When tilts and tournaments call'd forth the brave,
The fame of fpotlefs innocence to fave,
Each gallant Knight preferr'd his love to life,
For then the greatest bleffing was a wife:
To prove their chastity the dauntless fair
Would walk through flames, nor finge a fingle hair ;
Nay, fome fo chatte, fo cold to all defire,
Not only 'fcap'd it, they put out the fire!
But now no Heroes die for love's fweet paffion,
And fiery Trials are quite out of fashion.
Ye fons of Frailty---you whom rage devours,
For you this night the Mufe exerts her pow'rs;

With crimson hands, pale cheeks, and blood-shot eyes,

She bids the furies in their terrors rife !

In valour's breaft their fcorpion ftings they dart,.
First fire the brain, and then corrupt the heart.
But what avails all virtue! Paffion's guft,

Like whirlwinds, drive it from the heart like duft ;
When reafon dawns, well may repentance mourn
Love, friendship, duty, by the roots up-torn.
To footh this fatal vice, the flatterer tells
In ftormy minds how warmest friendship dwells;
The tree whofe fheltering arms fpread kindly round,.
If light'ning ftruck, lies blafted on the ground;
In vain will merits paft indulgence claim,

One moment's rashness blasts whole years of fame.

Spoken by MRS. KING,

In the Character of Dr. ANODYNE.

FEMALE doctor, Sirs !-and pray why not?

A Have you from Nature a fole patent got?

Can you chain down experience, fenfe, and knowledge,
(Like madmen.in ftraight waiftcoats) to the college?'
Let us prefcribe!-our wholesome revolutions
Would quickly mend your crazy conftitutions.
B. 6

Invest

Invest a female with a reverend cassock,

What spruce divine would more become the haffock?
Or robe her in a lawyer's gown and band,

What judge fo fweet a pleader could withstand?
Into St. Stephen's chapel let us go!

What power our aye would have; what force our no!
Try us in all things---there are very few,
We women could not do, as well as you.

Shew me thro' all creation, those who can,
A fiercer tyrant than the tyrant man.
Lion to lioness is calm and civil,

But man, with woman---plays the very devil.
In France, where politeffe fhould rule the land,
The fceptre's wrefted from a female hand.
A fpoufe in China keeps his brain from madding,
By crippling Dearee's feet to fpoil her gadding,
While the grand Turk, lord of a vaft feraglio,
Warms the whole houfe.-. himself one great Buzaglo.
Here we're denied the privilege to think,
And scarce allow'd the ufe of pen and ink.
But mark your playhouse wits, and fairly tell,
If we poor women could not write as well:
Yes, ladies, we have written, and we will;
No lords, alive, or dead, fhall stop our quill.
Break down the fences of a partial tribe,
And let us too preach, counfel and prefcribe!
Firm as Rome's matrons, bold as dames of Sparta,
Let Englishwomen form a female Magna Charta;
Affert your rights, you must command fuccefs,
And make King John fubmit to brave Queen Bess.

A

EPILOGUE

то

A L M ID A.

WRITTEN BY MR. GARRICK,

Spoken by MRS. BARRY.

FEMALE bard, far from her native land,

A female fhould protect-lo! here I ftand,

To claim of Chivalry the ancient rites,
And throw my gauntlet at all critic knights!

Nor

Nor only for our Auth'refs am I come;
I rife a champion for the fex at home!

Will fhield you, ladies, from the flandring crew,
And prove Greeks, Romans, all muft yield to you
I've read how women, many of condition,
Did, 'ere fome conqu'ror ftorm'd a town, petition,
That each might take a load upon her back,
Out march'd the dames, but carried no tufft fack,
They bore their loving husbands pick-a-pack!
The fame domeftic zeal has each fair fhe,
In full perfection at the Coterie;

For don't they bargain when they quit their houfes,
At Pleafure's call, to carry too their spouses!
Whereas with you, ye fair ones, shall we fee
That Roman virtue- hofpitality!

The foreign artifts can your fmiles fecure,
If he be finger, fidler, or frizeur;

From our dull yawning fcenes fatigu'd you go,
And croud to Fantoccini's puppet-show;

Each on the foreign things with rapture ftares!

