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B A R B A R
IVritten by Mr. GARRICK, and spoken to brin is. t'a
Character of a Country Boy,
Meafter! Meaiter !
Is not my Meafter here among your prayna
Nay, speak --my Mealter wrote this fine new Play-
The Actor-folks are making such a ciacter !
They want the Pro-log,- I know nought oth' matter!
He must be there among you-look ab ut-
A weezen, pale fac'd man, do find him out
Pray, Meafter, come or all will fill to sheame,
Calí Mifter-hold- I must not tell his name.
Law! what a croud is here! what a noise and pother!
Fine lads and lasies! one o’top o' l'other.
[Pointing to the Rows of Pit and Gallery,
I cou'd for ever here with wonder geaze!
I ne'er saw church so full in all my days!
Your fervant, Surs ! --what do you laugh for? Eh ?
You donna take me sure for one o' th’ Play!
You shou'd not flout an honeft Country lud,-
You think me fool, and I think you half mad:
You're all as itrange 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,
And since you've rais'd my blood, I'll tell you why?
And if you wull, since now I am before ye,
For want of Pro-log, I'll relate my story.
I came from country here to try my fate,
And get a place among the Rich and Great ;
But troth I'm sick o'th' journey I ha' ta’en,
I like it not-wou'd I were whoame again..
First, in the City I took up my station,
And got a place, with one of th’ Corporation,
A round big man--he eat a plaguy deal,
Zooks! he'd have beat five ploomen at a meal !
But long with himn I cou'd not make abod”,
For, cou'd you think't?--He eat a great Sea-load!
It came from Indies 'twas as big as ine,
He call'd it Belly patch and Cagayee :
Law I how I ftar'd !-I thought, who knows, but I,
For want of monsters, may be made a pye;
Rather than tarry here for bribe or gain,
I'll back to whoame, and country-fare again.
I left Toad.eater; then I sarv'd a Lord,
And there they promis'd !-but ne'er kept their word,
While 'mong the Great, this geaming work the trade is,
They mind no more poor servants, than their Ladies,
A Lady next, who lik’d a smart young lad,
Hir'd me forthwith-but, troth, I thought her mad.
She turn'd the world top down, as I may say,
She chang'd the day to neet, the neet to day!
One day I food with coach, and did but ftoop
To put the fool-board down, and with her hoop
She cover'd me all o'er- where are you, Lour?
Here, Madam, for Heaven's sake, pray let me out.
I was so lheam'd with all her freakish ways,
She wore her gear so short, so low her stays
Fine folks shew all for nothing now a days !
Now I'm the Poet's mon- I find with wits,
There's nothing sartain-Nay, we eat by fits.
Our meals, indeed, are slender, what of that?
There are but three on's-Meafter, I, and Cat.
Did you but see us all, as I'm a finner,
You'd scarcely say, which of the three is thinner.
My wages all depend on this night's piece,
But shou'd you find that all our swans are geese!
E'feck I'll trust no more to Meafter's brain,
But pack up all, and whistle whoame again.
C L Ε Μ Ε Ν Ν ΤΙ Ν Α.
BY GEORGE COLMAN, ESQ.
Spoken by Mr. Bensley.-
there, our moral and religious days;
Men dread the crying fin of writing Plays : While some, whole wicked wit incurs the blame, Howe'er they love the treffpass, fly the shame.
Pf, a new Holy War with Vice to wage,
Some preacher quits the pulpit for the stage,
The Rev'rend Bard, with much remorse and fear,
Attempts to give his Evening Lecture here.
The work engender'd, to the world must sise ;
But yet the father may elude our eyes.
The parish on this trick of youth might frown,
And thus, unown'd, 'tis thrown upon the Town,
At our Director's door he lays the sin,
Who sees the Babe, relents, and takes it in ;
To swathe and dress it first unftrings his purse,
Then kindly puts it out to Youấto nurse.
Should fome young Counsel, thro' his luckless Atas,
By writing Plays turn truant to the Bar.
Call'd up by you to this High Court of Wit,
With non-inventus we return the writ.
