What can be done?-fad work behind the scenes! These shake their daggers, thofe prepare their nails. What is your will I read it in your faces; That all hereafter take their proper places, Shake hands, and kiss and friends, and-BURN THEIR CASES. H E PI L Ꮓ то OGU E A R A. Spoken by Mrs. CLIVE. ERE, take a furfeit, Sirs, of being jealous, And fhun the pains that plague thofe Turkish fellows: Where love and death join hands, their darts confounding, Save us, good Heav'n! from this new way of woUNDING! Curs'd climate !-where, to CARDS, a lone-left woman Has only one of her black guards to fummon! Sighs, and fits mope'd, with her tame beast to gaze at : And, that cold treat is all the game the plays at ! For- fhou'd the once, fome abler hand be trying, -DYING! Poignard's the word!-and, the first deal is 'Slife, fhou'd the bloody whim get round, in Britain, Fain wou'd I help this Play, to move compassion; First then-A woman wILL, or WON'T-depend on't If the will do't, fhe wILL :-and, there's an end on't.. But, if the won't,-fince fafe and found your truft is, Fear is AFFRONT: and jealousy INJUSTICE. Next he who bids his dear do what she pleases, Blunts wedlock's edge; and all its torture eases: For For not to feel your fuff'rings is the fame, Thirdly- -The jealous hufband wrongs his honour; No wife goes lame, without fome hurt upon her: And, the malicious world will still be gueffing, Who, oft' dines out, diflikes her own cook's dreffing. Fourthly and lastly to conclude my lecture, If you wou'd Fix th' inconftant wife-RESPECT her. She who perceives her virtues OVER-RATED, Will fear to have th' account more justly stated: And, borrowing from her pride, the good wife's feeming, Grow REALLY SUCH-to merit your efteeming. I' EPILOGUE то ZING I S. BY MR. GARRICK. Spoken by Mrs. ABINGTON. 'M fent, good folks, to fpeak the Epilogue, But as for You t,it is your joy and pride, Will you, ye Critics, give up Rome and Greece? To the Boxes. To the Gallery. Romans Romans and Greeks for me!--O that dear Sparta! Ye Fair, who have not yet thrown out your bait, Take heed, I warn you, where your fnres you fet, Let hand in hand with prudence go your wishes, Do not for mifery your beauty barter, And, O take heed,-you do not catch a Tartar. PR O L OGUE TO THE ENGLISH MERCHANT.. WRITTEN BY MR. GARRICK. Enter Lady Alton in a Paffion; Spatter following. L. Alion. "LL hear no more, thou wretch! I'LL A woman of my rank!-'tis petty treafon ! Hear reason, blockhead! reafon !—What is that? Bid me wear pattens, and a high-crown'd hat! At Won't you be gone? What want you? What's your view ? : Spatter Humbly to ferve the tuneful nine in you. I must invoke you. L. Alon. I renounce fuch things; Not Phoebus now, but vengeance fweeps the firings; All human kind!—you more than all the rest. Spatter. I humbly thank you, ma'am,—but weigh the matter. L. Alton. I won't hear reafon! and I hate you, Spatter !. Myfelf, and ev'ry thing Spatter. Spatter. That I deny ; You love a little mifchief, fo do I; And mischief I have for you. L. Alton. How, where, when ? Will you ftab Falbridge? Spatter. Yes, ma'am-with my pen. L. Alton. Let loofe, my Spatter, till to death you've ftung 'em, That green-ey'd monfter, Jealoufy, among 'em. L. Alton. And there fhall be pay. [Gives it him. [Smiles and takes it. Spatter. In an honeft way. L. Alton. Should my Lord beat you- For all my bruifes, here's gold-beater's skin. L. Alton. Nay, fhould he kill you Spatter. Ma'am ! [Chinking the purse. L. Alton. My kindness meant To pay your merit with a monument. Spatter. Your kindnefs, lady, takes away my breath; Spatter. A flinging nettle for his lordship's breaft; L. Alon. Thanks, thanks, dear Spatter ! Be fevere, and bold! Spatter. No qualms of confcience with a purfe of gold: His His precious mischief makes the ftorm fubfide! Do our lords juftice, for I would not wrong 'em, He bright as fol, and the the chafte full moon! She fips, and fmirks ;-"Next week's our wedding-day, "Married fev'n years!-and ev'ry hour (yawns) more gay!" "True, Emmy, (cries my lord)-the bleffing lies, "Our hearts in ev'ry thing (yawns) fo fympathize!" The day thus fpent, my lord for mufic calls; He thrums the bafe, to which my lady fqualls; The children join, which fo delights thofe Ninnics, What means this qualm-Why, fure, while I'm defpifing, That vulgar paffion, envy, is not rifing!- [Exit baftily. PRO |