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“ Departed Genius left his orphan play
“ To your kind care what the dead wills, abey :
"O then respect the FATHER's fond bequeft,
• And make his widow smile, his spirit reft."

Ε Ρ Ι I, I 0 0 G U





And spoken by Miss YOUNG.
ROLOGUES and Epilogues-to speak the phrase

Which suits the warlike spirit of these days-
Are cannon charg'd, or Mould be charg’d, with wit,
Which, pointed well, each rising folly hit.-
By a late General who commanded here,
And fought our bloodless battles many a year!
'Mongst other favours were conferr'd on me,
He made me Captain of Artillery!
At various follies many guns I fir'd,
Hit 'em point-blank, and thought the foe retir'd;
But vainly thought-for, to iny great surprize,
They now are rank and file before my eyes !
Nay, to retreat may even me oblige ;-

The works of Folly stand the longest siege ! -
With what brisk firing, and what thunder-claps,
Did I attack those high-built castles-Caps !
But tow'ring still, chey fwell in lofty state,
Nor strike one ribband to capitulate ;-
Whilft beaux behind, thus peeping, and thus bent,
Are the besieg'd, behind the battlement:
But you are conquerors, Ladies-have no dread;
Henceforth in peace enjoy the cloud-cap'd head!
We scorn to ape the French, their tricks give o'er,
Nor at your rigging fire one cannon more!
And now ye Bucks, and Bucklings of the age,
Tho' Caps are clear, your Hats shall fell my rage ;
The High-cock'd, Half-cock'd, Quaker, and the Slouch,
Have at ye all! I'll hit


ye crouch,
We read in History-one William Tell,
An honeft Swiss, with arrows shot so well,



On his son's head he aim'd with so much care,
He'd hit an apple, and not touch one hair :
So I, with fuch like skill, but much less pain,
Will fitrike your Hats off, and not touch your brain':
To curse our head-dress! a’n't you pretty fellows!
Pray who can see thro' your broad-brim'd umbrellas ?
That pent-house worn by flim Sir Dainty Dandle,
Seems to extinguish a poor farthing candle-
We look his body thro'.-But what fair She
Thro' the broad cloud that's round his head can see?
Time was, when Briton's to the boxes came
Quite spruce, and chapeau bras address'd each dame.
Now in flapt hats and dirty boots they come,
Look knowing thus to every female dumb;
But roar out-Hey, Jack! so, Will! you there, Tom?
Both sides have errors that there's no concealing ;
We'd lower our heads, nad but men's hearts some feeling,
Vallance, my spark, play'd off his modish airs,
But Nature gave us wit to cope with theirs ;
Our sex have some faults won't bear defending,
And tho' near perfect, want a little mending;
Let Love step forth, and claim from both allegiance,
And bring back Caps and Hats to due obedience.





Spoken by Mr. FARREN.

Congenial subjects for the Tragic Muse!
The historian's page, the fertile epic fore,
Were known, and ransack'd centuries before:
Like luscious gardens, unenclos'd they lay,
To every saunt'ring Bard an easy prey.
They enter'd, and, as taste impellid, they fed :
On Homer fome, and some on Hollinghead.


