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Ε ΡΙ L 0 G U E
TO Τ Η Ε
OX ONIAN IN TOWN.
Spoken by Mrs. MATTOCKS.
Enter as Lucy with a pack of cards.
ERE they are ladies ! --Should these charming
Be doubly loaded with a filthy tax ?
My card to your's, my lord, a thousand pound !"
Oh! charming sport!-Oh! might I deal 'em round!
Yet I will use them, and, oh! deign to list,
Though 'tis no lecture on the game of whiit.
The future doom of gameters to explore,
I, like the Sybil': leaves, the cards turn o'er;
Nor think, ye fair, these books of fate deceive,
These only hooks, 'tis modish to believe.
First, with long flaff, hort coat, a fwag'ring spark,
Some gambler 'prentice, or attorney's clerk,
His fortune aks,- What card describes these cubs ?
Oh! here I have him-in the knave of clubs.
By clear construction of these pips I read,
Thus he will play his cards, and thus succeed.
At Hazard, Faro, Brag, he joins the groupe,
And ends a knave, as he commencd a dupe :
And thence, his breken fortunes to repair,
At Hounslow first, then Tyburn, takes the air.
Here, in the king of diamonds, pictur'd itands
An heir, just warm in his dead father's lands.
Now hey for cards and dice, his elbows shake,
The sympathizing trees and acres quake!
His cook's lament, dogs howl, and grooms regret,
Their fate depending on each de p'rate bet.
Now dup'd, the bullet whizzes through his head,
And shatters dust to dust, by lead to lead.
Lo! next to the propheric eye there ítarts
A beauteous gametter, in the quien of bearis!
The cards are dealt, the fatal pool is lost,
And all her golden hopes for ever crost.
Yet lill this card-devotej fair I view,
Whate'er her lack, to honour ever true ;
So tender there, if debts crowd falt upon her,
pawn her virtue, to preserve her honour. Thrice happy were my art, could I foretel, Cards would be soon abjurd by each fond belle : Yet I pronounce, who cherish fill this vice, And the pale vigil keeps of cards and dice, 'Twill in their charms itrange havock make, ye fair! Which
in vain shall labour to repair : Reacties mall grow meer hags; toasts, wither'd jados, Brightful, and ugly, as the queen of Spades.
E P I L 0 G U E
TO Τ Η Ε
B U Τ Ι Α D.
Spoken by a SCOTCHMAN.
He enters singing
row sweet are the Banks upon Tweed !
Troth very sweet it is agreed ;
But England has such sweets in itore,
As never bless'd our Scottish fhore,
Till bonny Sawney came in pow'r.
Our Patriarch, Patriot, inuckle Sawney,
Makes Scoiland flow with milk and honey,
By dint of pow'rful English Money.
The Southern Lads, so trim and
To Caledonian Lads give way,
I ken they dinna like the Play.
But that is neither here or there,
For Sauney has the Royal Ear,
So let 'em rail, we need nae care.
This Book which I just now have bought.
[Pulls out the British Antidote.
Convinces me in what I thought:
This Book displays their paultry malice,
Which to us all would give-the gallows;
But that, thank God! we need not dread,
While my gued Laird still shines the head;
For, tho' a Stuart, well 'tis known,
He loves the King upon the Throne,
Till he finds time to pull him down. [Alide.
So led the Englilib Loons rage on,
And thou stand firm, bra' muckle John;
For still when Fortune turns the scale,
The Losers must have leave to rail ; [With a fner.
But that we need nae h ed a pin,
Since those may likewise laugh who win. [A /neer.
singing the Highland Laddie.
POLLY HONEYCOMB E.
Spoken by Mr. King.
PITHER, in days of yore, from Spain or France
Came a dread Sorceress ; her name ROMANCE;
O'er Britain's Ine her wayward spells the cast,
And Common Sense in magic chain bound fait.
In mad Sublime did each fond Lover wooe,
And in Heroicks ran each Biller-Doux :
High deeds of Chivalry their fole delight,
Each Fair a Maid distress’d, each Swain a Knight.
Then might Statira Oroondates see,
As cilts and tournaments, arm’d cap-a-pie.
She too, on milk-white palfrey, lance in hand,
A Dwarf to guard her, pranc'd about the land.
