With my music, I can express myself so much. A lot of the fans can sense that I'm relating to them something that's quite personal.
Related quotes
Personal
Anything you want from me
Ill do
But first
Lets get personal
Personal
Personal
Personal
Lets get personal
Personal
Personal
Personal
Personal with you
Were sittin havin dinner at your parents home
Some of the finest food Ive ever known
But I need some sweetness on my tongue
And it aint a type of sugar oh no
So maybe we can go somewhere
Neighbour room girl I dont care
Wheres the bedroom
(its upstairs)
Ill meet you there in a minute
Girl so we can get
Lets get personal (ooh yeah)
Personal (tight baby)
Personal (maybe we can get)
Personal (just a little, just a little bit)
Lets get personal (ooh yay)
Personal (I wanna get personal)
Personal (come on baby, just trust me)
Personal (I wanna get)
Personal with you
Im behind you in your bedroom with your hands against the wall
But keeping one eye on the door
Got your t-shirt and your panties on
Ooh I feel so right, cant be wrong, no
I know you like it when I touch you there
Girl just keep it quiet or theyll hear
Feel the tremblin all down your leg
Id love to head to your bed
So that we can get
Personal
Shhh
Should I take off my clothes (no)
Put the lock on the door
Let go of your deepest inhibitions
Let me fulfil your fantasies girl
Like me touching you there (yeah)
The way that I play with your hair
Emotions running wild until we stop
Yeah
[...] Read more
song performed by Craig David
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Believer's Principles : Chap. IV.
Faith and Sense Natural, compared and distinguished.
When Abram's body, Sarah's womb,
Were ripe for nothing but the tomb,
Exceeding old, and wholly dead,
Unlike to bear the promis'd seed:
Faith said, 'I shall an Isaac see;'
'No, no,' said Sense, 'it cannot be;'
Blind Reason, to augment the strife,
Adds, 'How can death engender life?'
My heart is like a rotten tomb,
More dead than ever Sarah's womb;
O! can the promis'd seed of grace
Spring forth from such a barren place?
Sense gazing but on flinty rocks,
My hope and expectation chokes:
But could I, skill'd in Abram's art,
O'erlook my dead and barren heart;
And build my hope on nothing less
That divine pow'r and faithfulness;
Soon would I find him raise up sons
To Abram, out of rocks and stones.
Faith acts as busy boatmen do,
Who backward look and forward row;
It looks intent to things unseen,
Thinks objects visible too mean.
Sense thinks it madness thus to steer,
And only trusts its eye and ear;
Into faith's boat dare thrust its oar,
And put it further from the shore.
Faith does alone the promise eye;
Sense won't believe unless it see;
Nor can it trust the divine guide,
Unless it have both wind and tide.
Faith thinks the promise sure and good;
Sense doth depend on likelihood;
Faith ev'n in storms believes the seers;
Sense calls all men, ev'n prophets, liars.
Faith uses means, but rests on none;
Sense sails when outward means are gone:
[...] Read more
poem by Ralph Erskine
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Relating To A Psychopath
hot like hot wings with hot chocolate in hell
cold like in my isolation cell
in the winter
while kissing mr. freeze
take the weather man
and blow him away
love is a desert and i need it to rain
you are so good at keeping me company
you are relating to a psychopath
your role model is in therapy
you must be real far gone
you're relating to a psychopath
noah's elephants are leaving the ark in eights
during the upside of my manic depressive state
crickets sing in 3 part harmony
i try to walk away
i choke and i stumble
i'm flying back so listen close when i mumble
that you are so good at keeping me company
you are relating to a psychopath
your role model is in therapy
you must be real far gone
you're relating to a psychopath
it never adds up when you do your math
you're relating to a psychopath
yes i'm real far gone
you're relating to a psychopath
medication is slow
and it's when it kicks in
that my mind chooses to go
my feel better begins
just when i get attached
it ends
it's insane
so i remain a psycho
1 2 3 4
cartoon figures dance in my head
i said
love is butter won't you be my bread
you are so good at keeping me company
you are relating to a psychopath
your role model is in therapy
[...] Read more
song performed by Macy Gray from The ID
Added by Lucian Velea
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Let It All Be Music
Music is a mirror
Near around my soul
Music is the spirit
Come on let it roll
Music is my nature
People have you heard
Music is my future
Music is the world
Let it all be music
People sing a song
Let it all be music
Let us sing it on and on and on and on
Lets play the music
My kind of music
Lets play the music
Play it on
Lets play the music
My kind of music
Lets play the music
Play it on and on and on
Music isnt somewhere
Music turns you right
Music is a fever
Leads you day and night
Music is like heaven
Where you wanna be
Music is religion
Music sets you free
Let it all be music
People sing a song
Let it all be music
Let us sing it on and on and on and on
Lets play the music
My kind of music
Lets play the music
Play it on
Lets play the music
My kind of music
Lets play the music
Play it on and on and on
Music is tomorrow
Music is today
Music is forever
Music is the way
Music is for women
Music is for men
Music is for children
Sing it all again
Let it all be music
People sing a song
[...] Read more
song performed by Boney M.
