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His no French play.--tame, polith'd, dull by rule: Olympus Phakes !---that omen all secures ;
Vigorous he comes, and warm from Shakipeare's May ev'ry joy you give be tenfold yours !

Inspired by hiin, he shows in glaring light
A nation struggling with tyrannic might;
Oppreffion rushing on with giant Itrides;

§ 93. Prologue to the Capucbin; 1776. Spoken A dcep conspiracy, which virtue guides;

by Mr. Foste. COLMAN. Heroes, for freedom who dare strike the blow,

CRITICS, whene'er I write, in ev'ry scene A tablature of honour, guilt, and woe.

Discover meanings that I never mean ; If on his canvas nature's colours thine,

Whatever character I bring to view, You'll praise the hand that trac'd the just design. I am the father of the child, 'tis true,

But ev'ry babe his christ'ning owes to you.

“ The coinic poet's eye, with humorous air, ģ 92. Epilogue by Mr. Garrick, on quitting the “ Glancing from Watling-ftreet to GrosvenorStaze, June 1776. GARRICK.

“ fquare, A VETERAN fee! whose last act on the stage

“ He bodies forth a light ideal train, Entreats your smiles for fickness and for age; “ And turns to shape the phantoms of his brain : Their cause I picad---plead it in heart and mind; " Meanwhile your fancy takes more partial aim, A fellow-feeling makes one wondrous kind : “ And gives to airy nothing place and name." Might we but hope your zeal would not be less, A limner once, in want of work, went down When I am gone, to patronize distress,

To try his fortune in a country town : That hope obtain'd the withd-for end secures, The waggon, loaded with his goods, convey'd To soothe their cares who oft have lighten' To the faine Ipot his whole dead stock in trade, yours.

Originals and copies-ready made. Shall the great heroes of celestial line,

To the new painter all the counıry came : Who drank full bowis of Greck and Roman Lord, lady, doctor, lawyer, 'squire, and dame, wine,

The humble curate, and the curate's wife, Cæsar and Brutus, Agamemnon, Hector, All ask a likeness---taken from the life. Nay, Juve himself, ino here has quaif'd his Behold the canvas on the easel stand! nectar!

A pallet grac'd his thumb, and brushes fill'd his Shall they who govern fortune, cringe and court hand: her,

But, ah! the painter's skill they little knew, Thirst in their age, and call in vain for porter ? Nor by what curious rules of art he drew. Like Belisaius, tax the pitying street

The waggon-load unpack'd, his ancient store With date obolum to all chey meet? [gore; Furnith'd for each a face drawn long before, Sha'n't I, whu oft have drench'd my hands in God, dame, or hero, of the days of yore. Siabbd many, poison'd some, beheaded more ; The Calars, with a little alteration, Vi ho numbers flew in battle on this plain--

Were turn'd into the mayor and corporation : Sha'n't I, the Nayer, try to feed the slain? To represent the rector and the dean, Brother to all, with equal love I view

He added wigs and bands to Prince Eugene: The men who flew me, and the men I slow : The ladics, blooming all, deriv'd their faces I must, I will this happy project seize,

From Charlesthe Second's beauties, and the Graces. That those too old to die may live with ease. Thus donc, and circled in a splendid frame, Suppose the babes I (mother'd in the Tow'r, His works adorn'deach room, and spread his fame; By chance, or fickness, lose their acting pow'r, The countrymen of taste admire and stare: Shallthey, once princes, worse than all be ferv'd--- " My lady's leer! Sir Jolin's majestic air! In childhood murder'd, and, when murder'd, “ Miss Dimple's languish too !---extremely (tarv'd?

