While he, who bounds his lefs-afpiring views
To Farce, the combrush of the Comic Mufe,
With pleafantry alone may fill the scene-
His bufinefs chiefly this; to cure the spleen ;
To raise the penfive mind from grave to gay,
And help to laugh a thoughtful hour away.
If any quibbling wit difpute my thefis,
I'd afk the ufe of half our petty pieces?
Nay, Sirs, my queftion ftill fhall higher climb-
Pray what's the use of full-pric'd Pantomime ?
How does the pleafur'd eye with rapture glance
When mingling witches join in hobbling dance!
When wriggling Harlequin, the magic fage,
In hornpipe amble traverses the stage!

When trembling Pierrot in his quiv'ring fhines !
An Ostrich enters, or a ferpent twines!
When headless Taylors raife the laughing fit,
Or flour dredg'd Footmen twirl upon a spit !
But oh! How loud the roar, how dear the rumble,
When fcaffolds, mortar-boards, and bricklayers tumble!
When Clodpate runs, or limps, or quaintly rears
From laundrefs-tub his anabaptift ears!
While all the wit thefe exhibitions draw
Is comprehended in the cry-O Laa!

Our author, in this awful court of Drury,
Submits his caufe to an impartial jury.
No friendly junto he to-night employs,
To catch, by fav'ring hands, the public voice:
He founds on British candour all his trust,
Convinc'd a British audience will be juft.

EPILOGUE

то THE

GRECIAN

DAUGHTER,

WRITTEN BY A FRIEND.

Spoken by Mifs YOUNGE.

THE Grecian Daughter's compliments to all;
Eegs that for Epilogue you will not call;

For

For leering, giggling, would be out of feason,
And hopes by me you'll hear a little reason,

A father rais'd from death, a nation fav'd,
A tyrant's crimes by female fpirit brav'd,
That tyrant ftabb'd, and by her nerveless arm,
While virtue's fpell furrounding guards could charm!!
Can fhe, this facred tumult in her breast,
Turn father, freedom, virtue, all to jest?
Wake you, ye fair ones, from your fweet repose,
As wanton Zephyrs wake the fleeping rofe;
Difpel thofe clouds which o'er your eyelids crept,
Which our wife bard miftook, and fwore you wept.
Shall the to Maccaronies life reftore,

Who yawn'd, half dead, and curs'd the tragic bore?
Difmifs 'em, fmirking, to their nightly haunt,

Where dice and cards their moor-ftruck minds enchant ?
Some muffled, like the witches in Macbeth,

Brood o'er the magic circle, pale as death!
Others, the cauldron go about-about-

And ruin enters as the fates run out!

Bubble, Bubble,
Toil and trouble,
Paffions burn,

And bets are double I.

Double! double!

Toil and trouble,

Paffions burns,

And all is bubble!

But jefts apart, for fcandle forms thefe tales, Falfhood, be mute-let justice hold her scales : Britons were ne'er enflav'd by evil pow'rs;

To peace, and wedded love, they give their midnight

hours;

From flumbers pure no rattling Dice can wake 'em!
Who make the laws were never known to break'em.
'Tis falfe, ye fair whatever fpleen may say,
That you down folly's tide are born away;
You never wish at deep distress to fneer;
For eyes, tho' bright, are brighter thro' a tear,
Should it e'er be this nation's wretched fate
To laugh at all that's good, and wife, and great;
Arm'd at all points, let genius take the field,
And on the ftage afflicted virtue shield,

K. 3

Drive

Drive from the land each bafe, unworthy paffion,
Till virtue triumph in defpite of fashion.

OO long has farce, neglecting nature's laws, Debas'd the ftage, and wrong'd the comic caufe; To raife a laugh has been her fole pretence, Though dearly purchas'd at the price of fenfe; This child of folly gain'd increase with time; Fit for the place fucceeded Pantomime; Reviv'd her honours, join'd her motley band, And fong and low conceit o'er-ran the land.

