A Lecture On Heads | Page 2

I'll swear "I saw the iron rails in Bloomsbury-square "Burnt down to the ground, and heard the mob say, "They'd burn down the Thames the very next day." Tumult and riot thus on every side Swept off fair order like the raging tide; Law was no more, for, as the throng rush'd by, "Woe to my Lord Chief Justice!" was the cry. And he, rever'd by every muse so long, Whom tuneful Pope immortaliz'd in song, Than whom bright genius boasts no higher name, Ev'n he could find no sanctuary in fame; With brutal rage the Vandals all conspire, And rolls of science in one blaze expire. But England, like the lion, grows more fierce As dangers multiply, and foes increase; Her gen'rous sons, with Roman ardour warm, In martial bands to shield their country arm, And when we trembled for the city's fate, Her youth stood forth the champions of the state; Like brothers, leagu'd by nature's holy tie, A parent land to save, or bravely die. Did Britons thus, like brothers, always join, In vain to crush them would the world combine; Discord domestic would no more be known, And brothers learn affection from the throne. But know your Lecturer's awful hour is come When you must bid him live, or seal his doom! He knows 'tis hard a leader's post to fill Of fame superior, and more ripen'd skill. The blame will all be mine, if troops should fail, Who'd lose their heads, but never could turn tail Who no commander ever disobey'd, Or overlook'd the signals which he made. Under your auspices the field I take, For a young general some allowance make; But if disgracefully my army's led, Let this court-martial then cashier my head.
ADDITIONAL LINES TO THE PROLOGUE,
Spoken At Newbury,
In Consequence Of Lady Craven Bespeaking The Lecture,
Who Had Published Some Lines On Dreaming She Saw Her Heart At Her Feet.
Written By Mr. Pratt.
'MIDST scenes like these, for so her lines impart, The Queen of Benham lost that gem her heart; Scar'd by the din, her bosom treasure flew, And with it every grace and muse withdrew. But far, or long, the wanderer could not roam, For wit and taste soon brought the truant home! One tuneful sonnet at her feet it sung, Then to her breast, its snowy mansion, sprung; Thither it went, the virtues in its train, To hail the panting blessing back again. On its fair throne it now appears as Queen, And sheds its lustre o'er this humble scene; Its radiant sceptre deigns o'er me to spread The genial beams which fancy feign'd were fled. Ah, no! her gentle heart this night is here; Where'er 'tis wanted-you will find it there: In vain the Muse shall fix it on the floor, It knocks this ev'ning at the Lecturer's door, And smiles, with him, that riot is no more.

LECTURE ON HEADS.


PART I.
{1}Every single speaker, who, like me, attempts to entertain an audience, has not only the censure of that assembly to dread, but also every part of his own behaviour to fear. The smallest error of voice, judgment, or delivery, will be noted: "All that can be presumed upon in his favour is, a hope that he may meet with that indulgence which an English audience are so remarkable for, and that every exhibition stands so much in need of."
This method of lecturing is a very ancient custom; Juno, the wife of Jupiter, being the first who gave her husband a lecture, and, from the place wherein that oration was supposed to have been delivered, they have always, since that time, been called curtain lectures.
{2}But, before I pretend to make free with other people's heads, it may be proper to say something upon my own, if upon my own any thing could be said to the purpose; but, after many experiments, finding I could not make any thing of my own, I have taken the liberty to try what I could do by exhibiting a Collection of Heads belonging to other people. But here is a head [shews Stevens''s head] I confess I have more than once wished on my own shoulders: but I fear my poor abilities will bring a blush into its cheeks. In this head Genius erected a temple to Originality, where Fancy and Observation resided; and from their union sprang this numerous and whimsical progeny. This is the head of George Alexander Stevens, long known and long respected; a man universally acknowledged of infinite wit and most excellent fancy; one who gave peculiar grace to the jest, and could set the table in a roar with flashes of merriment: but wit and humour were not his only excellencies; he possessed a keenness of satire, that made Folly hide her head in the highest places, and Vice tremble in