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Will none accept my challenge ! ..-what disgrace
To all the nibbling, scribbling, Nand'ring race,
Who dare not meet a woman face to face !"
The Auth'ress and our Sex have gain'd their cause !
Complete their triumph, give 'em your applause.





TO THE M I N o R. SHIFT, addressing himself to Sir George Wealthy.

ND what becomes of your poor servar: Shift?

Your father talks of lending me a lift-
A great man's promise, when his turn is serv'd!
Capons on promises wou'd soon be stary’d:
No, on myself alone, I'll now rely:
'Gad I've a thriving traffic in my eye-
Near the mad mansions of Moorfields I'll bawl ;
Friends, fathers, mothers, sisters, fons, and all,
Shut up your shops, and listen to my call.
With labour, toil, all second means dispense,
And live a rent-charge upon Providence.
Prick up your ears ; a story 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 ak'd, was always granted :
One fatal day, the matron's truth was try'd,
She wanted meat and drink, and fairly cry'do

Cbild. Mother, you cry!
Moth. Oh, child, I've got no bread..

Child. What matters that ? Why Providence a'nt dead! With reason good, this truth the child might say, 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 those poor fouls ; but we ne'er had a rafber for the coals.


And d'ye deserve it? How d'ye spend your days?
In pastimes, prodigality, and plays !
Let's go see Foote? ah, Foote's a precious limb!
Old-Nick will soon a football make of him !
For foremost rows in fide boxes you shove,
Think you to meet with side-boxes above ?
Where gigling girls and powder'd fops may fit,
No, you will all be cramm'd into the pit,
And croud the house for Satan's benefit.
Oh! what you snivel ? well, do so no more,
Drop, to atone, your money at the door,
And, if I please, I'll give it to the poor.


N Epilogue methinks I heard you cry,

You want an Epilogue--and so 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 fameness, only with respect to place.
The theme but changes, as it changes station,
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 finish'd plan,
And bids you plot-contrivance- diction scan,
Bids you repress the feelings of the heart,
And make the head the only judging part.

The coxcomb author, in his prologue Incers,
And insolently every patron jeers;
Tells ye from life his characters he drew,
And gives a portrait of himself and you.
Draws you a fop of taste in light and shade,
And bids you mark the character portray'd ::
Informs you then the brightness is his own,
And the dark shades belong to you alone.

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


The finish'd piece intuitively bright,
Shines with plain nature's emanating light:
The beautiful in varied light appears,
While the sublime, the noble fabrick rears :
Gains all the deep recesses of the soul,
And brings the judgment under just controul.

May real merit ever meet success,
And genias wrong'd from wealth, obtain redress.
May ev'ry audience entertainment greet,
And bards their laurels lay at beauty's feet!


TO Τ Η Ε Α Ρ Ρ R E тi с Ё.

Spoken byMRS. CLIVE.

Enters reading the Play-Bill. A !

The part of-Nobody-by Mrs. Clive,
A paltry, fcribbling fool- to leave me out;
He'll say, perhaps-he thought I could not spouta
Malice and Envy to the last degree!
And why? I wrote a Farce as well as he.
And fairly ventur'd it,-without the aid
Of Prologue dress'd in black, or face in masquerade ;
O Pit-have pity-sec how I'm dismay'd!
Poor soul! this canting stuff will never do,
Unless, like Bays, he brings his hangman too.
But granting, that from these same oblequies,
Some pickings to our bard in black arise ;
Should your applause to joy convert his fear,
As Pallas turns to feast-Landella's bier,
Yet 'twould have been a better scheme by half
T'have thrown his weeds aside, and learnt with me te

I could have shewn him, had he been inclin'd,
A spouting junto of the female kind.
There dwells a milliner in yonder row,
Well-dressed, full-voic'd, and nobly built for hew,


Who, when in rage, the scolds at Sue and Sarab,
Damn'd, damn'd Diffembler ! think's the more than Zara.
She has a daughter too, that deals in lace,
And fings- ponder well and Chevy-Clace,
And fain would fill the fair Ophelia's place;
And in her cock'd-up hat, and gown of camblet,
Presumes on something-touching the lord Hamlet.
A cousin too she has, with squinting eyes,
With waddling gait, and voice like London Cries.
Who, for the Stage too short by half a story,
Acts lady Townlthus-in all her glory.
And, while she's traversing her fcanty room,
Cries" Lord, my lord, what can I do at home !"
In short, there's girls enough for all the fellows,
The ranting; whining, starting, and the jealous ;
The Hotspurs, Romeos, Hamlets, and Othellos,
Oh! little do these filly people know
What dreadful trials actors undergo :
Myself-who moft in harmony delight,
Am scolding here from morning until night,
Then take advice from me, ye giddy things,
Ye royal Milliners, ye apron'a Kings;
Young men beware, and shun our Nippery ways,
Study arithmetic, and burn your plays.
And you, ye girls, let not our tinsel train
Enchant your eyes, and turn your mad'ning brain,
Be timely wife ; for oh! be sure of this ;
A shop, with Virtue, is the height of bliss.


с R E U S.

Spoken by Miss HAUGHTON.
T length I'm freed from tragical parade, ;

No more a Pythian priesters, tho' a maid;
At once resigning, with my facred dwelling,
My wreaths, my wand, my arts of fortune-telling.

Yet superftitious folks, no doubt, are here,
Who still regard me with a kind of fear,


Left to their secret thoughts these prying eyes,
Should boldly pass, and take them by sarprize.
Nay, tho’1 disavow the whole deceit,
And fairly own my science all a cheat,
Should I declare, in spight of ears and eyes,
That beaux were handsome, or the critics wise,
They'd all believe it, and with dear delight,
Say to themselves at least,
“ 'The girl has tafte ;" “ the woman's in the right."

Or, Tould I tell the ladies, so dispos’d,
They'd get good matches, ere the season clos'd,
They'd smile, perhaps with seeming discontent,
And, sneering, wonder what the creature meant;
But whisper to their friends, with beating heart,
“ Suppare there should be something in her art."
Grave statesmen too would chuckle, Thould I say,
On such a motion, and by such a day,
They would be summon'd from their own affairs,
To 'tend the nation's more important cares ;
“ Well, if I must-howe'er I dread the load,
I'll undergo it--for my country's good."

All men are bubbles, in a kilful hand,
The ruling passion is the conjurer's wand.
Whether we praise, foretel, persuade, advise,
'Tis that alone confirms us fools or wise.
The devil without may spread the tempting fin,
But Sare the conqueror is the devil within..




Spoken by MRS. BELLAMY,
MONG the arts to make a piece go down,

And fix the fickle favour of the town,
An Epilogue is deem'd the surest way
To atone for all the errors of the Play :
Thus, when pathetic strains have made you cry,
In trips the Comic Muse, and wipes your eye.


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