16 like! Mitrons half ravish'd for

your recreation,

" And in the style and manner of Vandyke! In age thould never want some confolation. “ O, this new limner's pictures always Itrike! Can I, young Hamlet once, to nature loft, “ Old, young; fat, lean; dark, fair; or big or Behcld, o horrible! my father's ghost,

í littic, With grilly beard, pale cheek, ítalk up and down, “ The very man, or woman, to a tittle !" And he, the Royal Dane, want half a crown? Foote and this limner in some points agree, Forbid it, ladies! gentlemen, forbid it! And thus, good Sirs, you often deal by me. Give joy to age, and let 'em fay--- You did it. When, by the royal licence and protection, To you, ye gods *! I make my

last appeal; I few my small academy's collection, You have a right to judge, as well as feel; The connoisseur takes out his glass to pry Will your high wisdoms to our scheme incline, Into each picture with a curious eye ; That kiogs, queens, hcrocs, gods, and ghosts may Turns topiy-turvy my whole composition, dine?

And makes mere portraits all my exhibition.

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and gone.

But still the copy's fo exact, you say ;

(I've seen his piece ; the man appeal'd to me, Alas! the fame thing happens ev'ry day! And I, as Chanc'lor, issued my decree ; How many a modith well-dress’d fop you meet, 'T has pass’d the seals, they 're going to rehearse Exa&tly suits his hape in Monmouth-street; In Yorkithire warehouses and Cranbourn-alley, But you're the House of Peers, and may reverse it. 'Tis wonderful how shoes and feet will tally! As honeft Crispin understands his trade,

§ 95. Prologue to the Spleen, or Ilingion Spa: On the true human scale his lasts are made,

Spoken by Mr. King; 1776. GARREK. The measure of each sex and age to hit, And ev'ry shoe, as if bespoke, will fit.

THOUGH prologues now as black berries are My warehouse thus, for nature's walks, supplies And, like them, maukish too---nineteen in twents; Shoes for all ranks, and lasts of ev'ry size. Sit ftill, and try them, Sirs; I long to please ye- And prologue ! prologue ! still your honours roar;

Yet you will have them when their date is o'er, How well they fit! I hope you find them easy:

Till lome such dismal phiz as mine comes on--If the shoe pinches, fwear you cannot bear it : But if well made-I wish you health to wear it! The prologue, author, speaker---all are dead

Ladies and gentlemen, indeed there's none; $ 94. Prologue to the Contraft; 1-76. Written and These realons have some weight, and stop the rout; intended to bave been spoken by Mr. Foote.

You clap---l smile---and thus go cringing out:

While living, call me; for your pleasure ule me : THE Contract is it callid - I cannot say Should I tip off---I hope you 'll then excuse me.

I much admire the title of his play: So much for Prologues.--and now enter Farve: Contracts, they tell me, have been fraught with Shall I a scene, I lately heard, rehearse ? evil,

The place, the Park; the dramatis perford, Since Faustus sign'd his contract with---the Devil. Tuo female wits, with each a macaroni: Yet, spite of Satan, all men with to make 'em, “ Pr'ythee, Lord Flimsey, what's this thing a: Tho' nineteen out of twenty love to break 'em.

Drury--Butchers and meal-men,brewers, agents,factors, “ This Spleen - " 'Tis low, damn'd low, Pimps, poets, place-men, managers and actors,

“ Ma'am, I'll assure you." Bawds, bankrupts, booksellers, are all contrac

Corft vrol, my

Lor !--- We now feel no such eving tors ;

“Never are haunted with a vapourish devil. All lye, and swear, and chcat, t' increase their “ In plcature's round we whirl it from the brain: fore,

“ You rattle it away with, Seven 's the main ! Then die, and go-where Faustus went before. “ In upper life we have no spleen or gail; While thus o'er all we see th' infection spread, “ And as for other life---it is no life at all." No wonder it should taint the marriage-bed: What can I say in our poor bard's behalf! Each wife forgets, each husband breaks his vow; He hopes that lower life may make you laugh. For what are contracts, what is wedlock, now? May not a trader, who ihall bufibers drop, Garrick, who long was married - 10 the town, Quitting at once his old-accuftom'd shop, At lengih, a fashionable huiband grown, In fancy tlirough a course of pleafurcs run, For!akes his spouse, base man! for, truth to tell, Retiring to his feat at iilington She lov'd her own dear Davy wondrous well; And, of falle dreams of happinets brim-full, Though now he flights her, breaks from her by De at his villa miferably dull? force,

