PROLOGUE

то

A PEEP BEHIND THE CURTAIN

B

Spoken by Mr. KING.

OLD is the man, and compos mentis, fcarce-
Who, in these nicer times, dares write a Farce ;

A vulgar, long-forgotten tafte renew;

All now are Comedies, five acts or two.
Authors have ever in a canting train

Begg'd mercy for the bantling of their brain :
That you, kind nurfe, wou'd fondle't on your lap,
And rear it with applaufe, that beft of pap-
Thus Babes have in their cradles 'scap'd a blow,
Though lame and rickety from top to the:

Our Bard with Prologue-outworks has not fenc'd him,
For all that I fhall fay will make against him.
Imprimis, this his piece-a Farce we call it--
Ergo, 'tis low-and ten to one you maul it!
Wou'd you, becaufe 'tis low, no quarter give?
Black-guards, as well as Gentlemen, fhou'd live.
'Tis downright English too-Nothing from France,
Except fome Beafts, which treat you with a dance.
With a Burletta too we fhall present you

And not Italian-that will difcontent you.
Nay, what is worfe-you'll fee it, and must know it-
I Thomas King, of King-freet, am the Poet.
The murder's out, the murderer detected,
May in one night be try'd, condemn'd, diffected.
"Tis faid, for Scandal's tongue will never cease,
That mischief's meant against our little Piece:
Let me look round, I'll tell you how the cafe is
There's not one frown a fingle brow disgraces; ·
I never faw a fweeter fet of faces!

Suppole Old Nick, before you righteous folk;
Produce a Farce, brim-full of mirth and joke;
Though he, at other times, wou'd fire your blood,
You'd clap his Piece, and fwear, 'twas dev'lish good!
Malice propenfe! 'tis falfe-it cannot be
Light is my heart, from apprehenfions free

If you wou'd fave Old Nick, you'll never damn poor me.

C 4

PRO.

And Spoken by him in the Character of an AUCTIONEER.

B

EFORE this Court I PETER PUFF appear,
A Briten born, and bred an Au&ioneer;
Who for myself, and eke a hundred others,
My ufeful, honeft, learned bawling brothers,
With much humility and fear implore ye,
To lay our prefent, defp'rate cafe before ye.
'Tis faid, this night a certain Wag intends
To laugh at us, our calling, and our friends ::
If Lords and Ladies, and fuch dainty folks,
Are cur'd of Auction-hunting by his jokes;
Should this odd doctrine fpread throughout the land,.
Before you buy, be sure to understand,

Oh! think on us what various ills will flow,
When great ONES only purchase-what they know.
Why laugh at TASTE! It is a harmless fashion,
And quite fubdues each detrimental paffion;
The fair Ones hearts will ne'er incline to man,
While thus they rage for- China and Japan.
The Virtuofo too, and Connoiffeur,

Are ever decent, delicate, and pure;

The smallest hair their loofer thoughts might hold,
Juft warm when fingle, and when married cold:
Their blood at fight of beauty gently flows,
Their Venus must be old, and want a nofe !
No am'rous paffion with deep knowledge thrives;
'Tis the complaint indeed of all our wives!
'Tis faid viri to fuch a heighth is grown,
All artists are encourag'd--but our own.
Be not deceiv'd, I here declare on oath,
I never yet fold goods of foreign growth:
Ne'er fent commiffions out to Greece or Rome;
My best antiquities are made at home.
I've Romans, Greeks, Italians near at hand,
True Britons all-and living in the Strand.

I ne'er

I ne'er for trinkets rack my pericranium,
They furnish out my room Herculaneum.»
But huh

Should it be known that English are employ'd,
Our manufacture is at once destroy'd;

No matter what our countrymen deserve,
They'll thrive as antients, but as moderns ftarve-
If we fhould fall-to you it will be owing;
Farewel to arts-they're going, going, going;.
The fatal hammer's in your hand, oh Town!
Then fet Us up-and knock the POET down.

