Though twelve pence seat you there, so near the¦ And, if you wull, since celling, The folks below can't boast a better feeling. $30. Prologue to Barbarossa; 1755. Written Is not my measter here among you, pray? matter: He must be there among you look about- Fine lads and lasses! one o' top o't'other. For want of pro-lez, 1 [pl/ For want of monsters, may be made I left toad-eater, then I serv'da lor 14 They mind no more poor servants- Now I'm the poet's mon—1 files My wages all depend on this bu But should you find that all our swal Efeck, I'll trust no more to meas.ers But pack up all, and whistle whewas $51. Epilogue to the same; 1755 by Mr. Woodward, in the Characte Gentleman. GA Shall we of rank be told what's right (To the [Pointing to the rows of pit and gallery. I could for ever here with wonder gaze; Ine'er saw church so full, in all my days!- Behold a gentleman!-and that's en Your servant, Sirs—what do you laugh for, eh Laugh if you please—I'll take a proth You donna take me sure for one o'the play come to tell you (let it not surpris You should not flout an honest country had-That I'm a wit-and worthy to advis You think me fool, and I think you half mad: You're all as strange as I, and stranger too; And, if you laugh at me, I'll laugh at you. [Laughing. I donna like your London tricks, not I; [why: And, since you've rais'd my blood, I'll tell you How could you suffer that same couse" nfe, appetite, and all, give way to fashion: hate as much as he a turtle-feaft, it, till the prefent turtle-rage is ceas'd, i ride a hundred miles to make myself a beast. have no ears; yet operas I adore! Iways prepar'd to die-to fleep-no more! he ladies too were carp'd at, and their drefs, : wants them all ruff'd up like good queen Befs! hey are, forfooth, too much expos'd and free: ere more expos'd, no ill effects I fee, r more or lefs, 'tis all the fame to me, or gaming too was maul'd among the reft, at precious cordial to a high-life breaft! enthoughts arife, I always game or drink, English gentleman fhould never think e reafon's plain, which ev'ry foul might hit on at trims a Frenchman, overfets a Briton, us reflection breeds a fober fadness, ich always ends in politics or madness: erefore now propofe, by your command, at tragedies no more thall cloud this land; d o'er your Shakspeares to the fons of France, them grow grave-let us begin to dance! ith your gloomyfcenes to foreign climes, erve alone, to blefs thefe golden times, arce or two--and Woodward's pantomimes. 52. Occafional Prologue to the Mafk of Britan ia; 1755 Written and spoken by Mr. Garrick, the Character of a Sailor,fuddled,and talking himself. rs, finging, "How pleafant a failor's life paffes !" 7FLL! if thou art, my boy,a little mellow, A failor, half-feas o'er-'s a pretty fellow. Whene'er he thuffles we fhould always cut. I'll to 'em, faith-Avaft-before I goHave I not promis'd Sall to fee the show? Pulls out a play-bill. From this fame paper we fhall understand What work's to-night-I read your printed hand. First let's refresh a bit-for, 'faith, I need itI'll take one fugar-plum-[takes fome tobacco] and then I'll read it. [He reads the play-bill of Zara, which was acted that evening. "At the Theatre Royal, Drury-lane"Will be prefen-ta-ted a tragedy called Sarah-" S. 53. Prologue to Comus. Performed for the Benefit of the General Hofpital at Bath, 1756; and Spoken by Mifs Morrifon, in the Character of a Lady of Fafnion. HOADLEY. [To the pit.[She enters with a number of tickets in her hand.] -tight and trim--I feud before the gale-WELL, I've been beating up for volunteers, at cheer, ho? Do I carry too much fail? [He faggers forward, and then flops. fofaly tho'-the vellel feems to heeldy! ny boy-the muft not thew her keel. now,thus ballafted-what courfe to fteer? III again to fea-and bang Mounteer? tay on fhore, and toy with Sall and Sue? t love'em, boy? By this right hand, I do! ell-rigg'd girl is furely mott inviting: ere's nothing better, 'faith-fave flip and fighting. uft away-I must—— at! fhall we fons of beef and freedom foop, lower our flag to flavery and foup? at! fhall thefe Parly-vocs make fuch a racket, d I not lend a hand to lace their jacket? But find that charity has got no ears. I fiift attack'd a colonel of the guardsSir, charity-confider its rewards; With healing hand the faddeft fores it fkins, And covers-O! a multitude of fins. He fwore the world was welcome to his thoughts: 'Twas damn'd hypocrify to hide one's faults; And with that fin his confcience ne'er was twitted, The only one he never had committed. Next to my knight I plead. He shook his head, Complain'd the stocks were low, and trade was dead. In thefe Bath charities a tax he'd found More heavy than four thill ngs in the pound, 3 R What abbey, What with the play-house, hofpital, and [fhabby. A man was ftripp'd—unless he'd look quite Then fuch a train,and fuch expence, to wit; My lady, all the brats, and coufin KitHe'd fteal himself, perhaps, into the pit. Old Lady Slipflop, at her morning cards, Vows that all works of genus the regards, Raffles for Chinese gods, card houses, fhells, Nor grudges to the mufic, or the bells, No doubt, the governors are very wife; Then fwears he to the charity is hearty, various things the stage has been compar'd, } As apt ideas ftrike each humorous bard: To draw in customers, our bills are fpread; From this fame head, this fountain-head di Hence flow for martial minds potations strong, And fweet love potions for the fair and young, For you, my hearts of oak, for your regak, To the upper al There's good old English ftingo, mild and stale: For high, luxurious fouls, with lof There's Sir John Falstaff in a butt of fact; And, if the ftronger liquors more invite Bardolph is gin, and Piftol aqua vitz. But fhould you call for Falstaff, where to f him, form He's gone-nor left one cup of fack behin A vintner once acquir'd both praife and And fold much Perry for the beft Chan Some rakes this precious stuff did so alam They drank whole nights-what's that—": wine is pure? "Come, fill a bumper, Jack."