What! not some oysters, gather'd near the coast, Such as in days of old we lov'd to roast? _Sangrado_ No, not an oyster--faith, you're in a dream, To think I'd load my little nag with them: We both are weary; let me in, I pray, Even though you turn us out at break of day. _Citizen_ 'Tis midnight now--return from whence you come-- High time all honest people were at home. _Sangrado_ Brother, me thinks my toes are somewhat cold-- Unbar your door--if one may be so bold: Wet to the skin, and travelling all the day, I want some rest--open the door, I say! _Citizen_ Open the door, forsooth! the man is mad: Lodging is not so easy to be had; It is an article we do not trade in, Nor shall my bed by all the world be laid in. Our very hay-loft is as full as can be-- Push off, my friend, and try your luck at Granby. [386] Published in the _Daily Advertiser_, Feb. 5, 1790, under the title "A Columbian Dialogue from the Charleston Gazette, supposed to have been written by Capt. Freneau." Text from the 1795 edition. [387] "Columbia."--_Ed. 1790._ [388] "Shivering with Hobaw winds."--_Ib._ [389] "The State house."--_Ib._ [390] "Charleston."--_Ib._ THE DISTREST THEATRE[A][391] [A] Harmony Hall, at Charleston, now demolished.--_Freneau's note._ Health to the Muse!--and fill the glass, Heaven grant her soon some better place, Than earthen floor and fabric mean, Where disappointment shades the scene: There as I came, by rumour led, I sighed and almost wished her dead; Her visage stained with many a tear, No Hallam and no Henry here! But what could all their art attain?-- When pointed laws the stage restrain The prudent Muse obedience pays To sleepy squires, that damn all plays. Like thieves they hang beyond the town, They shove her off--to please the gown;-- Though Rome and Athens owned it true, The stage might mend our morals too. See, Mopsus all the evening sits O'er bottled beer, that drowns his wits; Were Plays allowed, he might at least Blush--and no longer act the beast. See, Marcia, now from guardian free, Retailing scandal with her tea;-- Might she not come, nor danger fear From Hamlet's sigh, or Juliet's tear. The world but acts the player's part[B]-- (So says the motto of their art)-- That world in vice great lengths is gone That fears to see its picture drawn. [B] _Totus Mundus agit Histrionem.--Freneau's note._ Mere vulgar actors cannot please; The streets supply enough of these; And what can wit or beauty gain When sleepy dullness joins their train? A State betrays a homely taste, By which the stage is thus disgraced, Where, drest in all the flowers of speech, Dame virtue might her precepts teach. Let but a dancing bear arrive, A pig, that counts you four, or five-- And Cato, with his moral strain May strive to mend the world in vain.