The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 8/The Puppet Show
THE PUPPETSHOW.
THE life of man to represent,
And turn it all to ridicule,
Wit did a puppetshow invent,
Where the chief actor is a fool.
The gods of old were logs of wood,
And worship was to puppets paid;
In antick dress the idol stood,
And priest and people bow'd the head.
No wonder then, if art began
The simple votaries to frame,
To shape in timber foolish man,
And consecrate the block to fame.
From hence poetick fancy learn'd
That trees might rise from human forms;
The body to a trunk be turn'd,
And branches issue from the arms.
Thus Dædalus and Ovid too,
That man's a blockhead, have confest:
Powel[1] and Stretch[1] the hint pursue;
Life is a farce, the world a jest.
The same great truth South Sea has prov'd
On that fam'd theatre, the alley;
Where thousands, by directors mov'd,
Are now sad monuments of folly.
What Momus was of old to Jove,
The same a Harlequin is now;
The former was buffoon above,
The latter as a Punch below.
This fleeting scene is but a stage,
Where various images appear;
In different parts of youth and age,
Alike the prince and peasant share.
Some draw our eyes by being great,
False pomp conceals mere wood within;
And legislators, rang'd in state,
Are oft but wisdom in machine.
A stock may chance to wear a crown,
And timber as a lord take place;
A statue may put on a frown,
And cheat us with a thinking face.
Others are blindly led away,
And made to act for ends unknown;
By the mere spring of wires they play,
And speak in language not their own.
Too oft, alas! a scolding wife
Usurps a jolly fellow's throne;
And many drink the cup of life,
Mix'd and embitter'd by a Joan.
In short, whatever men pursue,
Of pleasure, folly, war, or love;
This mimick race brings all to view:
Alike they dress, they talk, they move.
Go on, great Stretch, with artful hand,
Mortals to please and to deride;
And, when death breaks thy vital band,
Thou shalt put on a puppet's pride.
Thou shalt in puny wood be shown,
Thy image shall preserve thy fame;
Ages to come thy worth shall own,
Point at thy limbs, and tell thy name.
Tell Tom, he draws a farce in vain,
Before he looks in Nature's glass;
Puns cannot form a witty scene,
Nor pedantry for humour pass.
To make men act as senseless wood,
And chatter in a mystick strain,
Is a mere force on flesh and blood,
And shows some errour in the brain.
He that would thus refine on thee,
And turn thy stage into a school,
The jest of Punch will ever be,
And stand confest the greater fool.
- ↑ 1.0 1.1 Two famous puppetshow-men. — In the year 1715 was published, "A second Tale of a Tub; or, the History of Robert Powel, the Puppetshow-man," written by Thomas Burnet, esq., youngest son to bishop Burnet: who was bred to the law, and, beside the piece here mentioned, was the author of many other political pamphlets against the ministry of the four last years of queen Anne, for some of which he was taken into custody by the messengers; and was suspected of being one of the Mohocks that attacked young Davenant. See Journal to Stella, March 8, 1711-12.