If I part with the possibility of a future conflagration, we lessen the
compliment to Shakspeare. However, we will e'en mend it thus:
Yes, it shall be--the magic of that name,
That scorns the scythe of Time, the torch of Flame,
On the same spot, etc., etc.
There--the deuce is in it, if that is not an improvement to Whitbread's
content. Recollect, it is the "name," and not the "magic," that has a
noble contempt for those same weapons. If it were the "magic," my
metaphor would be somewhat of the maddest--so the "name" is the
antecedent. But, my dear Lord, your patience is not quite so
immortal--therefore, with many and sincere thanks, I am,
Yours ever most affectionately.
P.S.--I foresee there will be charges of partiality in the papers; but
you know I sent in no _Address_; and glad both you and I must be that I
did not, for, in that case, their plea had been plausible. I doubt the
Pit will be testy; but conscious innocence (a novel and pleasing
sensation) makes me bold.
[Footnote 1: The lines which were omitted by the Committee ran thus:
"'Nay, lower still, the Drama yet deplores
That late she deigned to crawl upon all-fours.
When Richard roars in Bosworth for a horse,
If you command, the steed must come in course.
If you decree, the Stage must condescend'
To soothe the sickly taste we dare not mend.
_Blame not our judgment should we acquiesce,
And gratify you more by showing less_.
Oh, since your Fiat stamps the Drama's laws,
Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause;
_That public praise be ne'er again disgraced,
From_ {brutes to man recall}/{_babes and brutes redeem} a nation's
taste_;
Then pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers,
When Reason's voice is echoed back by ours.
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