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mammary Tunes
Under heavy haze I cast an ear…
Was that a distant hymn?
To view, to peer ahead,
I span thro’ sharpened eyes,
Connecting brain. Surprise
Awards emotion to the show –
A fine refrain.
I think I know the source:
Without recourse my keen and
Eager shoes propel my whole.
And she regales me as I close –
The drifting notes propose I place
An ear to verge upon the emanation.
Choice of left or right
Invites and overwhelms;
A brief respite, and then
I poise an aural organ,
Seeking out the balance
In the tone from rhythmic flesh.
O Holy Grail, the sweet spot!
Honed in stereophony and
Mastered out of euphony:
Her music –
Diaphragms of luscious areolae
Give the tune
Atop a vibrant bass –
Quivers in the
Belly of her breast.
And presently
I fall beneath a spell of heady music
As her reproductive cushions do the rest.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Feel The Music
What is music and why is it here?
Music is made for the ear.
To be made and played for many of decades.
To be embraced by different cultures and race,
Music
the heart of man
Only it seems now only a few understand
Music.
The upbeat the down beat the chords the rhythm it plays.
Exchanging and changing forever.
Music.
Not one man can take the responsibility for making the music the music made us.
You have to trust in the
Music
Classical Jazz, Swing, Country everything it brings.
Music.
Although music has a lot of names it will always remain the same
Music will always change.
The dramatic character of a story.
It will always end with the final glory.
Because of its graceful authority
[...] Read more
poem by Tiffany Burton
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Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Rendezvous on Champs-Elysees
Leave Paris in the morning on T.E.E.
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
In Vienna we sit in a late-night cafe
Straight connection, T.E.E.
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
From station to station
back to Dusseldorf City
Meet Iggy Pop and David Bowie
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
song performed by Kraftwerk
Added by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Complete
I.
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
II.
[...] Read more
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Piano Lurched
Contact was sharp…
I jolted from immediacy of senses torn from mind:
Such was I at unawares with you –
To strike with Master’s single chord that pounced and caught me blind –
Piano, how you lurched and rent me through!
Delightful music welcomed me to drift in quasi-syncope:
Soft tranquillo sought to rest my bones –
I glided reaching largo; sang with sweet cantabile, and
Forte let me in to louder tones.
I cried with lacrimoso; squirmed when agitato flared;
My hearing rang when fingers danced the trill.
And so it was, this maestro grand was genius declared –
Acting out in music for the thrill.
Translating pen to piano, this player takes me back thro’ time…
In the chamber, fine composers charm:
I watch the manic hands of Liszt abound with tunes sublime;
Mozart teased my mood with stark alarm.
Then entered Bach to demonstrate his mathematic flare,
Calculating notes supreme of form.
And I – the minion audience – sat wanting in my chair,
Having heard my idols all perform.
Did Darwin’s theory tell at all why Man evolved this way?
Why would music help him to survive?
