Life of Sheridan, vol 1 | Page 7

"'Calm was the land and calm the seas, And calm the heaven's dome
serene, Hush'd was the gale and hush'd the breeze, And not a vapor to
be seen.'
I sang it to his notes,--'Hah! upon my vord vary pritt,--_thrum, thrum,
thrum,_--stay, stay,--_thrum, thrum,_--Hoa? upon my vord, here it
must be an adagio,--_thrum, thrum,_--oh! let it be an _Ode to
Melancholy.'_
"_Monop._ The Devil!--there you were puzzled sure.
"_Sim._ Not in the least,--I brought in a cloud in the next stanza, and
matters, you see, came about at once.
"_Monop._ An excellent transition.
" _O'Cul._ Vastly ingenious indeed.
"_Sim._ Was it not? hey! it required a little command,--a little presence
of mind,--but I believe we had better proceed.
"_Monop._ The sooner the better,--come, gentlemen, resume your
seats.
"_Sim._ Now for it. Draw up the curtain, and _(looking at his book)_
enter Sir Richard Ixion,--but stay,--zounds, Sir Richard ought to
overhear Jupiter and his wife quarrelling,--but, never mind,--these
accidents have spoilt the division of my piece.--So enter Sir Richard,
and look as cunning as if you had overheard them. Now for it,
gentlemen,--you can't be too attentive.
"Enter Sir RICHARD IXION _completely dressed, with bag, sword,

&c._
"_Ix._
'Fore George, at logger-heads,--a lucky minute, 'Pon honor, I may make
my market in it. Dem it, my air, address, and mien must touch her,
Now out of sorts with him,--less God than butcher. O rat the
fellow,--where can all his sense lie, To gallify the lady so immensely?
Ah! _le grand bete qu'il est!_--how rude the bear is! The world to
two-pence he was ne'er at Paris. Perdition stop my vitals,--now or
never I'll niggle snugly into Juno's favor. Let's see,--(_looking in a
glass_) my face,--toll loll-- 'twill work upon her. My person--oh,
immense, upon my honor. My eyes,--oh fie.--the naughty glass it
flatters,-- Courage,--Ixion flogs the world to tatters. [Exit Ixion.]
"_Sim._ There is a fine gentleman for you,--In the very pink of the
mode, with not a single article about him his own,--his words pilfered
from Magazines, his address from French valets, and his clothes not
paid for.
"_Macd._ But pray, Mr. Simile, how did Ixion get into heaven?
"_Sim._ Why, Sir, what's that to any body?--perhaps by Salmoneus's
Brazen Bridge, or the Giant's Mountain, or the Tower of Babel, or on
Theobald's bull-dogs, or--who the devil cares how?--he is there, and
that's enough."
* * * * *
"_Sim._ Now for a Phoenix of a song.
"Song by JUPITER.
"You dogs, I'm Jupiter Imperial, King, Emperor, and Pope aetherial,
Master of th' Ordnance of the sky.--
"_Sim._ Z----ds, where's the ordnance? Have you forgot the pistol? (to
the Orchestra.)

"_Orchestra._ (to some one behind the scenes.) Tom, are not you
prepared?
"_Tom._ (from behind the scenes.) Yes, Sir, but I flash'd in the pan a
little out of time, and had I staid to prime, I should have shot a bar too
late.
"_Sim._ Oh then, Jupiter, begin the song again.--We must not lose our
ordnance.
"You dogs, I'm Jupiter Imperial, King, Emperor, and Pope aetherial,
Master of th' Ordnance of the sky; &c. &c. [Here a pistol or cracker is
fired from behind the scenes.]
"_Sim._ This hint I took from Handel.--Well, how do you think we go
on?
"_O'Cul._ With vast spirit,--the plot begins to thicken.
"_Sim._ Thicken! aye,--'twill be as thick as the calf of your leg
presently. Well, now for the real, original, patentee Amphitryon. What,
ho, Amphitryon! Amphitryon!--'tis Simile calls.--Why, where the devil
is he?
"Enter SERVANT.
"_Monop._ Tom, where is Amphitryon?
"_Sim._ Zounds, he's not arrested too, is he?
"_Serv._ No, Sir, but there was but one black eye in the house, and he
is waiting to get it from Jupiter.
"_Sim._ To get a black eye from Jupiter,--oh, this will never do. Why,
when they meet, they ought to match like two beef-eaters."
According to their original plan for the conclusion of this farce, all
things were at last to be compromised between Jupiter and Juno;
Amphitryon was to be comforted in the birth of so mighty a son; Ixion,

for his presumption, instead of being fixed to a torturing wheel, was to
have been fixed to a vagrant monotroche, as knife-grinder, and a grand
chorus of deities (intermixed with "knives, scissors, pen-knives to
grind," set to music as nearly as possible to the natural cry,) would have
concluded the whole.
That habit of dilatoriness, which is too often attendant upon genius, and
which is for ever making it, like the pistol in the scene just quoted,
"shoot a bar too late," was, through life, remarkable in the character of
Mr. Sheridan,--and we have here an early instance of its influence over
him. Though it was in August, 1770, that he received the sketch of this
piece from his friend, and though they both looked