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An am'rous Ghost, that's faithful, fond and true,
Made up of flesh and blood as much as you.
Then every evening come in flocks, undaunted,
We never think this Houle is too much Haunted.
P R O L OG UE
D O U G L A S.
WRITTEN BY NICHOLAS ROWE, ESQ:
Spoken by Mr. SPARKS.
I N antient times, when Britain's brade was arms,
A god-like race fuftain's fair England's fame:
Who has not heard of gallant Pierce's name?
Ay, and of DOUGLAS? Such illustrious foes
In rival Rome and Carthage never role !
From age to age bright fhone the Britif fire,
And every hero was a rero's fire.
When powerful fate decreed one warrior's doom,
Up sprung the Phenix from his parent's tomb..
But whilst these generous rivals fought and fell,
These generous rivals lov'd each other well:
*Tho' many a bloody field was lost and won,
Nothing in hate, in honour all was done.
When PIERCY wrong'd defy'd his Prince or Peers,
Fast came the DOUGLAS, with his Scottish spears ;
And, when proud DOUGLas made his King his foe,.
For DOUGLAS, PIERCY bent his English bow.
Expelld their native homes by adverte fate,
They knock'd alternate at each other's gate :,
Then blaz'd the castle, at the midnight hour,
For him whose arms had thouk its firmest tower.
This night a DOUGLAS your protection claims;
A wife! a mother! pity's softest names :
The story of her woes indulgent hear,
And grant your fupphant all the begs, a tear.
In confidence the begs; and hopes to find
Each English breast, like noble Percy's kind..
I F to our play your judgment can't be kind;
Let its expiring Author pity find ; *
Survey its mournful case with melting eyes,
Nor let the Bard be damn'd before he dies.
Forbear, ye fair, on his last scene to frown,
But his true Exit with a plaudit crown;
Then shall the dying Poet cease to fear
The dreadful knell, while your applause he hears.
At Leuctra so the conqu’ring Theban dy'd,
Claim'd his friends praises, but their tears deny'd :
Pleas’d in the pangs of death, he greatly thought
Conquest with loss of life but cheaply bought.
The diff'rence this, the Greek was one wou'd fight;
As brave, tho' not so gay as serjeant Kite :
Ye fons of Will's, what's that to those who write ?
To Thebes alone the Grecian ow'd his bays,
You may the Bard above th: Hero raise,
Since yours is greater than Athenian praise.
E PIL O G U E
то THE E A RL 0 F E S S E X.
WRITTEN BY MR. GARRICK. Spoken by Mrs. PRITCHARD, in the Cham
racter of Queen ELIZABETH. F any here, are Britons but in name,
Dead to their country's happiness and fame :
Let 'em depart this moment-Let 'em fly
My awful presence, and my searching eye !
Mr. FARQUHAX was then on his death-bed, and died before the run of the Play was over.
No more your Queen, but upright judge I come,
To try your deeds abroad, your lives at home ;
Try you in ev'ry point, from small to great,
Your Wit,-Laws,-Fabionts,- Valor,-Church and
Search you, as Britons ne'er were search'd before :
“ O tremble ! for you hear the lion roar!”
Since that most glorious time that here I reign'd,
An age and half !-What have you loft or gain'd!
Your Wit—Whate'er your Poets fing or swear ;
Since Sbakespeare's time is somewhat worse for wear.
Your Laws are good, your Lawyers good of course;
The streams are surely clear, when clear the source a
In greater store these bleflings now are sent ye ;
Where I had one attorney, you have twenty.
Fashions, ye fair, deserve nor praise nor blame ;
Unless they rise as foes to sense or shame ;
Wear ruffs, or gauze-But let your skill be such,
Rather to thew too little, than too much.
As for your Valour -- here my lips I close-
Let those who best have prov'd it-speak-Your foes,
Your Morals, Cburcb, and State, are still behind
But soft-prophet c fury fills my mind!
I see thro’ time-Behold a youthful hand,
Holding the iceptre of this happy land;
Whose heart with justice, love, and virtue fraughts
Born amongit Britons, and by Britons taught;
Shall make the barking congues of faction cease,
And weave the garland of domestic peace :
Long shall he reign-no storms to beat his breast, · Unruly pasions that disturb’d my reft !
Shall live, the blessings he beltows, to share,
Reap all my glory, but without my care.
Spoken by Miss WILFORD, in the Cha
racter of Lady LOUISA,
Had an Epilogue to speak to-night,
But I'm so hurried, put in such a fright,
Deuce take me !-if I han't forgot it quite.
To see my name in first night's play-bill printed,
A character quite new, in time quite finted;
An Epilogue, besides, to get by heart,
'Tis moft unmerciful, too long a part-
But they so coax'd and wheedled me to duty,
Left I should fret--for fretting spoils one's beauty,
That, in obedience to the kind command,
A suppliant to your favour, here I stand :
And hope, instead of what had been prepar'd,
My own extempore may now be heard.
Well! I have had a great escape, I own,
From being made the jest of all the town;
For from the court end I could claim no pity,
Nor had I more to hope for, from the city;
Such matches rarely answer either side,
For industry is suited il with pride.
But, to divert your censure, let me Mew
A folly more compleat, a city beau !
What contrast can there be so ftrong in nature,
As English plaii ness apeing petit-muatre !
And yet poor I, by miffing such a lover,
May wait, 'till all my dancng days are over!
Next, shift the scene- behold a virtuoso)
An old illiterate, feeble amoroso !
What weakness can the human heart discover,
More Thameful, than a climacteric lover?
Men, who have turn'd the period of threescore,
Become more virtuoso'smin amour.
Nor does Aunt Bridget merit better quarter,
Who, scorning to abide by female charter,
Invades a province, to our sex deny's,
Aiming at knowledge with a pedant's pride ;
When, after all our boast, we find, at length,
To know our weakness is our surest strength,
One path of science only, wise men say,
Is left for female learning-to obey. [Curthing
If characters like these your mirih excite,
And furnith some amusement for the night,
If nought offend the maxims of the stage,
Or shock the nicer morals of the age,
If only venial errors here you find,
Critics be dumb-ye Men of Candour, kind.
M E R O P .E.
Spoken by Mrs. PRITCHARD.
I'm glad with all my heart, I've frapid my wedding Glad! cry the maids ?.
-Heaven keep such joy from Spreading! Marriage, (poor things) don't move their heart so coldly. "Tis a dark leap, they own-but, love jumps boldl;. – Fair fall th' advent'rers! I'm no husband-hater, Only, be warn’d by me, and wed no TRAITOR. Pain hunting murm'rer! horn, to growl, and grumble ! No King can please him,-and no Wife can humble ! Sick to the foul, be Heaven his kind Physician! Earth's ableit drugs are left, upon ambition. All Warwick-lane falls short; and, to my knowledge, No cure is hop'd for, in our female college.
Shun plotting-heads, dear Ladies ! - all miscarries, When one, who bums and laws at midnight, MARRIES. Better, plain, dou nright, DUNCE-- no dream, pursuing: One that means bluntly-and knows, what he's doing! Not him, whose factious mind, outsoaring pleasure, Is still most tuli, when his wife's at leisure.
* Better, a Sportsman, found of wind, and hearty. Better, Sir Set, -than (pouse dry drunk, with party!