}

Sweet dears!they're more like flesh and blood than play'rs!
As what we do, you modishly condemn,

So now turn'd wood and wire, we'll act like them;
Move hands and feet, nay even our tongues a new,
Eh bien Monfieur! comment vous portez-vous?

Once more I challenge all the critic knights, From city jokers, to the wits at White's ; From daily fcribblers, volunteers, or hacks, Up to thofe more than mortals at Almacks! Should any fribble critics dare to dem, Gads-cufs-I'll throw a chicken glove at them: And if they fhew their teeth, they still will grin--Let 'em come on---1 draw my corking pin! But fhould our foldiers, failors, raife our tears, They only can be conquer'd by t your tears. Your fimiles may foften, but your tears can melt 'em, The bravett, boldeft, mightiest men have felt 'em. Aye, you may fneer, ye wits, your hearts are steel, I fpeak of mortals who can fight, and feel! In peace or war, ye fair, truft only thofe, Who love the fex, and always beat their foes.

Stands in a pofture of defence. † To the ladies in the boxes.

Will none accept my challenge ?...what difgrace
To all the nibbling, fcribbling, fland'ring race,
Who dare not meet a woman face to face!

The Auth'refs and our Sex have gain'd their cause!
Complete their triumph, give 'em your applaufe.

}

SPEECH

R.

SHIFT, addreffing himself to Sir George Wealthy.

A

ND what becomes of your poor fervar Shift?
Your father talks of lending me a lift-

A great man's promife, when his turn is ferv'd!
Capons on promifes wou'd foon be starv'd:
No, on myself alone, I'll now rely:
'Gad I've a thriving traffic in my eye-
Near the mad manfions of Moorfields I'll bawl;
Friends, fathers, mothers, fifters, fons, and all,
Shut up your fhops, and liften to my call.
With labour, toil, all fecond means dispense,
And live a rent-charge upon Providence.
Prick up your ears; a ftory now I'll tell,
Which once a widow, and her child befel,
I knew the mother, and her daughter well;
Poor, it is true, they were; but never wanted,
For whatsoe'er they afk'd, was always granted:
One fatal day, the matron's truth was try'd,
She wanted meat and drink, and fairly cry'd..
Child. Mother, you cry!

Moth. Oh, child, I've got no bread.

} }

Child. What matters that? Why Providence a'nt dead!
With reafon good, this truth the child might fay,
For there came in, at noon, that very day,
Bread, greens, potatoes, and a leg of mutton,
A better fure a table ne'er was put on :

Ay, that might be, ye cry, with thofe poor fouls ;
But we ne'er had a rafher for the coals.

And

And d'ye deferve it? How d'ye fpend your days?
In paftimes, prodigality, and plays!

Let's go fee Foote! ah, Foote's a precious limb!
Old-Nick will foon a football make of him!
For foremost rows in fide-boxes you shove,
Think you to meet with fide-boxes above?
Where gigling girls and powder'd fops may fit,.
No, you will all be cramm'd into the pit,
And croud the houfe for Satan's benefit.
Oh! what you fnivel? well, do fo no more,
Drop, to atone, your money at the door,
And, if I pleafe,-I'll give it to the poor.

An EPILOGUE UPON PROLOGUES.

A

N Epilogue methinks I heard you cry,
You want an Epilogue-and fo do I.
Not having epilogue materials by me,

I'll speak concerning Prologues-don't deny me:
In Prologues and in Epilogues we trace
A famenefs, only with refpect to place.
The theme but changes, as it changes ftation,
There 'tis a prayer, and here a deprecation:
The learned author of a learned piece,
Who writes according to the laws of Greece;
The laws dramatic, are the laws I mean,
Changes his prologue to a chorus scene.
Gravely expatiates on his finifh'd plan,
And bids you

plot-contrivance-diction fcan,
Bids you reprefs the feelings of the heart,
And make the head the only judging part.
The coxcomb author, in his prologue fneers,
And infolently every patron jeers;

Tells ye from life his characters he drew,
And gives a portrait of himself and you.

Draws you a fop of tafte in light and shade,
And bids you mark the character portray'd:
Informs you then the brightness is his own,
And the dark fhades belong to you alone.

But the true genius with a feeling heart,
Paints as he feels, and laughs at rules of art.

The