture that thou hast flitted.

There, by the neighbouring moon (by some not improperly supposed thy Regent Planet upon earth) mayst thou not still be acting thy managerial pranks, great disembodied Lessee? but Lessee still, and still a Manager.

What new mysterious lodgings dost thou tenant now? or when may we expect thy aerial house-warming?