From loftiest numbers, or from humbleft profe,
As each conspir'd, the artless structures rose. "
Thus one great labour of their work was o’er,
They found a fable, and they sought no more.
Careless were they of action, place, or time,
Whose only toil was dialogue and rhyme.
“ Rules which the rigid Stagyrite devis’d,
“ Our fathers knew not, or, if known, despis’d.”
Whilst, side by side, were miogled in the scene,
A laughing Ruftic, and a weeping Queen.
Space was obedient to the boundless piece,
That op'd in Mexico, and clos'd in Greece.
Then thick with plots the crowded tale was sown,
'Till the divided bosom felt for none;
“ They fear'd no censures of a frowning Pit,
“ That judg'd as loosely as the Authors writ."
But we, who posted in Time's tardy rear,
Before a learn a Tribunal now appear;
With anxious art a fable must delign,
Where probality and interest join ;
Where time, and place, and action, all agree
To violate no sacred unity.
And thus each candid Critic must confess
The labour greater, and indulgence less :
When such the talk, the wonder is to meet,
Not many pieces bad, but one complete.
Nor let presumptuous Poets fondly claim
From rules exemption, by great Shakespear's name;
Though comets move with wild eccentric force,
Yet humbler planets keep their stated course.
But now, a Bard, who touch'd your hearts before,
Again salutes you from a neighbouring shore,
Fir'd by the applause you gave his early lays,
He stands again a candidate for praise;
Nor from your former favour dares foresee
To worthless strains a partial destiny.
But if his virgin palm was fairly won,
And this next course with equal vigour's run,
Now join to bind his fresher laurels on.
He fears no jaundic'd rival's envious breath,
The hands which twin'd, will ftill preserve the wreath.








Spoken by Miss YOUNGE. Olalithe Gothic laws I ever heard,

This Lombard Law was sure the most absurd ; What! could the monsters mean to make us die, But for a little harmless gallantry? Where such a barbarous custom now in falhion, Good Lord! it would unpeople half the nation. Scaffolds on Scaffolds now the streets would fill, As lign-poits did, before the Paving-Bill. Were British law-makers such rigorous churls, They'd liardly leave a head to wear false curls. Besides, what champion now would rifque his life, To gain what moft men shudder at a wise. Instead of armed knights, at trumpet's summons, Commend me to our Proctors, and the Commons. There, though we lose our husbands and our fame, We get our portion, and a maiden name; And it her fortune, and her charms remain, Then Miss may wed--and be divorc'd again. Yet, though tħese frolicks have of late been common, Lay not the blame entirely on weak Woman. 'The careless mate his rival recommends, We find him ’midit his own obliging friends. Some (wain, who swears he lives but in our eyes, And plies us with such cunning flatteries, That fpoufe neglecting us, and lover wooing, One strives, and t'other leads us, to our ruin.. So, if weak ladies chance to go aftray, Their Lords, methinks, are more in fault than they:. The goal of marriage reach'd, the men lie down, Like weary racers when the prize is won ; Mere catching us alone, their care engages ; The acts they spread, but never mind the cages.


The married gamefter more delight can find
In “ Seven's the main," than all dear woman-kind.
Acteon wedded, to our voice prefers
The sweeter mufic. of his yelping curs ;
While the dull sot, who his six bottles boasts,
Thinks women good for nothing but for toasts.
Thus lighted for the glass, the hound, the die,
Our pride steps in, and to revenge we fly;
One obvious method only can preserve us,
Strive, by your own attentions, to deserve us,
And now, as formerly, be Ture you'll prove,
Contempt will meet contempt, as love meets love.



A needs there

a school, this modish art to teach you?

No need of lessons now-the knowing think-
We might as well be taught to eat and drink:
Caus'd by a dearth of scandal, should the vapours
Distress our fair-ones, let them read the papers ;
Their powerful mixtures such disorders hit,
Crave what they will, there's quantum fufficit.

“ Lord !" cries my Lady Wormwood, (who loves tattle, And puts much salt and pepper in her prattle) Just ris'n at noon, all night at cards, when threshing Strong tea and scandal-bless me, how refrething! “ Give me the papers, Lisp-how bold and free! Vips) “ Laft nighe Lord L. (lips) was caught with Lady D. « For aching heads, what charming sal volatile! (Japs) « If Mrs. B. will still continue flirting, * We hope she'll draw, or we'll undraw, the curtain.6s Fine, satire, pox! in public all abuse it; " But, by ourselves, (tips) our praise we can't refuse it. " Now, Lisp, read you there, at that dalh and star" “ Yes, Ma'am- A certain Lord had best beware, " Who lives not twenty miles from Grosvenor-square:

" For

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