Showman!--'tis scandal; I'm by genius led To join a class who've Shakspeare at their head." Poor Peter thus by easy steps became A dreaming candidate for scenic fame; 180 And, after years consumed, infirm and poor, He sits and takes the tickets at the door. Of various men these marching troops are made-- Pen-spurning clerks, and lads contemning trade; Waiters and servants by confinement teased, And youths of wealth by dissipation eased; With feeling nymphs, who, such resource at hand, Scorn to obey the rigour of command; Some, who from higher views by vice are won, And some of either sex by love undone; 190 The greater part lamenting as their fall What some an honour and advancement call. There are who names in shame or fear assume, And hence our Bevilles and our Savilles come: It honours him, from tailor's board kick'd down, As Mister Dormer to amuse the town; Falling, he rises: but a kind there are Who dwell on former prospects, and despair; Justly, but vainly, they their fate deplore, And mourn their fall who fell to rise no more. 200 Our merchant Thompson, with his sons around, Most mind and talent in his Frederick found: He was so lively, that his mother knew, If he were taught, that honour must ensue; The father's views were in a different line; But if at college he were sure to shine, Then should he go--to prosper, who could doubt-- When school-boy stigmas would be all wash'd out; For there were marks upon his youthful face, 'Twixt vice and error--a neglected case: 210 These would submit to skill; a little time, And none could trace the error or the crime; Then let him go, and once at college, he Might choose his station--what would Frederick be? 'Twas soon determined.--He could not descend To pedant-laws and lectures without end; And then the chapel--night and morn to pray, Or mulct and threaten'd if he kept away; No! not to be a bishop--so he swore, And at his college he was seen no more. 220 His debts all paid, the father with a sigh, Placed him in office--"Do, my Frederick, try; "Confine thyself a few short months, and then----" He tried a fortnight, and threw down the pen. Again demands were hush'd: "My son, you're free, But you're unsettled; take your chance at sea:" So in few days the midshipman equipp'd, Received the mother's blessing and was shipp'd. Hard was her fortune! soon compell'd to meet The wretched stripling staggering through the street; 230 For, rash, impetuous, insolent and vain, The captain sent him to his friends again. About the borough roved th' unhappy boy, And ate the bread of every chance-employ; Of friends he borrow'd, and the parents yet In secret fondness authorised the debt; The younger sister, still a child, was taught