But scientific muse had veered my thoughts from this display, and
Music called: ‘Just listen - you’re alive! ’
The maestro draws conclusion; lets the piano die a death
To stand as wood, inert just as before –
A pollished casket lined with keys, at calm from naught of breath,
Bade me scream: ‘Bravo! ’ and ‘Hail! Encore! ’
He wakes the box to dance again with noble works of art:
Resurrected; fully primed with zest.
Now even I was back to life with reason in my heart –
Heightened from the pounding in my chest.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
All rights reserved
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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An Essay on Criticism
Part I
INTRODUCTION. That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public. That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius. That most men are born with some Taste, but spoiled by false education. The multitude of Critics, and causes of them. That we are to study our own Taste, and know the limits of it. Nature the best guide of judgment. Improved by Art and rules, which are but methodized Nature. Rules derived from the practice of the ancient poets. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a Critic, particularly Homer and Virgil. Of licenses, and the use of them by the ancients. Reverence due to the ancients, and praise of them.
'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But of the two less dangerous is th'offence
To tire our patience than mislead our sense:
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.
'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well;
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?
Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right:
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill col'ring but the more disgraced,
So by false learning is good sense defaced:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools:
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.
Some have at first for Wits, then Poets pass'd;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle,
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,
[...] Read more
poem by Alexander Pope
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Please Don't Buy His Music
Dark rewrite of Rihanna's Please Don't Stop The Music
Please don't buy his music
Please don't buy his music
Please don't buy his music
Please don't buy his music
Before it's too late
I'm got to take a stand
Confess and rock up this place
I gotta stop his cash from flowing
So that I can help to take his drugs away
My somebody boyfriend has got to go back to being a nobody
Or there's no way that I can stay
Rehab candidate for sure, yeah
Never could have knew
Never thought that he would get so caught up
Start striking out at me and our crew
His dirty little habit is making staying so impossible
Poor baby, I used to find him so incredible
Now if he won't go get some help, help
I won't be stayin'
Oh no, I won't
Don't wanna even get me started
All he ever wants to do is party
Always feelin' up those hos out on the dance floor, actin' naughty
Layin' my love and our romance to waste
Hurts so much watchin' my player play
Later I know he's gonna take his hands to my face
Because I dared to confront him
He thinks he'll teach me my place
I just wanna take his drugs away
Escape back into our music, no more hurtin'
Standin' by and watchin' my player play
I just can't go on like this
I refuse to do it
Somehow gotta stop him from dopin' up
So fans I'm beggin' you
Please don't his, please don't buy his music
I just wanna take his drugs away
Escape back into our music, no more hurtin'
Standin' by and watchin' my player play
I just can't go on like this
I refuse to do it
Somehow gotta stop him from dopin' up
So fans I'm beggin' you
Please don't his, please don't buy his music
[...] Read more
poem by Ramona Thompson
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It Makes More Sense
It makes more sense,
Stopping something not to start.
Yes it makes more sense,
Not to tear things all apart.
Or bring up filthy garbage,
Knowing it is just a farce.
It makes more sense,
To walk away than to be petty.
And it makes more sense,
To prevent a thumping headache.
And it makes more sense,
Not to argue with a fool.
Knowing this is something done,
Many fools love to do.
And it makes more sense,
Stopping something not to start.
Yes it makes more sense,
Not to tear things all apart.
Or bring up filthy garbage,
Knowing it is just a farce.
And it makes more sense,
Not to argue with a fool.
Knowing this is something done,
Fools love to do.
And it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.
And it makes more sense,
To chase all bitterness away.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'You're right' than build a hate.
Knowing that tomorrow promises another day.
And it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.
And it makes more sense,
To chase all bitterness away.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'You're right' than build a hate.
Knowing that tomorrow promises another day.
Yes it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'You're right' than build a hate.
Knowing that tomorrow promises another day.
Yes it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bang Your Pans If You Wish
Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...
To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.
Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...
To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.
You're not the only one,
Who has loaded shoulders.
Today the young and older ones...
Have little to eat.