Would not he Islington's fine air forego, And nought will serve him but a full divorce. Could he again be chok'd in Butcher-row; But, be the fault in women or in men,

In the wing cloth ienew his former pleasure, Thanks to our laws! they all may.--wed again: Surpals'd by none---but that of clipping measure! Her faithless fav’rite gone, the lady 's free The master of this thop*, too, leeks repose, To choose another, and may fimile---on me; Sells off his stuck in trade, his verse and prole, To the Lame Lover may reñign her charms, His day gers, buikins, thunder, lightning, and And, tho' a cripplc, take me to her armis.

old clothes I'll promise to be constant, kind, polite, Will he in rural shades find ease and quiet ? And pay my dury---ev'ry other night : O no! he 'll ligh for Drury, and seek peace in riot. My dear lov'd rib I never will abandon, Nature of yore prevail'd thro' human kind; But stand by her, whilft I've one leg to stand on! To low and middle life she's now contin'd : l'll make a solemn contract, play or pay, 'Twas there the choicest dramatists have fought And hope we lhall not part this many a day.

her, Our brother scribbler too, I greatly fear, 'Twas there Moliere, there Jonson, Shakspeare Has made a foolish kind of contract here;

caught her. He promises, and ten to one you 're bit, Then let our gleaning bard with safety come, To furnish fable, sentiment, and wit:

To pick up straws dropt from their harveft home.

* Alluding to Mr. Garrick's retiring from the Stage.

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§ 96. Prologue introduced in the Prelude of New § 97. Epilogue to the Runaway; 1776. Brooms. Spoken by Mr. King, at the opening

GARRICK. of Drury Lane Theatre, 1776. GARRICK. SCRIBBLERS are sportsmen ; and, as sportsmen Post haste from Italy arrives my lover!

Shall I to you, good friends, my fears dir

Some hit, some miss, foine poach, and some beat

Should forciyn modes his virtues mar and mangle,
This wounds a ftraggling bird ; that often trics

And cara (pufa prove---Sir Dingle Dangle;
But never kills, he thoots and shuts both eyes;

No founer join'd, than leparate we go;
Like our train'd-bands, the mark he never hits ; At home--- I mope above---he'll pick his teeth

Abroad---we never shall each other know,
He scorns to see the murder he coinmics :
Some will whole covies take, nineteen in twenty ilin fweet doinestic chat we ne'er shall mingle,

And then you smack your lips---for game is plenty;
In short, by you their merits mutt be tried;

And, wedded tho' I am, ihall still live single.
And woe to them who are not qualified !

However modish, I deteft this plan;
Another fimile we mcan to broach---

For me no maukish creature, weak and wan:
A new one too !---the Itage is a stage-coach---

He must be Englith---and an Englith man. A ftage-coach! why :--- I'll tell you, if you ask To nature and his country false and blind, it

Should Belville dare to twist his form and mind, + Here some take places, and some mount then! will discard him---and, to Britain true, basket 1.

A Briton choole---and may be one of youOur cattle too, that draw the stage along,

Nay, don't be frighten d; I am but in jeft: Are of all forts and sizes---weak and strong;

Freemen, in love or war, should ne'er be press’d. Brown, grey, black, bay, briik, tame, blind,

If you would know my utmost expectation, lame, fat, lean, old, and young!

'Tis one unspoil'd by travell’d education; If, as we're jogging on, we fometimes ftop,

With knowledge, taste, much kindness, and sumc Some fcold within, and some asleep will drop,

whim, While sailors and their doxies sing and roat

Good sense to govern me--- and let me govern him. o'top.

