What can be done?-fad work behind the scenes!
Their comic females fcold with tragic queens.
Each party different ways the foe affails,

These shake their daggers, thofe prepare their nails.
'Tis you alone must calm thefe dire mishaps,
Or we shall still continue pulling caps.

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,
Where woman's FREEDOM has fuch heights to fit on;
Daggers, PROVOK'D, wou'd bring on DESOLATION:
And, murder'd Belles un-people half the nation!

Fain wou'd I help this Play, to move compassion;
And live, to hunt SUSPICION out of fashion.
Four motives frongly recommend, to lovers,
Hate of this weakness, that our Scene discovers:

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,
As not to fuffer :-
-All the diff'rence-name.

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 'tis fo dull- I'll cheat the fcribling rogue;
Among ourselves, your lofs will be but fmall,-
YOU'RE too polite for Epilogue to call;

But as for You t,it is your joy and pride,
Ever to call-but never fatisfied.--

Will you, ye Critics, give up Rome and Greece?
And turn Mahometans, and fave this piece?
What, fhall our stage receive this Tartar race,
Each whisker'd hero with a copper face?
I hate the Tartars-hate their vile religion,
We have no fouls forfooth-that's their decifion!
These brutes, fome horrid prejudice controuls;
Speak, English hufbands-have your wives no fouls?
Then for our perfons-still more fhameful work,
A hundred women wed a fingle Turk!
Again, ye English hufbands, what say you?
A hundred wives! you wou'd not wish for two.

To the Boxes.

To the Gallery.

Romans

Romans and Greeks for me!--O that dear Sparta!
Their women had a noble Magna Charta!
There a young hero, had he won fair fame,
Might from her husband ask a lovely dame;
The happy husband, of the honour vain,
Gave her with joy, took her with joy again;
The chofen dame, no ftruggles had within,.
For to refufe had been a public fin.-
And to their honour, all hiftorians fay,
No Spartan lady ever finn'd that way.-

Ye Fair, who have not yet thrown out your bait,
To tangle captives in the marriage ftate;

Take heed, I warn you, where your fnres you fet,
O let not Infidels come near your net.

Let hand in hand with prudence go your wishes,
Men are in general the ftrangeit fishes!

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!
tend to reafon !--

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;
My mind is difcord all!-I fcorn, deteft

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.
Spatter. To dash at all, the spirit of my trade is,
Men, women, children, parfons, lords and ladies.
There will he danger.

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-
Spatter. Let them laugh that win!

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;
We'll ftop, with your good leave, on this fide death.
L. Alton Attack Amelia, both in verfe and profe :
Your wit can make a nettle of a rofe.

Spatter. A flinging nettle for his lordship's breaft;
And to my fears and dashes leave the reft.
I'll make 'em miferable, never fear;
Pout in a month, and part in half a year.
I know my genius, and can truft my plan;
I'll break a woman's heart with any man.

L. Alon. Thanks, thanks, dear Spatter ! Be fevere, and bold!

Spatter. No qualms of confcience with a purfe of gold:
Though pill'ries threaten, and though crabsticks tall,
Your's are my heart, foul, pen, ears, bones, and all.
Lady Alton alone.
[Exit Spatter.
Thus to the winds, at once, my cares I fcatter-
O'tis a charming rafcal, this fame Spatter !

His

His precious mischief makes the ftorm fubfide!
My anger, thank my ftars! all rofe from pride.
Pride should belong to us alone of fashion;
And let the mob take love, that vulgar paffion!
Love, pity, tenderness, are only made
For poets, Abigails, and folks in trade;
Some cits about their feelings make a fuss,
And fome are better bred-who live with us;
How low lord Falbridge is!-He takes a wife,
To love, and cherish, and be fix'd for life!
Thinks marriage is a comfortable state,
No pleasure like a vartacus tete-a-tete!

Do our lords juftice, for I would not wrong 'em,
There are not many fuch poor fouls among 'em.
Our turtles from the town will fly with speed,
And I'll foretell the vulgar life they'll lead.
With love and cafe grown fat, they face all weather,
And, farmers both, trudge arm in arm together:
Now view their stock, and in their nurs'ry prattle,
For ever with their children, or their cattle.
Like the dull mill-horse in one round they keep;
They walk, talk, fondle, dine, and fall afleep;
Their cuftom always in the afternoon-

He bright as fol, and the the chafte full moon!
Wak'd with their coffee, madam firft begins,
She rubs her eyes, his lordship rubs his fhins;

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,
The brats feem all Guarduccis — Lovatinis.

What means this qualm-Why, fure, while I'm defpifing,

That vulgar paffion, envy, is not rifing!-
O no! contempt is ftruggling to burst out.
I'll give it vent at lady Scalpem's route.

[Exit baftily.

PRO