You're not the only one,
Whose shoulders are bent over.
Who needs to lay their head somewhere,
And get some sleep!
Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...
To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.
Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...
To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Express Yourself
(she takes him in her arms,
She kisses his face on the lips)
(one woman in the world,
One woman in many faces)
(she takes him in her arms,
She kisses his face on the lips)
Dont go for second best baby
Put your love to the test
You know, you know, youve got to
Make her express how she feels
And maybe then youll know your love is real
You dont need diamond rings
Or eighteen karat gold
Fancy cars that go very fast
You know they never last, no, no
What you need is a big strong hand
To lift you to your higher ground
Make you feel like a king on a throne
Make her love you till you cant come down
Dont go for second best baby
Put your love to the test
You know, you know, youve got to
Make her express how she feels
Then youll know your love is real
(one woman in the world,
One woman in many faces)
Long stem roses are the way to your heart
But she needs to start with your head
Satin sheets are very romantic
What happens when youre not in bed
You deserve the best in life
So if the time isnt right then move on
Second best is never enough
Youll do much better baby on your own
Dont go for second best baby
Put your love to the test
You know, you know, youve got to
Make her express how she feels
Then youll know your love is real
Express yourself
Youve got to make her
Express herself
Hey, hey, hey, hey
So if you want it right now, make her show you how
Express what shes got, oh baby ready or not
And when youre gone she might regret it
And think about the love she once had
Try to carry on, but she just wont get it
Shell be back on her knees
To express herself
[...] Read more
song performed by Information Society
Added by Lucian Velea
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Add Some Music
The sunday mornin' gospel goes good with the soul
There's blues, folk, and country, and rock like a rollin' stone
The world could come together as one
If everybody under the sun
Add some music to your day
(Add some music add some add some music to your day)
A bob didit a bop didit
You'll hear it while you're walkin' by a neighbor's home
You'll hear it faintly in the distance when you're on the phone
You're sittin' in a dentist's chair
And they've got music for you there
To add some music
(Add some music add some add some music to your)
To your day
A bob didit a bop didit
Add some music music everywhere (add some music)
Add some add some add some add some music (add some music)
Your doctor knows it keeps you calm
Your preacher adds it to his psalms
So add some music
(Add some music add some add some music to your)
To your day
Music
(Add some music add some music)
When you're alone
(Add some music add some music)
Is like a companion
(Add some music add some music)
For your lonely soul
Oo oo oo woo oo woo oo oo oo oooo
When day is over (when day is over)
I close my tired eyes (I close my tired)
Music is in my soul
At a movie you can feel it touching your heart
And on every day of the summertime
You'll hear children chasing ice cream carts
They'll play it on your wedding day
There must be 'bout a million ways
To add some music
(Add some music add some add some music to your)
To your day
Add some music to your day
Add some music to your day
Add some music to your day
Add some music to your day
Add some music to your day
song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Add Some Music To Your Day
The sunday mornin gospel goes good with the soul
Theres blues, folk, and country, and rock like a rollin stone
The world could come together as one
If everybody under the sun
Add some music to your day
(add some music add some add some music to your day)
A bob didit a bop didit
Youll hear it while youre walkin by a neighbors home
Youll hear it faintly in the distance when youre on the phone
Youre sittin in a dentists chair
And theyve got music for you there
To add some music
(add some music add some add some music to your)
To your day
A bob didit a bop didit
Add some music music everywhere (add some music)
Add some add some add some add some music (add some music)
Your doctor knows it keeps you calm
Your preacher adds it to his psalms
So add some music
(add some music add some add some music to your)
To your day
Music
(add some music add some music)
When youre alone
(add some music add some music)
Is like a companion
(add some music add some music)
For your lonely soul
Oo oo oo woo oo woo oo oo oo oooo
When day is over (when day is over)
I close my tired eyes (I close my tired)
Music is in my soul
At a movie you can feel it touching your heart
And on every day of the summertime
Youll hear children chasing ice cream carts
Theyll play it on your wedding day
There must be bout a million ways
To add some music
(add some music add some add some music to your)
To your day
Add some music to your day
Add some music to your day
Add some music to your day
Add some music to your day
Add some music to your day
song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Music
Music is an art
Music is presided over by the Muses
Music combines sounds in a pleasing way
Music has common elements.