Great love of me must keep his heart from roving i The coachman manager will sometimes please ye-- Thea O'll forgive him, if he proves too loving. But should he stuff the coach too full, and fquieze If in these times I should be bless'd by fate

With such a phenix, such a matchleis mate, ye, You then begin to swear-.-" Zounds!shut the door; I will, by kindnets, and tome small discerning, “ We're cramm'd already---here's no room for Take care that Hymen's torch continues burning. “ more--

Ar weddings, now-a-days, the torch, thrown “ You 're so damn'd fat! A little farther, Sir--

down, Your elbow 's in my stomach--- I can 'e stir!” Just makes a smoke, then stinks throughout the Hoit ' hoit! the coachinan then drives on apace,

And, sinack! with other stages runs a race.

No married Puritan, I'll follow pleasure,
Thro' thick and thin we dash, now up, now down, and even the fashion---but in mod'rate incasure;
Now raise a dust, now rattling thro' the town;

I will of opera ecltacies partake,
Now first, now latt, now jolted, crack! we fall--- Tho' I take snuff to keep myself awake:
Laugh'd, pelted, houted at, and damn'd by all. No rampant plumes thall o'er my temples play,
Your late old coachman, tho' oft splash'd by dirt, Foretelling that my brains will fly away ;
And out in many a storm, retires unhurt;

Nor froin my head shall strange vagaries spring,
Enjoys your kind reward for all his pains, To thew the foil can teem with ev'ry thing ;
And now to other hands refign; the reins. No fruits, roots, greens, thall fill the ample space,
But the new partners of the old machine, A kitchen-garden to adorn my

Hoping you 'll find it snug, and tight, and clean, No rocks shall there be seen, nu windmill, foun-
Vow that with much civilily they'll creat you,

tain ;
Will drive you well, and pleasantly will feat you. Nor curls, like guns set round to guard the
The road is not all turnpike---and, what worse is, mountain !
They can't insure your watches, or your purses; o learn, ye fair, if this same madness spreads,
But they'll insure you, that their best endea- Not to hold up, but to keep dowil, your heads !

Be not milled by strange fantastic Art,
Shall not be wanting to obtain your favour: Bur in your dress let Nature take some part :
Which gain'd-.-Gee up! the old stage will run

Her skill alone a lasting pow'r insures,
for ever!

And best can ornament luch charnas as yours.


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§ 98. Epiloz ue to Semiramis; 1776. Once form'd a plan---and 'twas a deep one, Sirs....

SHERIDAN. To draw the fun-beams out of cucuinbers. DISHEVELL'D fill, like Asia's bleeding. So, whilft less vent'rous managers retire,

1 Our Salamander thinks to live in fire, queen, Shall I with jests deride the tragic scene ? A playhouse quidnunc---and no quidaunc 's No, beauteous mourners !--- from whore down- wiler

Reading our play-bills in the Advertiser, The Muse has drawn her noblest sacrifice!

Crius, Hey! what 's here? In th' Hay-market Whole gentle boroms, Pity's altars---bear

a play, The crystal incense of each falling tear!...

“ To sweat the public in the midst of May? There lives the poet's prailc !---no critic art

“ Give me freih air !"-then goes, and pouts Can match the comment of a feeling heart!

alone When gen'ral plaudits speak the fable o'er In country lodgings by the two-mile stone: Which mute attention had approv'd before,

There fits, and chews the cud of his disgust, Tho' ruder 1pirits love th' accustom'd jest

Broild in the sun, and blinded by the dust. Which chases forrow from the vulgar brcat,

Dearte,” says Mrs. Inkle, « let us go Seill hearts refind their fadden'd tints retain--- “ Toth' Hay-market to-night, and see the low." The ligh is pleasure! and the jest is pain!

“ Plha, woman!” cries old Inkle,“ you're a fool: Scarce have they similes to honour grace or wit,

“ We'll walk to Hornsey, and enjoy the cool." Tho' Rofcius fpoke the verse himfcif !iad writ!

