PROLOGUE

то

INTRIGUING CHAMBER-MAID. Spoken by MRS. CLIVE.

S when fome ancient hofpitable feat,

Where Plenty oft has giv'n the jovial treat,

Where in full bowls each welcome Gueft has drown'd
All forrowing thought, while mirth and joy went round:
Is by fome wanton worthlefs Heir destroy'd,

It's once full rooms grown a deferted void;
With fighs each neighbour views the mournful place,
With fighs each recollects what once it was.

So does our wretched Theatre appear;
For mirth and joy once kept their revels here.
Here the Beau-monde in crouds repair'd each day,
And went well pleas'd and entertain'd away.
While Oldfield here hath charm'd the lift'ning Age,
And Wilks adorn'd, and Booth hath fill'd the Stage;
Soft Eunuchs warbled in success less ftrain,

And Tumblers fhew'd their little tricks in vain :
Thofe Boxes ftill the brighter circles were,
Triumphant Toafts receiv'd their homage there.
But now, alas! how alter'd is our cafe!

I view with tears this poor deferted place,
None to our Boxes now in pity ftray,

But Poets free o'ch' Houfe, and Beaux who never pay.
No longer now we fee our crouded door

Send the late Comer back again at four.

At feven now into our empty Pit

Drops from his counter fome old prudent Cit,
Contented with twelve-pennyworth of Wit.
-Our Author, of a gen'rous foul poffefs'd,
Hath kindly aim'd to fuccour the diftrefs'd;
To-night what he fhall offer in our caufe
Already hath been bleft with your applaufe.

B

Yet

Yet this his Muse maturer hath revis'd,

And added more to that which once fo much you priz'd.
We fue, not mean to make a partial Friend,
But without Prejudice at least attend.

If we are dull, e'en cenfure, but we truft,
Satire can ne'er displease you when 'tis just :
Nor can we fear a brave, a gen'rous Town
Will join to crush us when we're almost down.

PROLOGUE UPON PROLOGUES.

BY MR. GARRICK,

Spoken by MR. KING.

And,'egad, it will do for any other Play as well as this.

An old trite Proveth, fomu & your

-As is your cloth, fo cut your coat.➡

To fuit our Author, and his Farce,
Short let me be! for wit is fcarce.
Nor would I fhew it, had I any;
The reasons why are strong and many :
Should I have Wit, the Piece has none,
A flash in pan with empty gun,
The Piece is fure to be undone.
A tavern with a gaudy fign,
Whose bush is better than the wine,
May cheat you once-Will that device,
Neat as imported, cheat you twice?
"Tis wrong to raise your expectations:
Poets be dull in dedications!
Dulness in thefe to wit prefer-
But there indeed you seldom err.
In Prologues, Prefaces, be flat!
A filver button fpoils your hat.
A thread-bare coat might jokes efcape,
Did not the blockheads lace the cape.
A cafe in point to this before
Allow me, pray, to tell a story!
To turn the penny, once a Wit,
Upon a curious fancy hit;

ye,

BAYES,

}

Hang

Hung out a board, on which he boafted,
Dinner for three-pence, boil'd and roafted!
The hungry read, and in they trip
With eager eye, and fmacking lip:
"Here! bring this boil'd and roafted, pray
-Enter potatoes-dreft each way.

All star'd and rofe, the house forfook,
And damn'd the dinner-kick'd the cook.
My landlord found, poor Patrick Kelly,
There was no joking with the belly.

Thefe facts laid down, then thus I reafon,
Wit in a Prologue's out of feafon.
Yet ftill will you for jokes fit watching,
Like Cock-Lane folks for-Fanny's scratching.
And here my fimile's fo fit!

For Prologues are but ghofts of wit;
Which mean to fhew their art and skill,
And scratch you to their Author's will.
In short, for reasons great and small,
'Tis better to have none at all.
Prologues and Ghofts-a paltry trade!
So let 'em both at once be laid!

Say but the word-give your commands,
We'll tie our Prologue-monger's hands:

Confine thefe culprits! (holding up his hands) bind 'em tight
Nor girls can scratch, nor fools can write.

