Page images
PDF
EPUB

PROLO GÚ E

TO

SE MIRA M I S.

C

WRITTEN BY G. E. AYSCOUGH, ESQ.

Spoken by MR. REDDISH.

RITICS! I come your favour to implore
For one, who never quak'd fo much before!
He, for a while, has left the gay parade,
Has doff'd the gorget!-and the smart cockade!
Each inftrument of war has thrown afide,
To fret! and flrut it here-in tragic pride!
From foreign fhores are rich materials brought,
Which to your English mode our Bard has wrought.
Phabus forefend-left he new dangers run,
And rife, like Icarus, too near the fun;
On waxen pinions just about to fink,
On his own rashness then too late he'll think,
And drown in a black Sea ofcritic's ink!

Ye gentle, feeling, female hearts be kind!
A foldier fues!-his brows with laurels bind !
In this your empire, your protection yield!
At life's expence-he'll pay you in the field!
Nor fighting battles, nor beleging towns,
He dreads!and only trembles at your frowns!
But hold our Author bid me fay one word
To all his honour'd brothers of the fword!
He begs by them this night to be befriended;
And bids me promife, (this great bus'nefs ended)
He'll gladly re-affume the fab once more,
If they his priftine rank will then restore,
Nor deem him a deferter from the CORPS.

}

[blocks in formation]

PROLOGUE

TO THE

DUELLI S T.

D

WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR.

Spoken by Mr. SMITH.

EAF to the bar, the pulpit, and the throne.
And aw'd, if aw'd, by ridicule alone,

The daring Duellift, in captious pride,

Hath long his friend, his king, his God defied.
Thrice happy we, if laughter from the stage
Should cure this frantic folly in the age:
Happy the father, fifter, mother, wife,
Who prize a fon's, a brother's, husband's life,
Should we dethrone the tyrant, whofe caprice
So oft endangers and deftroys their peace;
Whofe fell defpotic fway doth ev'n enflave
The great, the good, the generous, and the brave;
Nay, arrant cowards, forc'd into a fray,
Now fight, becaufe they fear-to run away,
Our modifh heroes, it is true, may blufter,

Take heart of grace, and all their fpirits mufter.
This peaceful reformation to oppofe,

And take, in sekk, our author by the nofe.-
But, when the comic mufe true humour fires,
And zeal the poignant fatirill infpires
Againft abfurdity to fet his wit,

And folly's mark, altho' in mirth, to hit,
There lies more peril in his pointed words,
Than lies, alack, in twenty of their fwords!
Encourag'd hence, the poet of to-night,
Against thefe angry boys hath dar'd to write;
For, by the way, it is on you he reckons,
Nature's own caufe efpoufing, as his feconds.
On this prefumption doth he take the field,
Hoping to make the ftouteft blufterer yield;
If filent they, who neither love nor fear him,
Confent to fit, and patiently will hear him,
If they do this, he doubts not to disperse
Their prefent prejudice for carte and tierce, ;

Their pointless fwords to parry with his pen,
And pistol-proof, put down these mighty men!

EPILOGUE

TO

SE MIR

D

A MI S

WRITTEN BY R. B. SHERIDAN, ESQ.

Spoken by MRS. YATES.

Ifhevell'd ftill, like Afia's bleeding queen,"

Shall I with jefts deride the tragic scene?
No, beauteous mourners !-from whofe downcaft eyes
The Mufe has drawn her nobleft facrifice!
Whofe gentle bofoms, pity's altars-bear
The chrystal incenfe of each falling tear!-
-There lives the Poet's praife!-no critic art
Can match the comment of a feeling heart!