More gen'rous views inform our author's breast;
From real life his characters are dreft;

He fecks to trace the paffions of mankind,
And, while he fpares the perfon, paints the mind.
In pleafing contraft he attempts to how
The vap'ring bully, and the fribbling beau,
Cowards alike; that full of martial airs,
And this as tender as the filk he wears.
Proud to divert, not anxious for renown,
Oft has the bard effay'd to p'eafe the town;
Your full applaufe out-paid his little art,
He boafts no merit, but a grateful heart;
Pronounce your doom, he'll patiently fabmit,
Ye fov'reign judges of all works of wit!
To you the ore is brought, a lifeless mafs!
You give the Stamp, and then the coin may pass.
Now whether judgment prompt you to forgive,
Whether you bid this trifling offspring live,
Or with a frown fhould fend the fickly thing
To fleep whole ages under dulnefs' wing;
To your known candour we will always truft;
You never were, nor can you be unjust.

Mr. WOODWARD's

PROLOGU

TO

E

EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR, (Perform'd March 15, 1763, for his Benefit at COVENT-GARDEN,

IS ftrange (excufe my gravity) 'tis paffing ftrange,
How much this idle world is given to change!
The days, the feafons change, and men and women,
All change their minds-and all that can their liuen.
Let the grave moralift, with curious eye

Obferve the bufy throng that vend and buy.
Change, Sir, I must have change-is all the cry.
The world a meer Change alley we may call,
Stars, flocks, and tides, and actors, rife and fall—
Thus I, who late with worse than tragic face,
With fhrug repentant, and with fad grimace,
Moft humbly fued you'd take the wand'rer in,
Am tempted now to more than comic grin;
Am forc'd to give thefe deep reflections birth,
And fhew my wifdom to difguife my mirth.
Truth is, the ftrange delight your miles impart,
Has often rais'd too high my conscious heart;
Infpir'd my airs, and fometimes-fpoil'd my part.
Hence has a Giant-Bard-you all know who,
In lines moft fage, and, as tis faid, most true,
Remark'd on WOODWARD's tricks, his ftarts and whims,
His twifted features, and his tortur'd limbs,
His wink impertinent, his faucy stare,
His grin ridiculous, his carelefs air.
His more than Ideot-vacancy of face,
His monkey arts, and mountebank grimace,
That furrow'd cheeks with untaught laughter fill,
And make fad critics fimile against their will.
Alas, poor wisdom! doom'd to vile disgrace,
While antic laughter fits upon her face!
With grins detefted, and ufurping mirth,
That make her hate herself, and curfe her birth-
I'm forry-but these pangs fhe must endure,
Unless you force me to apply the cure ;.

If you indeed fhould threat to lay the switch on,
I ftraight fhall own myfelf a grave Phyfician;
To cure all lamentable mirth profefs,

All griefs phantaftical, and droll diftrefs.-
This when we need-to-night I cannot fear
Th' extorted fimper, or the ready fneer,
When all around fuch partial fmiles I fee,
And each kind afpect feems to beam on me-
Oh! fhould your favour haply be misplac'd,
Let it, like my imputed errors laft;
And inclination kindly take for taste:
So fhall I ftill indulge a grateful heart,
And feel uncheck'd the pleafure you impart.
Yet under Bobadil's grave mafque to-night
I'll hide the antic bauble from your fight,
In calm compofure fmoke my Trinidado,
And take, for all my faults, the baftinado.

PROLOGUE

TO

STA N,

A THE L ST
Spoken by MR. HOLLAND,

THE

T

IN THE CHARACTER OF

GENIUS OF BRITAIN.

O warn the fons of freedom to be wife,

Lo, Britain's guardian genius quits the skies,
With pity heav'n hath feen, thro' many an age,
The bold invader lur'd by faction's rage;
Seen the dark workings of rebellion's train,
While patriots plan'd, and heroes bled in vain.
Behold your country's faithless foe, once more
With threat'ning fquadrons crowd yon hoftile fhore.
Behold oppreffion's bloody flag unfurl'd;
See bolts prepar'd, to chain the western world.
Rife, Britons, rife! to heav'n and virtue true :
Expiring liberty looks up to you!

Pour on the common foe your rage combin'd,
And be the friends of freedom and mankind!

No