Mr. BEARD enters haftily.
SPEAK a Prologue !-What ftrange whim, I wonder,
Could lead the Author into fuch a blunder?-
I ask'd the man as much-but he (poor devil!)
Fancied a Manager might make you civil.
"Garrick (fays he) can with a Prologue tame
"The Critic's rage-Why can't you do the fame ?”
Becaufe (quoth 1) the cafe is diff'rent quite;
Garrick, you know, can Prologues fpeak, and write.
If like that Rofcius I could write, and fpeech it,
I might command applaufe, and not befeech it.
But, fure, for one who, all his live long days,
Has dealt in Crotchets, Minims, and Sol-fa's,
A Singer, to ftand forth in Wit's defence,
And plead 'gainst found the folemn cause of sense;
Perfuade an audience that a play has merit,
Without a fingle air to give it fpirit;
'Tis fo much out of character-so wrong-
No Prologue, fir, for me,-unlefs in Song.
The fame (quoth I) you poets reap,
And all your gains, are owing,
To founds that even measure keep,
And ftan as smoothly flowing:
But me the lyre wou'd better fuit
Than veries of Apollo;
The fiddle, hautboy, horn, or flute,
I'm always us'd to follow.
"Sir (fays he) you'll mar
"My verfe and meaning too"-
Sir, muft I turn fool,
To humour fuch as you?
I'll fing it if you please-
"S.ng! cries he, in huff,
"Of you and your Sol-fa's
"The town has had enough.".
Oh! then I bounc'd and fwore-
Was I much to blame?
Had you been in my place,
Why you'd have done the fame.
If for old-fashion'd tunes he's not too nice,
I'd give him fifty of 'em in a trice,
With words more fitted to his purpose here,
Than all the rhimes he'd jingle in a year.
He challeng'd me to fhew a fingle fample
Of what I bragg'd—I did—as for example!.
The scene is prepar'd, the Critics are met,
The judges all rang'd-a terrible shew!
E're tryal begins the Prologue's a debt,
A debt on demand---fo take what we owe.
And this is the way, Mr. Author,
To trick a plain mufe up with art,
In modifh Fal-lal's you must cloathe her,
And warm a cold Critic's hard heart.
Wherefore I thus entreat, with due fubmiffion,
Between the bard and me you'd make decision.
The whole now on your arbitration we rest,
And Prologues henceforward fhall furely be dreft,
In what mode foever your taste shall like beft,
Which none of us dare deny.
For, howe'er cruel critics and witlings may fneer,
That at times I, alas! fomewhat dunny appear,
If to you, my best friends. I e'er tu n my deaf ear,
May you your indulgence deny!
Then, for his fake and mine, (for we're both in a fright).
Till a treat of more goût fhall your palates delight,
a poor humble Comedy pleafe you to-night;
Which furely you will not deny.
FOR SCANDAL.
BY GEORGE COLMAN, ESQ.
And Spoken by Mrs. ABINGTON, in the Character of Lady Teazel.
Who was late fo volatile and gay,
Like a trade-wind must now blow all one way;
Bend all my cares, my ftudies, and my vows,
To one old rufty weather-cock-my fpoufe;
So wills our virtuous Bard-the pye-ball'd Bayes
Of crying Epilogues and laughing Plays.
Old batchelors, who marry fmart young wives,
Learn from our play to regulate your lives!
Each bring his dear to Town-all faults upon her—
London will prove the very fource of honour;
Plung'd fairly in, like a cold bath, it ferves,
When principles relax-to brace the nerves.
Such is my cafe-and yet I must deplore
That the gay dream of diffipation's o'er ;
And fay, ye fair, was ever lively wife,
Born with a genius for the higheft life,
Like me, untimely blafted in her bloom;
Like me, condemn'd to fuch a dismal doom?
Save money-when I just knew how to waste it!
Leave London-juft as I began to taste it!
Muft I then watch the early-crowing cock?
The melancholy ticking of a clock?
In the lone ruftic hall for ever pounded,
With dogs, cats, rats, and fqualling brats furrounded?
With humble curates can I now retire,
(While good Sir Peter boozes with the Squire) And at back-gammon mortify my foul,
'That pants for Lu, or flutters at a vole?
Seven's the main !-dear found!-that muft expire,
Loft at hot cockles round a Christmas fire;
The tranfient hour of fashion too soon spent,
"Farewell the tranquil mind, farewell content!
"Farewell the plumed head-the cushioned Tete,
"That takes the cushion from its proper feat!
"The spirit ftirring drum !-card-drums I mean—
"Spadille, odd trick, pam, pafto, king and queen!
"And you, ye knockers, that with brazen throat
"The welcome visitor's approach denote,
"Farewell!-All quality of high renown,
"Pride, pomp and circumftance of glorious Town,
"Farewell!-your revels I partake no more,
"And Lady Teazel's occupation's o'er !"
-All this I told our Bard-he fmil'd, and said, 'twas clear
I ought to play deep Tragedy next year:
Mean while he drew wife morals from his play,
And in these folemn periods ftalk'd away.
"Bleft were the Fair, like you her faults who ftopt,
"And clos'd her follies when the curtain dropt!
"No more in vice or error to engage,
"Or play the fool at large on life's great stage!"
WRITTEN BY MR. GARRICK,
Spoken by MRS. ABINGTON.
IN Parliament, whene'er a queftion comes,
Which makes the Chief look grave, and bite his thumbs,
A knowing-one is fent, fly as a moufe,
To peep into the humour of the house:
I am that moufe; peeping at friends and foes,
To find which carry it-the Ayes or Noes:
With more than pow'r of parliament you fit,
Defpotic reprefentatives of wit!
For in a moment, and without much pother,
You can diffolve this piece, and call another!
As 'tis no treafon, let us frankly fee,
In what they differ, and in what agree,
The faid fupreme affembly of the nation,
With this our great Dramatic Convocation!
Bufinefs in both oft meets with interruption :
In both, we trust, no brib'ry or corruption ;
Both proud of freedom, have a turn to riot,
And the belt Speaker cannot keep you quiet :
Nay, there as here he knows not how to fteer him-
When order, order's drown'd in hear him, hear him!
We have, unlike to them, one constant rule,
We open doors, and choose our gall'ries full:
For a full houfe both fend abroad their fummons;
With us together fit the Lords and Commons.
You Ladies here have votes-debate, difpute,
There if you go (O fye for fhame!) you're mute:
Never was heard of fuch a perfecution,
"Tis the great blemish of the constitution!
No human laws fhould nature's rights abridge,
Freedom of fpeech! our deareft privilege:
Ours is the wifer fex, though deem'd the weaker ;
I'll put the question-if you chufe me speaker:
Suppofe me now be-wigg'd, and feated here,
I call to Order! you, the Chair! the Chair!
Is it your pleafure that this Bill fhould pass-
Which grants this Poet, upon Mount Parnafs,
A certain fpot, where never grew or corn, or grass?
You that would pass this play, Jay Aye, and Jave it ;
You that fay No would damn it—the Ayes have it.
WRITTEN BY MR. CUMBERLAND.
Spoken by Mr. REDDISH.
IN claffic times, as learned anthors fay,
When Greek or Roman wits produc'd a play,
The herald Prologue, 'ere the sports began,
Fairly fept forward and announc'd the plan:
In few plain words he ran the fable through,.
And, without favour, publish'd all he knew.
An honest custom: for the plan was clear;
The scene was fimple, and the Mufe fincere;
No tawdry fashions warp'd the public taste,
The times were candid, and the ftage was chafte.
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