Page images
PDF
EPUB

There dear Ridottos conftantly delight,
And fweet Harmonic Meetings ev'ry night!

Once in each year the Doge afcends his barge,
Fine as a London Mayor's, and thrice as large;
Throws a huge ring of gold into the fea,

66

And cries- Thus We, thy Sov'reign, marry thee.
"Oh may'ft thou ne'er, like inany a mortal spouse,..
"Prove full of storms, and faithlefs to thy vows!"
One word of politics-and then I've done-
The ftate of Venice Nobles rule alone.

Thrice happy Britain, where with equal hand
Three well-pois'd ftates unite to rule the land!
Thus in the theatre, as well as ftate,

Three ranks muft join to make us blefs'd and great.
King, Lords, and Commons, o'er the nation fit;
Pit, Box, and Gallery, rule the realms of wit.

F

P. ROLOG

OGUE

TO THE

BAN KR U P T.

Written and Spoken by Mr. FOOTE.

OR Wit's keen Satire, and this laughing Stage, -
What theme fo fruitful as a Bankrupt age?

For not confin'd to Commerce is the curfe,
The Head is near as empty as the Purfe.
Equally funk, our Credit and our Wit,
Nor is the Sage more folvent than the Cit:
All thefe ;-but foft, ere thus abroad we roam,
Were it not prudent firft to look at home?
You, gentle Sirs, have giv'n me credit long,
And took my word for many an idle Song;
But if exhaufted, I give notes to-day
For Wit and Humour which I cannot pay,
I must turn Bankrupt too, and hop away;
Unlefs, indeed, I modeftly apply

For leave to fell my Works-by Lottery;

Tho' few will favour where's no Cafh to fee 'em ;
Poor hopes, that way, to part with my MUSEUM!

}

My old friend. Smirk, indeed, may lend his aid,
And fell by Auction all my Stock in Trade;
His placid features, and imploring eye,
May tempt, perhaps, the tardy Town to buy;
His winning manner, and his foft addrefs,
To other Sales of mine have giv'n fuccefs;
But after all, my ever honour'd friends,
On you alone my fate this night depends.
I've fought fome battles, gain'd fome vict'ries here,
And little thought a Culprit to appear
Before this Houfe; but if refolv'd you go
To find me guilty, or to make me so,

To grant me neither Wit, nor Taite, nor Senfe,
Vain were my Plea, and ufelefs my Defence:
But ftill I need not fleal, I will not beg,
Tho' I've a paffport in this wooden leg;
But to my cot contentedly retire,

And flew my cabbage by my only fire.

Mean time, great Sirs, my fentence yet unknown,
E'en as your Juftice be your Candour fhewn,
And when you touch my honour, don't forget your own.

PROLOGUE.

F

то

THE

IN

Ο ΧΟΝΙΑ Ν

TOWN.

Spoken by Mr. WOODWARD.

RESH from the Schools, behold an Oxford Smart,
No Dupe to Science, no dull Slave of Art;

As to our Drefs, faith, Ladies, to fay truth,

It is a little aukward and uncouth;

But after all, my ever-honour'd friends,

On you alone my fate this night depends.

I've fought fome battles, gain'd fame vict'ries here,
And little thought a Culprit to appear;
No fword, cockade, to lure you to our arms-
But then, this filky taffel has it's charms;
What mortal Oxford Laundrefs can withitand
This, and the graces of a well-ftarch'd band
In this array, our Spark, with whining air,
Boldly accofts the froth compeining Fair.

[ocr errors]

Faft by the tub, with folded arms he stands,
And fees his furplice whiten in her hands;
And as the dives in o the foapy floods,.
Wishes almoft-himfelf were in the fuds..
Sometimes the car he drives impetuous on,
Cut, lafh, and flash, a very Phaethon;
Swift as the fiery Courfers of the Sun,

Up hill and down, his raw-bon'd Hackneys run,
Leaving, with heat half dead, and dust half blind,
Turnpikes and bawling Hofts behind..、