B

OLD was the man, and fenc'd in every part,
With oak and ten-fold brafs about the heart,

To build a play who tortur'd firft his brain,
And then dare launch it on this ftormy main
What though at first he fpreads his little fails
To heav'n's indulgent and propitious gales,
As the land gradual leffens to his eye,
He finds a troubled fea and low'ring sky;
Envy, detraction, calumny, and fpite
Raife a worse ftorm than when the feas unite.
Around his bark in many a dang'rous fhoal,
Thofe monfters of the deep, the critics, prowl.
"She's a weak veffel, for thofe feas unfit,
"And has on board her not one fpice of wit:
"She's French built too, of foreign make, they cry,
"Like geefe ftill cackling that the Gauls are nigh:
If thrown on rocks like the hoarfe dashing wave;
Th' unhappy crew no hand is ftretch'd to fave;
But round the wreck, like Mars with furious joy.
The witlings croud,to murder and deftroy.
Thefe are known dangers; and 'tis full as certain,
'The Bard meets other ills behind the curtain,
Little you think, ere yet you fix his fate,
What previous mifchiefs there in ambush wait;
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What

What plagues arife from all the mimic throng,
"My part's too fhort;-and, fir, my part's too long!
"This calls for incident; that repartee;,
"Down the back flairs pen an escape for me.
"Give me a ladder, Mr. Bayes, of rope;
"I love to wear the breeches and elope.
"Something for me the groundling ears to fplit,.
"Write a dark closet, or a fainting fit,
"Fix Woodward in fome whimfical difgrace:.
"Or be facetious with old Shuter's face."

This is our way; and yet our bard to-night
Removes each obitacle, and brings to light
Some scenes we hope he brings to nature true,
Some gleams of humour, and a moral too;
But no Arange mon!lers offers to your view;
No forms grotefque and wild, are here at ftrife:
He boafts an etching from the real life;
Exerts his efforts, in a polifh'd age,

To drive the Smithfield mufes from the stage:
By eafy dialogue would win your praife,
And on fair decency graft all his bays.

PROLOGUE

L I L

B

то

LI PUT..

BY MR. GARRICK.

Spoken by Mr. WOODWARD.

EHOLD a Conjurer-that's fomething new,
For as times go--my brethren are but few.
I'm come with magic ring, and taper wand,
To waft you far from this your native land.
Ladies, don't fear- my coach is large and eafy,
I know your humours, and will drive to please ye;
Gently you'll ride, as in a fairy dream,

Your hoops unfqueez'd, and not a beau fhall fcream.
You shall be back in time for cards to-night;

}

What ftill difordered! well,- -I know your fright-
Swift as queen Mab within her hazle nut,
1 fet you fafely down at Lilliput.

Away

Away we go-ge'up-Ladies keep your places,
And Gentlemen-for shame-don't fcrew your faces.
Softly my imps and fiends-you critics there
Pray you fit ftill-or I can never fteer,
My dev'ls, are not the dev'ls you need to fear.
Hold faft, my friends above-for faith we spin it;
My ufual rate's a thousand miles a minute.

A Statesman, now, could tell how high we foar-
Statesmen have been thefe airy jaunts before.

}

I fee the land-the folks what limbs! what features!
There's Lords and Ladies too-the pretty creatures!
Now to your fight these puppets I'll produce,
Which may, if rightly heeded, turn to use;
Puppets not made of wood, and play'd with wires,
But flesh and blood, and full of frange defires.
So ftrange-you'll fcarce believe me fhould I tell-
For giant vices may in pigmies dwell.
Beware you lay not to the Conjurer's charge,
That thefe in miniature, are you in large:
To you thefe little folks have no relation,
As diff'rent in their manners, as their nation,
To fhew your pranks requires no conjuration.
Open your eyes and ears your mouths be fhut,
England is vanish'd-(waves his wand)-Enter Lilliput.
(Strikes the curtain, and finks.)

PROLOGUE

ΤΟ

AN HOUR BEFORE MARRIAGE.

Spoken by Mr. WOODWARD in the Character of HARLEQUIN.

WRITTEN BY MR. COLMAN.

EHOLD, ye Critics of this claffic age,
The only relic of the antient Stage!

In Greece no player try'd the arduous task,
Of acting love, grief, rage,-without a mafk;
On vizors fram'd of canvas, brafs, and wood,
Humours and paffions ready-painted stood;
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-Actors,