Paul Whitehead, 1790 (1710-1774)
While here to Shakespeare Garrick pays
His tributary thanks and praise;
Invokes the animated stone,
To make the poet’s mind his own;
That he each character may trace
With humour, dignity, and grace;
And mark, unerring mark, to men,
The rich creation of his pen:
Preferr’d the prayer—the marble god
Methinks I see, assenting, nod,
And, pointing to his laurell’d brow,
Cry—“Half this wreath to you I owe:
Lost to the stage, and lost to fame;
Murder’d my scenes, scarce known my name;
Sunk in oblivion and disgrace
Among the common scribbling race,
Unnotic’d long thy Shakespeare lay,
To dulness and to time a prey:
But now I rise, I breathe, I live
In you—my representative!
Again the hero’s breast I fire,
Again the tender sigh inspire;
Each side, again, with laughter shake,
And teach the villain-heart to quake;
All this, my son! again I do—
I?—No, my son!—’Tis I, and you.”
While thus the grateful statue speaks,
A blush o’erspreads the suppliant’s cheeks—
“What!—Half this wreath, wit’s mighty chief?—
O grant,” he cries, “one single leaf;
That far o’erpays his humble merit,
Who’s but the organ of thy spirit.”
Phoebus the generous contest heard—
When thus the god address’d the bard:
“Here, take this laurel from my brow,
On him your mortal wreath bestow;—
Each matchless, each the palm shall bear,
In heav’n the bard, on earth the play’r.”
“Verses dropped in Mr. Garrick’s Temple of Shakespeare.” Poems and Miscellaneous Compositions, 1790.
Garrick had in his garden at Hampton a temple dedicated to Shakespeare, containing a statue of the poet by Roubiliac.