No more let difcord Briton's peace destroy; Nor fpurn thofe bleflings reafon bids enjoy : Oh, weigh thofe bleffings in her equal fcale ! 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 envy! happy Briton's pride For which your gen'rous fathers toil'd and dy'd! Let union lift the fword, direct the blow, And hurl a nation's vengeance on it's foe! As your bold cliffs, when tides and tempefts roar, Fling back the mad'ning billows from the shore Qne head, one heart, one Arm, one people, rise ?. Nor fall, divided valour's facrifice!

But if, by hope of proud invafion led,, Unaw'd rebellion lift her gory

head ;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,.

T

PR O LO G U E

Z

ΤΟ

I N N G 1 S..

Spoken by Mr. HOLLAND.

OO much the Greek and Roman chiefs engage. The mufes care,they languish on our ftage; The modern bard ftruck with the vaft applaufe. Of ancient mafters, like the painter draws From models only;-can fuch copies charm The heart, or like the glow of nature warm? To fill the scene, to-night our author brings Originals at leaft, warriors and kings

K5

Hercess

Heroes,, who like their gems, unpolish'd fhine,
The mighty fathers of the Tartar line;
Greater than tho'e, whom Claffic pages boaft,
If thofe are greateft, who have conquer'd moft.
Such is the fubje&t-fuch the Poet's theme,
If a rough foldier may affume that name;
Who does not offer you from fancy ftore,
Manners and men,- On India's burning fhore,
In warlike toils, he pafs'd his youthful years,
And met the tartar, in the ftrife of spears;
But tho' he liv'd amidst the cannons roar,
Thunder like yours he never fac'd before ;
Liften indulgent to his artlefs frain,
Nor let a Soldier, quarter ask in vain.

Spoken by ANY BODY.

THE World's a St ge (great Shakespeare says)
Whercon are acted many Plays,

By many Actors, many ways.

Some play the Rogue, and fome the Whore,
Some play the Wealthy, fome the Poor;
Some play the Spendthrift, fome the Mifer,
Some play the Fool, and fome the Wife, Sir;
But of all Actors.now in fashion,

On this fmall Stage, the English Nation,
That ftands unrival'd in his art,
And tops, like Garrick, ev'ry part:
Who, Proteus-like, can fhift about,
Turn whom he pleafes 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 kill he plays,
Whether as Tutor firft he ftand,
Or court a P** sword in hand,

Or at the Council-board advise,
To blefs the Nation,-the Excise,

Or greater ftill, though fome may blame,
On Peace, on Peace, he builds his fame.
In Art he's ready and difcerning,
Still to encourage Men of Learning;
Mallett and Home confefs his skill,
Or the great, candid Doctor Hill.
But vain is praise, fay all I can,
No words can e'er defcribe the man,
His fubtle arts, his dirty tricks,
His beggar's pride and politics;
Whate'er with truth the Mufe can bring,
His boafted favour with the King,
Will ftill fall fhort of his deferts,
The e Scenes alone difplay his parts..
Then thus the Author bade me say,
Will you perufe this Farce-or Play,
With due attention you regard,
Conviction will be your reward;
And if you think that, in his art,
He beft performs a Makwell's part,
In time you'll fee the mask pull'd off, .
And Sarney ftand the public fcof.
Thus much the Prologue has to fay,
Now enter, Sawney, and begin the Play.

EPIL

A

O G UE

THAT I'm a lying rogue, you all agree:

And yet look round the world, and you will fee
And many more, my betters, lye as fait as me.
Against this vice we all are ever railing,
And yet, fo tempting is it, 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 ftill.

K 6

Με

My lies were harmlefs, told to fhew my parts;
And not like thofe, when tongues belge their hearts,
In all profeffions you will find this flaw;

And in the gravest too, in phyfic and in law.
The gouty ferjeant cries, with formal pause,

"Your plea is good, my friend, don't ftarve the caufe."
But when my lord decrees for t'other fide,
Your cofts of fuit convince you- that be ly'd.

A doctor comes with formal wig and face,

Firft feels your pulfe, then thinks, and knows your cafe.
"Your fever's flight, not dang'rous, I affure you;
"Keep warm, and repetatur hauftus, Sir, will cure you."
Around the bed, next day his friends are crying:
The patient dies, the doctor's paid for lying.
The Poet, willing to fecure the pit,

Gives out, his play has humour, taste, and wit:
The caufe comes on, and, while the judges try,
Each groan and catcall gives the bard the lye.
Now let us afk, pray, what the ladies do:
They too will fib a little entre nous..

"Lord!" fays the prude (her face behind her fan)
"How can our fex have any joy in man?

"As for my part, the beft could ne'er deceive me,
And were the race extinct, 'twould never grieve me
"Their fight is odious, but their touch-O gad!
The thought of that's enough to drive one mad.":
Thus rails at man the fqueamish lady dainty,
Yet weds, at fifty-five, a rake of twenty.
In fhort, a beau's intrigues, a lover's fighs,.
The courtier's promife, the rich widow's cries,
And patriot's zeal, are seldom more than yes.
Sometimes you'll fee a man belye his nation,
Nor to his country fhew the least relation.
For inftance now

A cleanly Dutchman, or a Frenchman grave,
A fober German, or a Spaniard brave,
An Englifhman, a coward, or a flave.
Mine, though a fibbing, was an honest art :
I ferv'd my mafter, play'd a faithful part:
Rank me not therefore 'mongst the lying crew,
For, though my tongue was falfe, my heart was true. -

}

PRO

PROLO

GU UE

TO

WRONG.

ALL IN THE

Written and Spoken by Mr. FOOTE.

TO night be it known to box, gall'ries, and pit,
Will be open'd th' original warehouse for wit;
The new manufacture, Foote and Co. undertakers,
Play, opera, pantomime, farce,-by the makers..
We fcorn, like our brethren, our fortunes to owe
To Shakespeare and Southern, to Otway and Rowe:
Though our judgment may err; yet our juftice is shown,
For we promife to mangle no works but our own;
And moreover, on this you may firmly rely,

If we can't make you laugh, we won't make you cry :
For our monarch, who knew we were mirth-loving fouls,
Has lock'd up his light'ning, his daggers and bowls ;.
Refolv'd that in bufkins no hero fhould ftalk,
He has shut us quite out of the tragedy walk;
No blood, no blank verfe; in fhort we're undone,
Unless you're contented with frolic and fun ;,
If tir'd of her round in the Ranelaugh mill,
There should be one female inclin'd to fit ftill;;
If blind to the beauties, or fick of the fquall,
A party fhouldn't chufe to catch cold at Vauxhall ;;
If at Sadler's fweet Wells the wine fhould be thick ;.
The cheesecakes be four, or Miss Wilkinson fick ;
If the fume of the pipes fhould prove pow'rful in June,
Or the tumblers be lame, or the bells out of tune;
We hope you will call at our warehouse in Drury,
We've a curious affortment of goods, I affure ye,
Domestic and foreign, indeed all kinds of wares,
English cloths, Irish linens, and French petenlairs ::
If for want of good cuftom, or loffes in trade,
The practical part'ners fhould bankrupts be made,
If from dealings too large, we plunge deeply in debt,
And a whereas comes out in the mufes' gazette;.
We'll on you our affigns for certificates call,
Tho' inolvents we're honeft, and give up our all..

PROLOGUE