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Mr. WOOD WAR D's
PR 0 L 0

OG U E

T

'T

EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR, (Perform’d Marcb 15, 1763, for his Benefit at

Covent-GARDEN,
IS frange (excuse my gravity) 'tis palling stranze,

How much this idle world is given to change !
The days, the seasons change, and men and women,
All change their minds—and all that can their liuen.
Let the grave moralist, with curious eye
Observe the busy 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, rise and fall-
Thus I, who late with worse than tragic face,
With shrug repentant, and with sad grimace,
Moit humbly sued you'd take the wand'rer in,
Am tempted now to more than comic grin ;
Am forc'd to give these deep reflections birth,
And few my wisdom to disguise my mirth.--
Truth is, the strange delight your ímiles impart,
Has often rais'd too high my conscious heart;
Inspir'd my airs, and sometimos-poil'd my part.
Hence has a Giant-Bard-you all know who,
In lines most sage, and, as tis said, most true,
Remark'd on WOODWARD's tricks, bis starts and whiins,
His twisted features, and his tortur'd limbs,
His wink impertinent, his faucy ftare,
His grin ridiculous, his careless air.
His more than Ideot-vacancy of face,
His monkey arts, and mountebank grimace,
That furrow'd cheeks with untaught laughter fill,
And make sad critics (mile again it their will.
Alas, poor wisdom ! doom'd to vile disgrace,
While antic laughter fits upon her face !
With grins detelted, and ulurping mirth,
That make her hate herself, and curse her birth
· I'm sorry—but these pangs The mult endurs,
Unless you force me to apply the cure ;.

IF

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you indeed should threat to lay the switch on,
I straight hall own myself a grave Phyfician;
To cure all lamentable mirth profess,
All griefs phantastical, and droll distress.

This when we need-to-night I cannot fear
Th'extorted simper, or the ready sneer,
When all around such partial fmiles I see,
And each kind aspect seems to beam on me
On! should your favour haply be misplac'd,
Let it, like my imputed errors last ;
And inclination kindly take for taste:
So fhall I fill indulge a grateful heart,
And feel uncheck'd the pleafure you impart.

Yet under Bobadil's grave marque tonight
l'll hide the antic bauble from your light,
In calm compofore smoke my Trinidado,
And take, for all my faults, the baftinado.

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PROLOGUE

TO А т H E L STAN,

Spoken by MR. HOLLAND,

IN THE CHARACTER OF THE GENIUS OF BRIT A IN.

"O warn the fons of freedom to be wise,

Lo, Britain's guardian genias quits the skics,
With picy heav'n hath feen, thro' many an age,
The bold invader lur'd by fa&tion'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 squadrons crowd yon holile shore.
Behold oppreffion's bloody Hag unfurl'd;
See bolis prepar'd, to chain the wetern world.
Rise, Britons, rise! to heav'n and virtue true :
xpiring liberty looks up to you !
our on the common foe your rage combin'd,
And be the friends of freedom and mankind !

No

No more let discord Briton's peace destroy ;.
Nor fpurn those blessings reason bids enjoy :
Oh, weigh those blessings in her equal scale !
Say, when did justice wear a whiter veil?
When did religion gentler looks disclose,
To bless her friends, and pity ev'n her foes ?
A richer harvest when did commerce reap?
When rode your fleets more dreadful o'er the deep ?
Or when more bright (hear, Envy! hear, and own!)
Did truth, did honour beam from Britain's throne ?

Seize then the happiness deny'd your foes,
Nor blindly fcorn the gifts which heav'n bestows ;
Gifts, the world's envyl happy Briton's pride
For which your gen'rous fathers toild and dy'd!.
Let union lift the sword, direct the blow,
And hurl a nation's vengeance on it's foe!
As your bold cliffs, when tides and tempefta roar,
Fling back the mad'ning billows from the shore;
Qne head, one heart, one Arm, one people, rise ?.
Nor fall, divided valour's sacrifice !-

But if, by hope of proud invasion led,
Unaw'd rebellion lift her gory
Treason, attend !here view the rebel's fate,
Nor hope thy arm can shake a free-born state ; ;
See blood and horror end what guilt began, ,
And tremble at thy woes in Athelftan,

head ;

P R 0 L L 0 GUE

To
ZI N G I' S.

Spoken by Mr. HOLLAND. TO 100 much the Greek and Roman chiefs, engage

The muses care,--they languish on oor stage ; ,
The modern bard struck with the vast applause.
Of ancient masters, like the painter draws
From models only ;--can such copies charm
The heart, or like the glow.of nature warm?

To fill the scene, to night our author brings
Originals at least, Warriors and kings-
e

KS

Heroes

Heroes, who like their gems, unpolith'd shine,
'The mighty fathers of the Tartar line ;
Greater than thole, whom Classic pages boast,
If those are greatest, who have conquer'd' moft.

Such is the subject —such the Poet's theme,
If a rough soldier may assume that name;
Who does not offer you from fancy store,
Manners and men,- On India's burning lhore,
In warlike toils, he pafs'd his youthful years,
And met the tartar, in the strife of spears ;
But tho' le liv'd amidit the cannons roar,
Thunder like yours he never fac'd before i
Liften indulgent to his artless ftrain,
Nor let a Soldier, quarter aik in vain.

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The World's a St ge (great Shakespeare says)

Whereon are acted many Plays,
Py many Adors, many ways.
Some play the Rogue, and some the Whore,
Some play the Wealthy, some the Poor ;
Some play the Spendthrift, some the Miser,
Some play the Fool, and some the Wife, Sir;
But of all Actors. now in fashion,
On this small Stage, the English Nation,
That ftands unrival'd in his art,
And tops, like Garrick, ev'ry part :
Who, Proteus-like, can hift about,
Turn whom he pleases in or out;
Whole pow’rs no man alive can tell ;
Is the fam'd Northern Machiavel.
Throughout this work he will amaze,
Throughout with all his skill he plays,
Whether as Tutor first he stand,
Or court a P**sword in hand,

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Or at the Council-board advise,
To bless the Nation, the Excise,
Or greater still, though fome may blame,
On Peace, on Peace, he builds his faine.
In Art he's ready and discerning,
Still to encourage Men of Learning;
Millerı and Home confess his skill,
Or the great, candid Doctor Hill.
But vain is praise, say all I can,
No words can e'er describe the man,

His subtle arts, his dirty tricks, · His beggar's pride and politics ;

Whate'er with truth the Muse can bring,
His boasted favour with the King,
Will still fall short of his deserts,
The e Scenes alone display his parts.

Then thus the Author bade me fay,
Will you perule this, Farce-or Play,
With'due attention you regard,
Conviction will be your reward ;
And if you think that, in his art,
He best performs a Mas well's part,

In time you'll see the mask pulld off, , .: And Sawney stand the public scoti

Thus much the Prologue has to say, Now, enter, Sawney, and begin the Play.

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L YI N G V A L E T.

Spoken by Mr. -GARRIÇK.
THAT I'm a lying rogue, you all agree:

And yet look round the world, and you will see
And many more, my betters, lye as fast as me,
Againit this vice we all are ever railing,
And yet, so tempting is its. fo prevailing,
You'll find but few' without this useful failing..11
Lady or Abigail, my lord or Will,
The lye goes round, and the ball's never till,

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