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Muft then be only wed to cloyfter'd houses:

Stop, there we're fobb'd of twenty thousand fpoufes :
And, faith, no bad ones, as I'm told; then judge ye,
Is't fit we lose our-benefit of clergy.

In freedom's caufe, ye patriot-fair, arife,
Exert the facred influence of your eyes;
On valiant merit deign alone to fiile,
And vindicate the glory of our ifle;
To no base coward proftitute your charms,
Difband the lover who deferts his arms;
So fhall you fire each hero to his duty,
And British rights be fav'd by British beauty.

EPILOGUE

то

THE

MAID OF BATH.

C

WRITTEN BY MR. CUMBERLAND.

Spoken by MRS. JEWELL.

ONFIDING in the juftice of the place,
To you the Maid of Bath feb.nits her cate a
Wrong'd and defeated of three feveral spouses,
She lays her damages for nine full houses.
Well, firs, you've heard the parties pro and con.
Do the pro's carry it? Shall the fuit go on?
Speak hearts for us, to them we make appeal;
Tell us not what you think, but what you feel:
Afk us, why bring a private caufe to view ?
We answer, with a figh-becaufe 'tis true:
For tho' invention is our poet's trade,
Here he but copies parts, which others play'd...
For on a ramble late, one ftarry night,
With Afmodeo, his familiar fprite,
High on the wings, by his conductor's fide,
This guilty fcene the indignant Bard defcry'd:
Soaring in air, his ready pen he drew,
And dafh'd the glowing fatire as he flew :
For in these rank luxuriant times there needs
Some strong bold hand to pluck the noxious weeds.

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The

The rake of fixty, crippl'd hand and knee,
Who fins on claret, and repenis on tea:
The witless Macaroni, who purioias

A few cant words, which fome pert gambler coins:
The undomeftic Amazonian dame,

Staunch to her Coterie, in defpite of fame:
These are the victims of our poet's plan,
But most, that monfter an unfeeling man.
When fuch a foe provokes him to the fight,
Tho' maim'd, out fallies the puissant knight:
Like Withrington, maintains the glorious trife,
And only yields his laurel with his life.

PROLOGUE

TO

THE

CAPUCHI

C

WRITTEN BY GEORGE COLMAN, ESQ.
Spoken by MR. FOOTE.

ARITICS, whene'er I write, in every fcene
Difcover meanings that I never mean;

Whatever character I bring to view,

I am the father of the child 'tis true,

But every babe his christening owes to you.
"The comic poet's eye, with humorous air,
Glancing from Watling ftreet to Grofvenor-fquare,
He bodies forth a light ideal train,

And turns to fhape the phantoms of his brain:
Meanwhile your fancy takes more partial ainr,
And gives to airy nothing, place and name."
A limner once, in want of work, went down
To try his fortune in a country town;
The waggon, loaded with his goods, convey'd
To the fame fpot his whole dead flock in trade,
Originals and copies-ready made.

To the new painter all the country came,

Lord, Lady, Doctor, Lawyer, 'Squire, and Dame,
The humble Curate, and the Curate's wife,
All ask a likeness-taken from the life.

N.

}

}

Behold

Behold the canvas on the eafel ftand!

A pallet grac'd his thumb, and brushes fill'd his hand :
But, ah! the painter's fkill they little knew,
Nor by what curious rules of art he drew.
The waggon-load unpack'd, his antient flore,
Furnish'd for each a face drawn long before,
God, Dame, or Hero of the days of yore.
The Cæfars, with a little alteration,

Were turn'd into the Mayor and Corporation :
To reprefent the Rector, and the Dean,
He added wigs and bands to Prince Eugene :
The Ladies, blooming all, deriv'd their faces
From Charles the Second's beauties, and the Graces.
Thus done, and circled in a splendid frame,
His works adorn'd each room, and fpread his fame.
The countrymen of tafte, admire and ftare,
"My Lady's leer! Sir John's majestic air!
Mifs Dimple's languish too!-extremely like!
And in the ftile and manner of Vandyke!
Oh! this new limner's pictures always ftrike!
Old, young, fat, lean, dark, fair; or big, or little;
The very man or woman to a tittle!"

