To David Garrick, Esq. On Meeting Him Poem by Christopher Anstey

Thro' ev'ry part, of grief or mirth,
To which the mimic stage gives birth,
I ne'er, as yet, with truth could tell,
Where most your various pow'rs excel,
Sometimes, amidst the laughing scene,
Blithe Comedy with jocund mien,
By you in livelier colours drest,
With transport clasp'd you to her breast:
As oft the buskin'd Muse appear'd,
With awful brow her sceptre rear'd;
Recounted all your laurels won,
And claim'd you for her darling son.
Thus each contending Goddess strove,
And each the fairest garland wove.

But which fair nymph could justly boast
Her beauties had engag'd you most,
I doubted much, till t'other day,
Kind fortune threw me in your way;
Where, 'midst the friendly joys that wait
Philander's hospitable gate,
Freedom and genuine mirth I found,
Sporting the jovial board around.
'Twas there with keen, tho' polish'd, jest,
You sat, a pleas'd and pleasing guest;
With social ease a part sustain'd,
More humorous far than e'er you feign'd.
``Take him,'' I cried, ``bright Comic Maid,
``In all your native charms array'd;
``No longer shall my doubts appear;''
When Clio whisper'd in my ear,
``Go, bid it be no more disputed,
``For what his talents best are suited:
``In mimic characters alone
``Let others shine--but Garrick in his own.''