This fiend to quell, his sword Cervantes drew,
A trusty Spanish blade, Toledo true :
Her Tálisians and Magic Wand he broke-
Knights, Genii, Castles --vanilh'd into smoke..
But now, the dear delight of later years, ,
The younger sister of ROMANCE appears :
Less folemn is her air, her drift the same,
And Novel her enchanting, charming name.
ROMANCE might strike our grave Forefathers pompe:
But Novel for our Buck and lively Romp!
Calandra's Folios now no longer read,
See, two neat Pocket Volumes in their stead!.
And then so sentimintal is ihe Stile,
So chaste, yet so bewitching all the while !
Plst and elopement, pafion, rape, and rapture,
The total fun of ev'ry dear-dearchapter.
'Tis not alone the Small-talk and the Smart, 'Tis Novel most beguiles the female heart. Miss reads-she 'melts—me fighs-Love steals upon herAnd then-Alas, poor Girl!-good night, poor Honour!
" * Thus of our Polly having lightly spoke, « Now for our Author !—but without a joke. “ Tho' Wits and Journals, who ne'er fibb'd before, " Have laid this Bantling at a certain door, " Where, lying store of faults, they fain's heap more. “ I now declare it, as a serious truth, “ 'Tis the first folly of a simple Youth. “ Caught and deluded by our Harlot Plays : “ Then crush not in the mell this infant Bayes ! « Exert your favour to a young beginner, “ Nor use the stripling like a batter'd finner."
P R o L o G U E
K N I G H T S.
Written and Spoken by Mr. Foote.
From Humour's dang'sous path, to touch the Heart, They, who in all the bluster of blank verse, The mournful tales of Love and War rehearse, Are sure the Critic's cenfure to escape, You hiss not Heroes now, you only-gape. Nor (strangers quite to Peroes, Kings, and Queens) Dare you intrude your judgment on their Scenes. A different lot the Comic Mule attends, She is oblig'd to treat you wich your Friends ; Must search the Court, the Forum, and the City; Mark out the Dull, the Gallant, and the Witry ; Youth's wild Profusion, th’ Avarice of Age ; Nay, bring the Pit itself upon the Stage. Fird to the Bar the turns her various face; Hem, my Lord, I am Council in this case,
Thele Lines were added by Mr. GARRICK, on its being reported, that he was the Author of this Piece : and, however humorous and peetical, contain as Arid matter of fact as the Julie Proie,
And if so be your Lord'hip should think fit,
Why to be sure my Client must submit;
For why, because then off the trips again,
And to the Sons of Commerce fhifis her Scene :
There, whilft the griping Sire, with mopeing care,
Defrauds the World himself, i'enrich his Heir,
The pious Boy, his Father's toil rewarding,
For Thousands throws a Main at Covent-Garden.
These are the Poitraits we're oblig'd to show;
You all are Judges if they're like or no :
Here should we fail, some other shape we'll try,
And grace our future Scenes with Novelty.
I have a plan to treat you with Burleita,
That cannot miss your taste, Mia Spilletta.
But should the following Piece your mirth excite,
From Nature's Volume we'll persist to write,
Your partial favour bad us firit proceed ;
Then spare th’ Offender, since you urg'd the Deed.
PROLOGUE, Written by Mr. MURPHY, and Spoken by Mrs.
HAMILTON, on his first Appearance, as a Player, in the Chara&ter of OTHELLO, at CoventGARDEN.
USH!--such a scene!-enough to make one split!
We have him sure-this critic, journalist, and wit. What say the knowing ones?-D'ye think he'll do? How run the betts ?-what odds!come, entre nous. 'Tis five to one that he can never thrive;For 'tis the fearfullest poor dev'l alive. 'Thro' that fit curtain he survey'd the rows, Promiscuous fill'd with critics, friends, and foes. “ Ay now, (says he) I pay for ev'ry fin “ Would I were writing essays in Gray's-Inn. “ 'Sdeath, what had I to do with play’rs or jews, " Or true intelligence, by way of dews ?” Thou filly gentleman ! --- you're scar'd at nought; Your Gray's-Inn Journal's long ago forgot. “ How like a court censorial do they sit, “ The jury all impannell'd in the pit!