PROL

O G U E

то тНЕ

DESERT IS LAND.

WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK.

A

In the Character of a Drunken Poet.

LL, all fhall out-all that I know and feel

I will by heav'n-to higher pow'rs appeal!

Behold bard!-no author of to-night

No, no, they can't say that, with all their fpight: Ay, you may frown (looking behind the Scenes) I'm at you, great and small

Your poets, players, managers and all!

B 2

Thefe

These fools within here, fwear that I'm in liquer-
My paffion warms me-makes my utt'rance thickTY
I totter too-but that's the gout and pain,--
French wines, and living high, have been my bane.-
From all temptations now, I wifely fteer me;
Nor will I fuffer one fine woman near me.
And this I facrifice, to give you pleasure-

For you I've coin'd my brains,-and here's the treasure !
[Pulls out a manufcript.
A treasure this, of profit and delight!

And all thrown by for this damn'd ftuff to-night :-
This is a play would water ev'ry eye!—

If I but look upon't, it makes me cry:

This play would tears from blood-ftain'd foldiers draw,
And melt the bowels of hard-hearted law!

Would fore and aft the ftorm-proof failor rake!-
Keep turtle-eating aldermen awake!

Would the cold blood of ancient maidens thrill,
And make ev'n pretty younger tongues lie ftill.
This play not ev'n managers would refuse,-
Had heav'n but giv'n 'em any brains to chufe!-

[Puts up his manuscript. Your bard to-night, bred up in ancient fchool, Defigns and meafures all by critic rule; 'Mong friends-it goes no farther.-He's a fool. So very claffic, and fo very dull-

His defert island is his own dear skull:

No foul to make the play house ring, and rattle,
No trumpets, thunder, ranting, ftorms, or battle!
But all your fine poetic prittle prattle.
The plot is this.-A lady's caft away-
"Long before the beginning of the play;'
And they are taken by a fifherman,
The lady and the child-'tis Bays's plan-
So on he blunders.-He's an Irishman.-
"Tis all alike-his comic ftuff I mean-
I hate all humour-it gives me the spleen;

So damn 'em both, with all my heart, unfight, unfeen.
But fhould you ruin him, ftill I'm undone -
I've try'd all ways to bring my Phoenix on-

}

[Shewing his play again.

Flatter I can with any of their tribe-
Can cut and flash-indeed I cannot bribe;
What must I do then ?-beg you to subscribe.

Be

Be kind ye boxes, galleries, and pit-
'Tis but a crown a piece, for all this wit:
All flerling wit-to puff myfelf I hate-
You'll ne'er fupply your wants at such a rate!
'Tis worth your money, I would fcorn to wrong ye,-
You fmile confent-l'il fend my hat among ye.

[Going, he returns.

So much beyond all praise your bounties fwell! Not my own tongue, my gra-ti-tude can tell"A little flatt'ry fometimes does well."

[Staggers off.

PROLOGUE

то 1765

DAPHNE AND AMYNTOR

A

SKILFUL cook this ufeful art will boait,

To hath, and mince, as well as boil and roaft: Our cook, to-night, has, for your fare, made bold, To hafh a piece of ven'fon that was cold; With fresh ingredients feafons high the few, And hopes the guests will heartily fall too. Leaving the piece to answer for itself, We beg your favour for a little elf; * A young one, and a good one; yet no finner; And though a female, has no mischief in her; Though oft with fyren fong fhe charm'd your ears, She now has other hopes, and other fears: She hopes, not yet content with what is done, To find more ways into your hearts than one. A paffion long fhe hid, till out it broke,

And thus, with blushing diffidence, the fpoke: "What joys, what raptures, in my breaft would fpring "Had I but leave to act, as well as fing;

"Though young I am, and difficult the trade is, "In time, I'll do as much as other ladies."

Ye giant wits, who run a tilt at all,

Who fpare, nor fex, nor age, nor great, nor small,
Should you, fell critics! like the French wild beast!
With gluttony refin'd, on damfels feast,--

B 3

Spare