You think, perhaps, we read-perhaps we may,
The News, a Pamphlet, or the last new Play;
But for the Scribblers of th' Auguftan age,
Horace, and fuch queer mortals-not a page;
His brilliant fterling Wit we juftly hold,
More brilliant far, transform'd to fterling Gold:
Though Euclid we digeft without much pain,
And folve his Problems-into brifk Champaigne.
Fir'd with this juice-why, let the Proctor come;
"Young men, 'tis late-it's time you were at home."
"Zounds are you here, we cry, with your dull rules,
"Like Bangquo's Ghoft, to push us from our tools ?"
Such are the ftudies Smarts purfue at College;
Oh! we are great Proficients in fuch knowledge.
But now, no more from claffic fields to glean,
The Mufe to Covent-Garden fhifts the Scene:
There fhall I enter next, fans Cap and Gown,
And play my part on this great Stage, the Town.
[Bowing, and going, return
Soft ye; a word or two before I go;
Our Piece is call'd a Comedy you know;
A two-act Comedy! though Rome enacts,
That ev'ry Comedy be juft five Acts..
Hence Parent Dullness, the vain title begs,
For fqualling, dancing monfters on five legs.
The Bantling of to-night, if rear'd by you,
Shall run, like men and women, upon two.

SCRUB'S STRATFORD JUBILEE. ROM Stratford arriv'd-piping hot-gentle folks,.

F From the rarest of thows and most wonderful jokes,

Youss

Your fimple acquaintance, Scrub, comes to declare
'Twas fuller, by far, than our Litchfield great fair;
Such crowds of fine ladies, ferenading, and finging,
Such firing of lourd pateraroes, and ringing,.

To tell it in London must feem all a fable,
And yet I will tell it as well as I'm able:

Firit, fomething, in linguo of fchools, call'd an ode 3:
All critics, they told me, allow'd very good :
One faid-You may take it for truth, I affure ye,
"Twas made by the little great man of old Drury.
By my brother Martin, (for whofe fake, d'ye hear)
This night I'd a mind for a touch at Shakespear:
But, honeftly speaking, I take more delight in

A bit of good fun, than drums, trumpets, and fighting...
The proceffion, 'twas faid, would have been a fine train,
But could not move forwards-oh, la!-for the rain.
Such tragical, comical folks, and fo fine;
What pity it was that the fun did not shine!
Since ladies and baronets, aldermen, 'fquires,
All went to the jubilee full of defires,
In crowds, as they go for to fee a new play;
And when it was done-why they all came away!
Don't let me forget-a main part of the show
Was long-tail'd fine comets by fam'd Angelo.
Some turtle I got, which they call'd pafhapee,
But honeft roat beef's the best turtle for me.
I hate all ragouts, and, like a bold Briton,
Prefer good plumb pudding to aught I e'er bit on:
I drank too, (and now I a Poet may be)
From a charming fine cup of the mulberry-tree.
To bed I must go-for which, like a ninny,
I paid, like my betters, no less than a guinea,
For rolling-not fleeping-in linen fo damp,
As ftruck my great toe, ever fince, with the cramp:
Thus fleec'd-in my pocket I felt a great fmarting,
Yet griev'd not when I and the splinters were parting,
'Twas worth ten times more to hear fweet brother
Martin:

He fpoke till poor Scrub was just fit with one eye
To laugh, while the other was ready to cry;

This alludes to Mr. Wefton's defign of plavingchards

Which makes me now tell you, without any brag,
He's fecond to none but the Warwickshire wag.
The jubilee over, I came to this place,
To tell you my ftory and fue for your grace:
You never refus'd it-yet never before,

With granting fuch kindnefs, bound gratitude more.
I love, but to own with a diligent fpirit,
Your favours have ever out-run my flight merit.

PROLOGUE

то

THE

JUBILEE.

Spoken in the Character of a WAITER.

ROM London your honours, to Stratford I'm come,

a

Who proud of your orders, and bowing before ye, "Till fupper is ready, I'll tell you a story.

Twixt Hounslow and Colebrooke, two houfes of fame, Well known on that road, the two Magpyes by name, The one of long ftanding, the other a new one, This boats it's the old one, and that it's the true one. Sure we the old Maggye, as well as the younger, May boast that our liquor is clearer and ftronger; Of bragging and puffing you make but a jeft, You taste of us both, and will stick at the best; A race we have had, for your paftime and laughter, Young Mag ftarted firft, with old Mag hopping after 3: 'Tis faid the old houfe, hath poffeft a receipt,

To make a choice mixture, four, strong, and fweet: A JUBILEE punch, which, right skilfully made, Infur'd the old Magpye, a good running trade; But think you we mean to monopolize, No! No! We are like brother Ashley, pro publico bono. Each Magpye your honours, will peck at his brother, And their natures were always to crib from each other; Young landlords and old one's are taught by their calling, To laugh at engrofling-but to practife foreftalling; Our landlords are game cocks, and fair play but grant 'em, I'll warrant you paftime from each little bantum.

Let's

« PreviousContinue »