lately passed over from the Asian shores of the Mediterranean,
were for breaking the fair images of Venus, and flinging the altars of
Bacchus down.

I fancy poor Congreve's theatre is a temple of Pagan delights, and
mysteries not permitted except among heathens. I fear the theatre carries
down that ancient tradition and worship, as masons have carried their
secret signs and rites from temple to temple. When the libertine hero
carries off the beauty in the play, and the dotard is laughed to scorn for
having the young wife: in the ballad, when the poet bid his mistress to
gather roses while she may, and warns her that old Time is still a-flying:
in the ballet, when honest Corydon courts Phillis under the treillage of
the pasteboard cottage, and leers at her over the head of grandpapa in red
stockings, who is opportunely asleep; and when seduced by the invitations
of the rosy youth she comes forward to the footlights, and they perform on
each other's tiptoes that _pas_ which you all know, and which is only
interrupted by old grandpapa awaking from his doze at the pasteboard
chalet (whither he returns to take another nap in case the young people
get an encore): when Harlequin, splendid in youth, strength, and agility,
arrayed in gold and a thousand colours, springs over the heads of
countless perils, leaps down the throat of bewildered giants, and,
dauntless and splendid, dances danger down: when Mr. Punch, that godless
old rebel, breaks every law and laughs at it with odious triumph, outwits
his lawyer, bullies the beadle, knocks his wife about the head, and hangs
the hangman--don't you see in the comedy, in the song, in the dance, in the
ragged little Punch's puppet-show--the Pagan protest? Doesn't it seem as if
Life puts in its plea and sings its comment? Look how the lovers walk and
hold each other's hands and whisper! Sings the chorus--"There is nothing
like love, there is nothing like youth, there is nothing like beauty of
your spring-time. Look! how old age tries to meddle with merry sport! Beat
him with his own crutch, the wrinkled old dotard! There is nothing like
youth, there is nothing like beauty, there is nothing like strength.
Strength and valour win beauty and youth. Be brave and conquer. Be young
and happy. Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy! Would you know the _segreto per esser
felice_? Here it is, in a smiling mistress and a cup of Falernian." As the
boy tosses the cup and sings his song--hark! what is that chaunt coming