So said, to finish the domestic strife, Thus thro' the time when vernal fruits receive Forth waddle the fat spouse, and fatter wife : The grateful thow'rs that bang on April's eve;

And as they tug up Highgate-hill together, Tho' ev'ry coarser Item of fore it birth

He cries — “ Delightful walking ! – charming Throws with the morning-beam its dlows to earth,

" weather!" Ne'er does the gentle roje revive fo toon--- Now, vrith the napkin underneath the chin, But, bath'd in nature's tears, it droops till noon. Unbutton'd cits their turtle feasts begin, [thin :

O could the muse one simple moral reach, And plunge, fullknuckle-deep, thro' thick and From scenes like these, which all who heard might Throw down filh, filesh, fowl, pastry, custard, reach!

jelly, Thou child of sympathy---whoe'er thou art,

And make a falmagundy of their belly. Who with Affyria's queen hait wept thy part...

“ More China-pepper! punch, another rummer! Go search where keener wocs deinand relief, “ So cool and pleasant-eating in the summer !" Go---while thy heart yet beats with fancied grief: To ancient geographers 'twas not known Thy lip still conscious of the recent figh,

Mortals could live beneath the torrid zone : The graceful tear still lingʻring in thy eye--

But we, though toiling underneath the line, Go---and on real miferv below

Must make our hay now while the weather's fine. The blest effusion of fictitious woc!-.

Your good old buy-maker, long here employ'd, So Thall our Muse, supreme of all the Nine,

The sunshine of your smiles who still enjoy'd; Deferve indeed the title of..-rli vine !

The fields which long he mow'd will not forVirtue shall own her favour'd from above,

fake, And Pity greet her with a lifier's love! Nor quite forego the scythe, the fork, and rake;

But take the field, even in the hottest day, $ 99. Prologue, spoken by Mr. Palmer, on the And kindly help us to get in our hay.

opening of ibe Theatre-Royal in the Hay-Market, May 15, 1777.

COLMAN. PRIDE, by a thousand arts, vain honours clames: $ 100. Prologue to ibe Spanib Barber; 1777. nothings pompous .

, Theatric dealers thus would fain feein great, And ev'ry playhoule grows a inighty state. ONCE more from Ludgate-hill behold Paul To fancied heights howe'er mock-monarchs foar, Prig!

[wig! A manager 's a trader---nothing more The same spruce air, you see, fame coat, samo You (whom they court) their customers.--and A merccr smart and dapper all allow, then,

As ever at ihop-door shot off a bow.
We play'rs---poor devils !---are their journey. This summer--for I love a little prance-

This summer,gentle folks, I've been to France,
While two great warehouses, for winter use, To mark the fathions and to learn to dance.
Eight months huge bales of merchandize produce, 1, and dear Mrs. Prig, the first of Graces !
Out with the swallow comes our summer Bayes, At Calais, in the diligence took places;
To lhew his taffeta and lutestring plays; Travell'd through Boulogne, Amiens, and Chan-
A choice assortment of light goods prepares,

tilly, The smallest haberdather of small wares. All in a lineas straight as Piccadilly!

In Laputa, we're told, a grave projector- To Paris come, their dresses made me tareA mighty schemer... like our new director... Their fav’rite colour is the French Queen's has:





for you.

They're all so fine, so shabby, and so gay, * For should he Lady W. find willing-
They look like chimncy-fiveepers on May-day : “ Wormwood is bitter."'"O! that's me the
Silks of all colours in the rainbow there;

“ villain ! A Jofeph's coat appears the coinmon wear.

“Throw it behind the fire, and never more Of soine I brought home patterns; one, to- “Let that vile paper come within my door." night,

Thus at our friends we laugh, who feel the dart; We mean to thew-'tis true, it is but fight: To reach our feelings, we ourselves must Imart. But then, for fuinmer wear, you know, that's Is our young bard to young, to think that he right.

