A

PROLOGUE

WRITTEN AND SPOKEN

BY THE

POET LABERIUS,

A ROMAN KNIGHT,

WHOM CESAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE

WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage

And fave from infamy my sinking age!

Scarce half alive, opprefs'd with many a year,
What, in the name of dotage, drives me here?
A time there was, when glory was my guide,
Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps afide;
Unaw'd by power, and unappall'd by fear,
With honeft thrift I held my honour dear:

Preferved by Macrobius, tranflated and printed in 1759.

But

hour difperfes all my store, hoard of honour is no more; partial to my life's decline, des, fubmiffion must be mine; whom Heaven itself obeys, leafing, yet inclin'd to please. once, I welcome every shame, at threefcore, a life of fame; titles fhall my children tell, on will fit my name as well; ond it's term my fate extends, ded when our honour ends.

EPILOGUE

SPOKEN BY

MR. LEE LEWES,

IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN,

AT HIS BENEFIT.

OLD! Prompter, hold! à word before your

nonfenfe;

I'd fpeak a word or two to ease my conscience.
My pride forbids it ever should be faid,
My heels eclips'd the honours of my head;
That I found humour in a pyeball veft,
Or ever thought that jumping was a jest.

[Takes off bis majk.

Whence, and what art thou, vifionary birth?
Nature difowns, and reafon fcorns thy mirth;

In thy black afpect every passion fleeps,

The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps!
How haft thou fill'd the scene with all thy broods
Of fools purfuing, and of fools purfu'd!
Whose ins and outs no ray of fenfe difclofes;
Whose only plot it is to break our nofes:
Whilft from below, the trap-door Dæmon's rife,
And from above, the dangling deities.
And fhall I mix in this unhallow'd crew?
May rofin'd-light'ning blaft me, if I do!
No—I will act, I'll vindicate the stage:
Shakespeare himself shall feel my tragic rage.
Off! off! vile trappings! a new paffion reigns!
The madd'ning monarch revels in

my

veins.

Oh for a Richard's voice to catch the themes

1

Give me another horfe! bind up my wounds!-foft-'twas

but a dream.

Aye, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreating: If I ceafe Harlequin, I cease from eating.

"Twas thus that Æsop's ftag, a creature blameless, Yet fomething vain, like one that shall be nameless; `Once on the margin of a fountain stood,

And cavill'd at his image in the flood.

"The deuce confound," he cries, "these drumstic

"fhanks,

*They never have my gratitude nor thanks;

"They're

"They're perfectly disgraceful! ftrike me dead! "But for a head, yes, yes, I have a head.

"How piercing is that eye! how fleek that brow!
"My horns! I'm told, horns are the fashion now."
Whilft thus he spoke, astonish'd!—to his view,
Near, and more near, the hounds and huntfmen drew.
Hoicks! hark forward! came thund'ring from behind,
He bounds aloft, outftrips the fleeting wind:

He quits the woods, and tries the beaten ways;
He starts, he pants, he takes the circling maze,
At length his filly head, so priz'd before,
Is taught his former folly to deplore;

Whilft his ftrong limbs confpire to fet him free,
And at one bound he faves himself, like me.

[Taking a jump through the frage door.

A SON