“The Castle of Andalusia” was performed in 1782, and contains a song[6] which, I think, fully proves my position. An audience who could not only tolerate but applaud such rank nonsense and folly as that song, richly deserves to be regaled even to surfeiting with Tom Gobble, and Jem Gabble, and ribaldry of the like kind. It would indeed be “throwing pearls before swine” to offer them such delicate effusions as are to be found in Love in a Village, Lionel and Clarissa, the Maid of the Mill, and the Duenna. It is hardly possible for sublimity and elegance to be relished by persons of so depraved a taste as is necessary to hear such trash without disgust. Were I to be called upon to make a choice, and pronounce between O’Keefe’s Galloping Dreary Dun, and Alderman Gobble, I should give a preference to the latter without hesitation: for, notwithstanding the detestable St. Giles’s slang it contains, it has the merit of containing something of a delineation of a character too common, I mean that of an epicure. Whereas, “Draggle Tail Dreary Dun” has no such recommendation to rescue it from universal execration. DRAMATICUS. [Footnote 6: That nonsensical song called _Galloping Dreary Dun_.] DESCENT INTO ELYSIUM, FOR A STAGE POET. _Suggested by a scene in Aristophanes._ It is necessary to mention that this was written when Mr. Sheridan was in office, and before Mr. Colman had written his best piece, the Africans. Nothing however has occurred to alter the author’s opinions. The idea was suggested by a scene in the frogs of Aristophanes. It is a dialogue between Hercules and Bacchus. Bacchus asking Hercules the way to the infernal regions, is naturally interrogated as to his reasons for going. He answers he is going for a poet. On this a short dialogue ensues concerning the living poets of Athens, in which Aristophanes takes occasion to satirize some of his brother dramatists. _Comic Muse, and Porter of Elysium._ _Porter._ Who knocks so loud and frequent at this gate? _Comic Muse._ ’Tis I--the laughing muse of comedy. _P._ What? with that mournful melancholy face? Why sure--thou’st wandered through Trophonius’ cave. _C. M._ I’ve cause for grief: I’m scorn’d despis’d, neglected, A vulgar muse, got by some Grub-street bard, On obscure Ignorance, in gaol or stews, Usurps my place, and arrogates my honours. _P._ ’Tis sad:--but wherefore bend this way thy steps? _C. M._ I come to seek some high and gifted bard, Whose fiery genius with just judgment temper’d, May vindicate my rights; and with strong satire Whip the vile ignorant triflers from the stage. _P._ What! is there none alive of power sufficient? Lives not the attic wit of Sheridan?