-" "Here's cream!-damn'd fine!-immenupon my word! "Sir William," what say you?"-"TH believe me." "In this-eh, Jack!—the devil can'ts Thus the wife critic, too, mistakes l Cries out, with lifted hands-Tisg vine! Neat as imported-no Frenchbrandy in'em-BEHOLD a wonder for theatric or Hence for the choiceft fpirits flows Cham- [vein, pagne, Whofe fparkling atoms fhoot thro' every Then mount in magic vapours to th' enrap tur'd brain!. The culprit of this night appears Before his judges dares thefe boards "With all his imperfections on his Prologues precede the piece,in mount As-undertakers walk before the beat *The action of the Winter's Tale, as written by Shakspeare, comprehends fixte Whofe doleful march may strike the harden'd | And fairly ventur'd it, without the aid Of prologue drefs'd in black, and face in O pit, have pity-fee how I'm difmay'd! Tis English-English, Sirs, from top to toe. Tho' coarse my colours, and my hand un-T fkill'd, From real life my little cloth is fill'd. My hero is a youth, by fate defign'd [mind' or culling fimples-but whofe ftage-itruck Nor fate could rule, nor his indentures bind. A place there is, where fuch young Quixotes meet; treat ! Tis call'd the fpouting-club-a glorious Vho all the day enacts-a wollen-draper. ries out, with hollow voice, "Lift, lift, O he fpirit too, clear'd from his deadly white, ut change their pens for truncheons, ink ook round-you'll find fome fpouting youths among ye. To check thefe heroes, and their laurels crop [fhop; To bring them back to reafon-and their To raife an harmlets laugh, was all my aim; And, if I fhun contempt-I feek not fame. ndulge this firftling, let me but begin, for nip me-in the buddings of my fin: ome hopes I cherith, in your fmiles I read 'em; Whate'er my faults, your candour can exceed have thrown his weeds afide, and learnt I could have thewn him, had he been inclin'd, There dwells a milliner in yonder row, [show, She has a daughter too, that deals in lace, And fain would fill the fair Ophelia's place. Prefumes on fomething-touching the Lord A coufin too the has, with fquinting eyes, Who for the stage, too fhort by half a story, In fhort, there's girls enough for all the lous, The ranting, whining, ftarting, and the jea- Fxpos'd to fire and water, sword and bullet- Yet foft-our author's fate you muft decree; tatoe. Cur bard embarks in a more Chriftian cause, To dafh the poet's ineffectual claim, And quench his thirst for univerfal fame, The Grecian fabulist in moral lay Has thus addrefs'd the writers of his day: Once on a time, a fon and fire, we're told, The ftripling tender, and the father old, Purchas'd a jack-afs at a country fair, To eafe their limbs, and hawk about theirsz: But as the fluggish animal was weak, They fear'd, if both fhould mount, his b would break: Up gets the boy, the father leads the afs, And through the gazing crowd attemptat pafs. Forth from the throng the grey beards hott And hail the cavalcade with feeble hout. "This the refpect to rev'rend age you I' "And this the duty you to parents owe? "He beats the hoof, and you are fet af: "Sirrah! get down, and let your fatherr As Grecian lads are feldom void of grz... The decent duteous youth refign'd his ;. Then a fresh murmur through the rabb Boys, girls, wives, widows, all attack ther "Sure never was brute beast so void of "Have you no pity for the pretty creat "To your own baby can you be unkind "Here-Suke, Bill, Betty-put the chil hind." Old Dapple next the clown's comp claim'd: Tis wonderment them boobies afham'd! [Iocking round the house."Two at a time upon the poor dumbbe And hollow groans portend th' approaching And thefe rough billows hifs, and boil, and trouble. 58. Prologue to the Author; 1757. FOOTE. SEVERE their task, who, in this critic age, With fresh materials furnish out the stage! Not that our fathers drain'd the comic store; Fresh characters fpring up as heretofore. Nature with novelty does ftill abound; On ev'ry fide freth follies may be found. But then the taste of every gueft to hit, To pleafe at once the gallery, box, and pit, Requires, at leaft, no common fhare of wit. Thofe who adorn the orb of higher life, Demand the lively rake or modifh wife; Whilst they who in a lower circle move, Yawn at their wit, and flumber at their love. I light low mirth employs the comic scene, Such mirth as drives from vulgar minds the fpleen, The polifh'd critic damns the wretched stuff, and cries-Twill pleafe the gall'ries well enough." ch jarring judgments who can reconcile ? ~nce fops will frown, where humble traders lealt." The pair, till pliant to the partial va Difmount, and bear the afs-I hen vå noife! Huzzas,loud laughs, low gibe, and bittern From the yet filent fire, thefe words prosa 'Proceed,my boy, nor heed their farther "Vain his attempts, who strives to pthem all." |