Can stop the full spring-tide of calumny? A little weaver, whom I long have known, Knows he the world so little, and its tradciHas work'd it up, and begs to have it fhown- Alas! the devil's fooner rais d than laid. But pray obferve, my friends, 'eia not his own. So strong, lo livift, the monfter there's no gagging; I brought it overnay, if it miscarrie's, Cut Scandal's head off-fill the tongue is wag.. He 'll cry, “ 'Tis none of nine-it came from ging. " Paris."

Proud of your smiles, once lavishly bestow'd, Put should you like it, he'll soon let you know, Again our young Don Quixote takes the road; 'Twas fpun and manufactur'd in Soho. To fhew his gratitude, he draws his pen, 'T had a great run abroad, which aluvavs yields and feeks this hydra, Scandal, in its den ; Work for our Grub-street, and our Spiral-fields. From his fell gripe the frighted fair to faveFrance charms our ladies, naked bards, and beaux, Tho' he thouid fall, th' attempt inult please the Who finuggle thence their learning and their brave. clothes;

For y jur applause, all perils lie would through, Buckles like gridirons, and wigs on springs ; He 'll fight - that's writo-a cavaliero true, Tétes built like towers, and rumps like ostrich Till ev'ry drop of blood—that 's ink-is spilt

wings. If this piece please, cach summer I'll go over, And fetch new patterns by the straits of Dover.

§ 102. Epilogue 10 tbe sume ; 1777. Spoken by Mr:.

Abington, in the Cbaracter of Lady Teazel. § 101. Prologue to the School for Scandal; 1777.


I SCHOOL for Scandal!-Tell me, I belecch , Like a trade-wind inust now blow all one way, yoll,

Bund all my cares, my studies, and my vows, Needs there a school this modish art to teach you: To one old rusty weather-cock-my spouse: No need of lessons now---the knowing think--. So wills our virtuous bard !--the pyc-bald Bayes We inight as well be taught to eat and drink. Of crying epilogues and laughing plays. Caus'd by a dearth of scandal, thould the va- Old bachelors, who marry smart

young wives, pours

Learn from our play to regulate your lives ! Distress our fair-ones, let them read the papers ; Each bring his dear to town--ali faults upon Their pow'rful mixtures such disorders hit,

her Crave what they will, there's quantum fufficit.

London will



source of honour; “ Lord!" cries iny Lady Wormwood (who loves Plung d fairly in, like a cold bath, it serves, tattle,

When principles relax, to brace the nerves. And puts much salt and pepper in her prattle) Such is my cate--and yet I must deplore Just risen at noon, all night at cards whenthrelhing. That the gay dream of dissipation 's o'er ;

Strong tea and scandal--blets ine, how refreshing' And say, ye fair, was ever lively wife, “ Give me the papers, Lilp-how bold and Born with a genius for the highest life, “ free!

Lips. Like me untimely blafted in her bloom, “ Last night Lord L. [Sips] was caught with wike me condenin'd to fuch a dismal doom? “ Lady D.

Save money-when I just know how to waste it! “ For aching heads, what charming sal vola- Leave London-just as I began to talie it! tike!

[ips. Must I then watch the early-crowing cock ? “ If Mrs. B. will ftill continue Airting, The melancholy ticking of a clock : “ We hope the 'll draw, or we'll undraw, the In the lone ruliic hall for ever bounded, 6 curtain.

With dogs, cats, rats, and squalling brats sur“ Fine satire, poz! in public all abuse it!

rounded) “ But, by ourselves, [lips] our praise we can't With humble curates can I nosv retire, “refuse it.

(While good Sir Peter boozes with the 'squire) “ Noir, Lifp, read youthcre, at that dash and And at back-gammon morrify my soul, “ star."

[ware, That


for lu, or flutters at a vole? " Yes, Ma'am-A certain Lord had bett be. Seven's the main ! -dear found !--that must ex* Who lives not twenty miles from Grofvenor

** square;
Loft at hot-cuckles round a Christmas fire!

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