Foote and this limner in fome points agree,
And thus, good Sirs, you often deal by me.
When, by the royal licence and protection,
I fhew my small academy's collection,
- The Connoiffeur takes out his glafs, to pry
Into each picture with a curious eye;
Turns topsy-turvy my whole composition,
And makes mere portraits all my exhibition.
But ftill the copy's fo exact, you say;
Alas, the fame thing happens every day!
How many a modifh well-drefs'd Fop you meet,
Exactly fuits his fhape-in Monmouth street;
In Yorkshire warehouses, and Cranborn-alley,
'Tis wonderful how shoes and feet will tally!
As honeft Crifpin underftands his trade,
On the true human fcale his lafts are made,
The measure of each fex and age to hit,
And every fhoe, as if bespoke, will fit.
My warehoufe thus for nature's walks fupplies
Shoes for all ranks, and lafts of every fize.

}

Sit

Sit fill, and try them, Sirs! I long to pleafe ye!
How well they fit! I hope you find them easy:
If the fhoe pinches, fwear you cannot bear it,
But if well made with you health to wear it.

EPILOGUE

то

SCHOOL

FOR

WIVES.

Spoken by Mrs. ABINGTON.

AN it be thought, ye wives! this fcribbling fool,
Will draw you here, by calling you to School?

CA

Does not he know, poor foul! to be directed,

Is what you hate, and more to be corrected!
Long have thefe walls to public fame been known,
An antient College to inftruct the town!

We've Schools for Rakes, for Fathers, Lovers, Wives, -
For naughty girls and boys, to mend their lives:
Where fome to yawn, fome round about to look,
Some to be feen, few come to mind their book:
Some with high wit and humour hither run,
To fweat the matters-and they call it fun.
Some modifh fparks, true ftoicks, and high bred,
Come, but ne'er know what's done, or fung, or faid
Should the whole herd of critics round them roar,
And with one voice cry out, encore ! encore !
Or louder yet, off, off; no more! no more!
Should Pit, Box, Gall'ry, with convulfione shake,
Still are they half afleep, nor t'other half awake:
O, Ladies fair! are thefe fit men to wed?
Such hufbands, half, had better be quite dead.
But, to return-vain men, throughout the nation,
Boat, they alone, have College education:
Are not we qualify'd to teach degrees?

We've caps and gowns, nay bands too, if you pleafe,
Cornelly's, and Almack's, our Univerfiies!
Young female ftudents rife, if girls of parts,
From under graduates,-miftrees of arts!
The bafhful fpipliers, turn important spouses.
Strive to be mafters, and the beads of houfes!

}

Will any of you here, bleft with a wife,
Difpute the fact, you dare not for your life.
Pray tell me truly, critics, and be free,
Do you this night, prefer the Wife to me?
Shall Mrs. Belville give the Play a name?
What are her merits? a cold, fmiling dame,
While I, a falamander, liv'd in flame!
Prefs'd by three lovers!-'twas indeed provoking!
Ladies, upon my word, it was no joking.
Can you from mortal woman more require,
Than fave her fingers, and yet play with fire?
The risks I run, the partial Bard upbraids;
Wives won't be taught,-be it the School for Maids.

PROLOGUE

}

WEST

то

THE

INDIAN.

Spoken by Mr. REDDISH.

RITICS, hark forward! noble game and new,
A fine Weft Indian ftarted full in view:

CR

Hot as the foil, the clime, which gave him birth,
You'll run him on a burning fcent to earth;
Yet don't devour him in his hiding place,
Bag him, he'll ferve you for another chace;
For fure that country has no feeble claim,

Which fwells our commerce, and fupports your fame.
And in this humble sketch, we hope you'll find,

Some emanations of a noble mind;

Some little touches, which, tho' void of art,
May find perhaps their way into the heart.
Another hero your excufe implores,

Sent by your fifter kingdom to your fhores;
Doom'd by Religion's too fevere command,
To fight for bread against his native land:
A brave, unthinking, animated rogue,
With here and there a touch upon the brogue:
Laugh, but defpife him not, for on his lip
His errors lie; his heart can never trip.

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