When gen'ral plaudits fpeak the fable o'er-
Which mute attention had approv'd before,
Tho' ruder fpirits love th' accuitom'd jeit,
Which chafes forrow from the vulgar breaft,
Still hearts refin'd their fadden'd tint retain
-The figh is pleasure! and the jet is pain!
-Scarce have they fmiles to honour grace or wit,
-Tho' Rofcius fpoke the verfe himself had writ!
Thus thro' the time when vernal fruits receive
The grateful fhow'rs that hang on April's eve;
Tho' ev'ry coarfer ftem of forest birth

Throws with the morning beam its dews to earth,
-Ne'er does the gentle rofe revive fo foon-
But bath'd in nature's tears, it droops till noon.
O could the Mufe one fimple moral teach,
From scenes like thefe, which all who heard might reach
-Thou child of fympathy-whoe'er thou art,
Who with Affyria's queen has wept thy part-
Go fearch, where keener woes demand relief,
Go-while thy heart yet beats with fancy'd grief;
Thy lip ftill conscious of the recent figh,
The graceful tear Rill ling'ring in thy eye-

Go

Go-and on real mifery bestow

The bleft effufion of fictitious woe!

So fhall our Mufe, fupreme of all the nine,
Deferve, indeed, the title of Divine !-
Virtue fhall own her favour'd from above,
And pity-greet her-with a fifter's love!

PROLOGUE

TO

SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER: Or, THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT.

WRITTEN BY MR. GARRICK.

Spoken by Mr. WOODWARD, dreffed in Black, and holding a Handkerchief to his Eyes.

XCUSE me,. Sirs, I pray-I can't yet speak,

'Tis not alone this mourning fuit, good mafters;
I've that within-for which there are no plaifters !
Pray would you know the reafon why I'm crying?
The Comic Mufe, long fick, is now a dying!
And if he goes, my tears will never flop;
For as a play'r, I can't fqueeze out one drop;
I am undone, that's all hall lofe my bread-
I'd rather, but that's nothing-lofe my head..
When the sweet maid is laid upon the bier,
Shuter and I fhall be chief mourners here..
To ber a mawkish drab of fpurious breed,
Who deals in fentimentals will fucceed!
Poor Ned and I are dead to all intents,
We can as foon speak Greek as jentiments!
Both nervous grown, to keep our fpirits up,
We now and then take down a hearty cup.
What shall we do?--If Comedy forfake us!
They'll turn us out, and no one else will take us ;
But why can't I be moral? Let me try-
My heart thus preffing-fix'd my face and eye-
With a fententious look, that nothing means,
(Faces are blocks in fentimental fcene:)

Thus

Thus I begin-All is not gold that glitters,
Pleafure feems fueet, but proves a glass of bitters:
When ign'rance enters, folly is at hand;
Learning is better far than houfe and land.
Let not your virtue trip, who trips may stumble,
And virtue is not virtue, if he tumble

I give it up -morals won'rdɔ for me;
To make you laugh, I must play tragedy.
One hope remains-hearing the maid was ill,
A door comes this night to fhew his kill.
To chear her heart, and give your mufcles motion,
He in five draughts prepar'd, prefents a potion;
A kind of magic charm for be affur'd,

If

you will Swallow it, the maid is cur'd:
But defp'rate the Doctor, and her cafe is,
If you reject the dose, and make wry faces!
This truth he boats, will boaft it while he lives,
No pois nous drugs are mix'd in what he gives;
Should he fucceed, you'll give him his degree,
If not, he will within receive no fee!
The college you, muft his pretenfions back,
Pronounce him regular, or dub him quack.

EPILOGUE

то

EARL OF WAR WICK. WRITTEN BY DAVID GARRICK, ESQ. Spoken by MRS. YATES.

E

'XHAUSTED quite with prifons, racks, and death,
Permit me here to take a little breath!

You who have feen my actions, known their fprings,
Say, are we women fuch infipid things

Say, lords of the creation, mighty men!

In what have you furpafs'd us, where? and when?
I come to know to whom the palm is due,
To us weak veffels, or to ftronger you?

Againft your conqu'ring fwords, I draw--my fan,
Come on!-row parry Marg'ret, if you can.

(Sets kerjelf in a pofture of defence.

D 4

Stand

« PreviousContinue »