No latitat can force him to appear,
Whose failure and success cause equal fear.
Whatever fees his clients here bestow,
He loses double in the Courts below.
Grave solemn Doctors, whose prescribing pen
Has in the trade of Death kill'd many men,
With vent'rous guill here tremblingly engage
To llay Kings, Queens, and Heroes, on the ftage.
The Great, if great men write, of shame afraid,
Come forth incog:-and Beaux, in masquerade.
Some Demireps in wit, of doubtful fame,
Tho' known to all the town, withhold their name.
Thus each by turns ungratefully refuse
To own the favours of their Lady-Muse ;
Woo'd by the Court, the College, Bar and Church,
Court, Bar, Church, College, leave her in the lurch.
'Tis your's to-night the work alone to fcan;
Arraign the Bard, regardless of the man !
If Dulness waves her poppies o'er his play,
To Critic fury let it fall a prey ;
But if his art the tears of Piry draws,
Ak not his name--bur crown him with applauses
с Y M O
WRITTEN BY GEORGE KEATE, ESQ.
Spoken by Mrs. ABINGTON.
Enter, peeping in ai the Stage Door.
S the itage clear!-bless me! --I've such a drcad!
It seems enchanted ground, where'er I tread !
What noise was that! huh !--'twas a falle alarm
I'm sure there's no one here will do me harm :
Among'it you can't be found a single knight,
Who would not do an injur'd damsel right.
Well-Heav'n be prais'd! I'm out of magic reach,
And have once more regaind the pow'r of Speech :
Aye, and I'll use it for it must appear,
That my poor tongue is greatly in arrear-
There's not a female here but Mhar'd my woe,
Ty'd down to Yes, or, ftili more hateful, No.
No is expressive--but I must confess,
If rightly question'd, I'd use only Yes,
In Merlin's walk this broken wand I found,
[Shewing a broken wand.
Which to two words my speaking organs bound.
Suppose upon the town I try his spell
Ladies, don't ftir ! You use your tongues too well:
How tranquil every place, when by my skill,
Folly is mute, and even sander still;
Old Gossips speechless – Bloods would breed no riot,
And all the tongues at Jonathan's lie quiet!
Each grave profesion must new bush the wig;
Nothing to say, 'were needless they look big!
The reverend Doctor might the change endure,
He would fit ftill, and have his Sine Cure!
Nor could great folks much hardship undergo;
They do their business with an Aye or no!-
But, come, I only jok'd-- dismiss your fear;
Tho'l're the pow'r, I will not use it here.
l'!I only keep my .agic as a guard,
To awe cach critic who attacks our Bard.
I see some malcontents their fingers biting,
Snarling, “ The ancients never knew such writing
“ The drama's loit !--the Managers exhaust us
“ With Op'ras, Monkies, Mab, and Dr. Fauftus."
Dread Sirs, a word !-the Public taste is fickle ;
All palates in their turn we strive to tickle ;
Our cat'rers vary; and you'll own, at least,
It is Variety that makes the feast,
If this fair circle smile and the Gods thunder,
I with this and will keep the critics under.
Come, obedient at my brethren's call,
From top to bottom, to falute you all ;
Warmly to wish, before our Piece you view,
A happy Year-to you-you-you-and you !
[Boxei-Pitmi Gallery 2 Gallery, From you the Play’rs enjoy and feel it here, The merry Christmas, and the happy Year.
There is a good old saying--pray attend it; As you begin the year, you'll surely end. it. Should any one this night incline to evil, He'll play for twelve long months the very devil! Should any married dame exert her tongue, She'll sing the Zodiac round, the same sweet song: And should the husband join his music too, Why then 'tis Cat and Dog, the whole year thro'.. Ye sons of Law and Physic, for your ease, Be sure this day you never take your fees : Can't you refuse? --then the disease grows strong, You'll have two itching palms -Lord knows how long! Writers of News by this strange fate are bound, They fib to-day,, and fib the whole year round. You wits assembled here, both great and small, Set not this night afloat your critic gall;