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If you should snarl, and not incline to laughter,
What sweet companions for a twelvemonth after!
You must be muzzled for this night at least;
Our author has a right this day to feaft.
He has not touch'd one bit as yet-Remember,
'Tis a long Faft from now to next December.
'Tis Holiday ! you are our Poirons now;

[To the upper Gallery.
If you but grin, the critics won't Bow, wow.
As for the plot, wit, humour, language-I
Beg you such trifles kindly to pass by;
The most essential part, which something means,
As dresses, dances, lingings, flyings, Scenes,
They'll make you stare--nay, there is such a thing,
Will make you stare ftill more !--for I must fing:
And should your taste, and ears, be over nice,
Alas! you'll spoil my finging in a trice,
If you should growl, my notes will alter soon,
I can't be in if you are out of tune !
Permic my fears your favour to bespeak,
My Part's a strong one, and poor I but weak.

(Alluding 10 bis late Accident,
If you but smile, I'm firm, if frown, I stumble
Scarce well of one, fpare me a second tumble !

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Spoken by MR. KING,
At the Opening of Drury-Lane Theatre.

[Enter, reading a Superscription.)
"M right-your servant, firs,-th' addrefs is plain-

To the high Court of Critics, Drury - Lane.
Two Ladies, fifters, women of condition,
Have sent by me, their Courier, a petition.
Who are those Ladies ? Should the Curious ac,
See their broad feal-a dagger and a mask!
Here, Brass, take this, I answer'd to the name,
And at their call, and for your service came.

'Tis fgn'd, as you may plainly see,
Tbalia and Melpomene,
Alias, Tragedy and Comedy.



Poor souls ! they're angry,-and to hint is treason,
That angry Ladies have not always reason;
In Classic language they complain of wrong,
Which thus I change to mine the vulgar tongue.
They set forth at large, that their case is so sad,
That poor Comedy weeps, and that Tragedy's mad;
That Op'ra, their rival, heretofore Maid of Honour;
Has got to your hearts, and took too much upon her,
That this foreign Minx has engross'd all your favours;
And fritter'd their passions, and humour to quavers,
That she walks cheek by jole, and won't hold up their rail,,
So humbly they beg, that you'll send her to jail,
There strip her, and whip her, and send her away,
And as bound in duty, for ever they'll pray.
My mettled Mistresses so high in blood,
Would scratch poor Up'ra's eyes out if they.cou'd..
Suppose your Honours, to avoid a fuss,
And save the pulling caps, adjust it thus :

When Tragedy has harrow'd up the soul,
Plung'd deep her dagger, or toss'd off her bowl;
When grief, rage, murder, strew the palace round,
Music should pour her balm into the wound;
Or when the Comic Lass has sook your sides,
That laughter swell’d so high, burits out in tides, ,
Then music, with it's sweet enchanting strain,
Should to it's banks lure back the tide

But how shall we your various fancies bind,
When ev'ry Bricon has a diff'rent mind?
Molic's a Harlot-(thus Tom Surly spoke);
Whose charms will bend our honest Hearts of Oak ?
What are the Romans now, once brave and free?
Nothing but Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee,
Read Shaksper (cries his wife) he'll blunt your satire,
Who bas not music in his foul's a traitor. .
Ev'n savage beasts are mov'd by Music's touch,
And you, my dear, to be unmov'd-is much.
MyMammy's right (lifps Mils)-you're wrong my Daddy; ;
I'd hear for ever Through the wood my Laddie.
How's this, roars out a Bard, in tragic pride,
This catgut pest comes on with mighty ftride ;
In Music's lulling magic we are bound,
Like yawning spreads the epidemic sound,
“ For when one yauns, by turns we all yawn round.”

O Hui.


F 5

! what! Harmony an evil!

-Tragedy the Devil.
mng, how shall we find the test ?

Of to her is a jeft;
Bicy, or fing, as you like best.

10 Turk, thll cull our choiceft treasures ; -0,1 1700 *v'n-horn beauties wait your pleasures, CIP, I: re happy, should you smile with favour, alsiuw but your handkerchief, and you shall have her.


P R o L 0 G U E.