Music has pitch and melody
Music has harmony and rhythm
Music has tempo and meter
Music has sonic qualities of timbre.
Music is euphony or sweet sound
Music has harmonious qualities
Music is inspirational
Music opens the soul.
Music is energizing
Music is enriching
Music makes one happy
Music is relaxing.
Music is soothing
Music is entertainment
Music is lovable
Music is stirring.
Music moves one to tears
Music gives a spark
Music tunes a special memory
Music is a form of therapy.
Music fills with spiritual attunement
Music is a personal experience
Music takes us along the road of life
Music is the corner stone of every society.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Thanks A Lot, Mom
Thanks a Lot, Mom
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for loving me to no end.
Thanks for being my loving mother.
Thanks for being my thoughtful friend.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for feeding me and giving me a home.
Thanks for clothing me and holding me tight.
Thanks for caring when I felt alone.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for always making me smile.
Thanks for giving me the extra push.
Thanks for going that extra mile.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for living with no regrets.
Thanks for being the life of the party.
Thanks for going all in on bets.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for being my inspiration.
Thanks for helping me with my homework.
Thanks for giving me motivation.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for treating me with respect.
Thanks for knowing I'm growing up.
Thanks for knowing what to expect.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for kicking me while I was down.
Thanks for telling me I'm a liar.
Thanks for knowing what comes around.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for giving me my many scars.
Thanks for making me feel at home.
Thanks for breaking my aching heart.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for taking away my friends.
Thanks for taking away my family.
Thanks for not having to pretend.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for kicking me out of my home.
Thanks for calling me cheap and attention-seeking.
Thanks for putting me out on my own.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for ripping away my Brett.
Thanks for saying you don't remember.
Thanks for saying I should forget.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for believing your husband over your kid.
Thanks for rewarding him for a crime.
Thanks for punishing me for what he did.
[...] Read more
poem by Rebecca Paul
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Nothing But Wind
Nothing But Wind
Music the world filled with,
And is God-breathed the melody in it.
Music moves the world around on its way,
And it’s wind in music dwells.
Muse of Music! Let me imbibe thy notes
For sans thee my voice lies half-dead
When my heart is to sing
That
NOTHING BUT WIND is music.
My soul enters the sylvan woodlands-
The abode of musical birds,
And in quest of music haunts every nest.
It’s music that birds chirp,
And I lay my soul on a pasture,
And the chirping of birds does caress my soul:
The cuckoo sings with twain quick notes,
The nightingale babbles with nectarous notes,
The sparrow squeaks with mumbling thoughts,
The throttle bubbles with drizzling thoughts,
All sail into, my soul cherished
When wind turned to music through birds.
Crickets join the orchestra with their wings rubbed the air,
And music flows when their wings flap.
My soul journeys along the bank of musical stream,
Where bamboos rustle when wind penetrates them:
It’s “Bamboo” music breathed thro’ flute,
I learnt the love for music born thro’ bamboo
Perfected with beautiful melodies.
Dwelling on pastures music grows personified:
Harps reverberate at the hands of the shepherds,
Green music born of pastoral spirit join the bleating of lambs:
The lambs bleat and music is breathed,
And the whole of the pastures flutter with joy.
Into deep woods my soul moves,
And lions roar I hear, elephants trumpet,
And ravens voice hoarse notes
When “bamboo” music is tried by machines:
Harp turned to Guitar, bamboo turned to piano,
And music now flows thro’ science -
Science that survives with computers.
When engine whistles I hear music
And train follows it with “friction” music,
Rhythmic beats perfected on rails.
”Friction” music turned to “roar” music
When air-plane has been invented.
My soul speeds up - speeding up
[...] Read more
poem by MBJ Pancras
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The Rosciad
Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.
Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,
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poem by Charles Churchill
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