TO THE FASHION A BL E L O V E R. Spoken by Mr. WESTON in the Charaéter of a

Printer's Devil.

I a hoof

Up to the poet yonder with this proof:
I'd read it to you, but, in faith, 'uis odds
For one

Devil to face lo inany

A ready imp I am, who kin:ly greets
Young authors with their firit exploits in heets ;
While the Press groans, in place of dry-nurse dans,
And takes the bantling from the midwife's hands.

If any author of prolific brains,
In this good company, feels labour-pains;
If any gentle poet, big with rhine,
Has run his reck’ning out and gone his time;
If any critic, pregnant with ill-nature,
Cries out to be deliver'd of his fatire ;
Koow such ţhat at oor Hospital of Moses
He may lye-in, in private, if he chuses;
We've fingle lodgings there for secret fioners,
With good encouragement for young beginners.

Here's one now that is free enough in reason;
This bard breeds regularly once a season;
? hree of a sort, of homely form and feature,
T'he plain coarse progeny of humble Nature ;
Home-brid and born; no ftrangers he displays,
Kor tortures free-born limbs in Atif French itays :


Two you have reard; but between you and me,
This youngest is the fav’rite, of the three.
Nine tedious months he bore this babe about,
Let it in charity, live nine nights out ;
Stay but his month up; give some little law;
"Tis cowardly to attack him in the straw.

Dear Gentlemen Correctors, be more civil ;
Kind courteous Sirs, take counsel of the Devil;
Stop your abuse, for while your readers see
Such malice, they impute your work to me ;
Thus, while you gather no one sprig of fame,
Your poor unhappy friend is put to Thame :
Faith, Sirs, you shou'd have some confideration,
When ev'n the Devil pleads against Damnation.

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N those bad times, when learning's sons explore ·

The distant climate, and the favage ihore;
When wile astronomers to India steer, .
And quit for Venus many a brighter here ;
While botanists are cold to smiles and dimpling, ,
Forsake the fair, and patiently go fimpling, ,
Our bard into the general spirit enters,
And fits his little frigate for adventures ;
With Scythian slaves and trinkets deeply laden,'-
He this way Itcers his course in hopes of trading;
Yet e'er he lands, he'as ordered me before
To make an oblervation on the shore..
Where are we driv’n ? our reck’ning sure is lost! :
This seems. a rocky and a dang'rous coast.
Lord ! what a sultry climate am I under!!
Yon ill-forboding cloud seems big with thunder.

(Upper Gallery: 1 Those mangroves spread, and larger than I have seen 'em.

[Pir.] Here trees of stately lize—and billing turtles in 'co

[Balconies i 5.6


Here ill condition'd oranges abound[Stage.]
And apples (rakes up one and taftes ir) bitter apples Atrew

the ground.
Th' inhabitants are Canibals I fear,
I heard a hiffing, there are ferpents here !
O! there the people are—but keep my distance ;
Our Captain, gentle natives, craves allistance;
Our thip’s well stor’d, in yonder brook we've laid her,
His honour is no mercenary trader.
This is his firt adventure, lend him aid,
And we may chance to drive a thriving trade.
His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far,
Equally fit for gallantry and war.
What, no reply to promises so ample ?
I'd best step back and order up a sample.

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тн Е F OU N D L I N G.


Spoken by Mrs. CIBBER.
Know, you all expe&t, from seeing me,

An Epilogue, of stricteft purisy;
Some former lecture, fpoke with prudith face,
To Thew our present joking, giggling race,
True joy conGifts in-gravity and grace!
But why am I, for ever made the tool,
Of every squeamish, moralizing fool ?
Condemn'd to sorrow all my life, muft I
Ne'er make you laugh, because I make you cry?
Madam (say they) your face denotes your heart,
'Tis your's to melt us in the mournful part.
So from the looks, our hearts they prudish deem!
Alas, poor Souls ! We are not wbat we feem!
Tho' prudence oft, our inclination (mothers,
We grave ones, love a joke as well as others.
From such dull stuff, what profit can you reap ?
You cry-'Tis very fine,-jawns) and fall asleep.
Happy that Bard !-Bleft with uncommon art,
Whose wit can chear, and not corrupt the heart !


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