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The transient hour of fashion too soon spent, Such as were wont, while yet they charm'd the ear, “ Farewvel the tranquil mind, farewel content! so fical the plaudit of a filent tear; “ Farewel the plume idead--the cushion’diése, When Otway gave domestic grief its part, “ That takes the cushion from his proper seat! And Rowe's familiar sorrows touch'd the heart. “ The spirit-firring drum ! - card-drums A fceptred traitor, lath'd by vengeful fate,

A bleeding hero, or a falling ftate, “ Spadille, odd trick,pam, basto, king, and queen! Are themes (to nobly worth the claffic fune) “ And you, ye knockers, that with brazen throat which fechly claim yoursighs,porciaim them long “ The welcome vititor's approach denote- Too great for pity, they inspire respect, • Farewel!—all quality of high renown, Their deeds altonish, rather than affect; “ Pride, pomp, and circumttance of glorious Proving how rare the heart that woe can mort,

\Viich reason tells us we can never prove. do Farewel !- your revels I partake no more, Other the scene, where fadly stands confest “ And Lady Teazel's occupation 's o'er." The private pang that rends the surfcrer's breate All this I told our Bard-he Imild, and said When forrow fits upon a parent's brow, 'twas clear

When fortune mocks the youthful lover's row, I ought to play dcep tragedy next year:

All feel the tale-for who lo mean bue knows Meanwhile he drew wile morals from his play, What fathers' sorrows are, what lovers' woes? And in these solemn periods stalk'd away : On kindreil ground our Bard his fabric built, “ Bleit were the fair, like you her faults who And plac'd a mirror there for private guilt; “ stopp'd,

Where: fatal union! will appear combin'd " And clos’dler follies when the curtain dropp'd! An anyei's form and an alandon d mind; • No more in vice or error to cogane,

Honour attempting paillon to ieprore, • Or play the food at large on life's grcat stage !" and friendship Gruegling with uphallow'd live!

Yet view not, critics, with severe regard

The orphan offspring of an orphan bard, § 103. Prologue to A Word to the Wik, performer Doom'd, whilft he wrote, unpitice to sustain for the Benefit of Mr. Kelly's Family ; 1777.

More real mis’rics than his pen could tuigt! JOHNSON.

Ul-fated Savage ! at whose birth was giv in

No parent but the Muse, no frie d out lieara! T!IIS night presents a playevhichee bromaster whose youth no brother knew, with facial care

Or , hooted

Itage *.
From zeal or malice row ro more we dread,

No wedded partner of his mortal wee,

To win his iinile at all that fare could do; For English vengeance ruurs not with the dead.

While, at bis daith, nor friend's nor mother's tear A generous foe regards with pitving eye The man whom fåte has laid where all must lie. Fell on the track of his defert: j bier!

So pleads the tale † that gives to future times To wit reviving from its author's dust

The son's inisfortunes, and the parent's cuines; Be kind, ye judges, or at least be jutt:

There shall his fane (if owad to-niy hu) sure For no renew'd hoftilities invade Th' oblivious grave's inviolable fhade.

Fix'd by the hand that bids our language lire! Let one great payment every claim appcase, And him who cannot hurt, allow to skale; To please by scenes unconícious of offence, $ 105. Prologne 1o Bonduta; 1778. GARRICK. By harmleis merriment, or useful sense.

moulon Britons let the old appear Where aught of bright or fair the piece displays, This night, to route 'em for this anxious Approve it only-'tis too late to praise.

year : If want of skill or want of care appear,

To raise thar spirit, which of vore, then rais'd, Forbear to hiss--the poet cannot hear!

Made even Romans tre'mile while they prais'd: By all, like hin, must praise and blame be found To rouse that ipuit

, iwhich thro' every are At best a fieeting gleam, or empty found. Vas wak'd the lyre, and waim'd th' bittorian's Yet then shall calm reflection blets the night,

page; When liberal piry dignificd delight;

That dauntless spirit, which on Cresty's plain When pleasure fir'd her torch at virtue's fame, Ruth'd from the heart thro' ev'ry British vcin: And mirth was bounty with an humbler name. Nerv'd ev'ry arm the numerous hoft to dare,

Whilft Edward's valour shone the guiding itar,

Whose beams dispers d the darkness of despair. $ 104. Proluz ue to Sir Thomas Overbury ; 1777. Whate'er the craft or number of his foes,

SHERIDAN.

Ever from danger Britain's glory rose :
Tolong the Muse, attach d to regal fhow, To the mind's eye let the fifth Harry rise,

Denies the scene to tales of humbler woc; And in that vision boasting France defpile;
* Upon the first representation of this play, 1770, it was damned, from the violence of party.
+ Life of Richard Savage, by Dr. Samuel Johnson.

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Then turn to lateț deeds your fires have wrought, Returning thence, the disappointed fleet
When Anna rul'd, and mighty Marlb'rouyh Anchors in 1 avistock’s tantastic street;
fought.

There under Folly's colours gaily rides,
Shall Chatham die and be forgot * -O no! Where Humour points, or veering paflion guides.
Warm from its fource let grateful forrow flow; In vain the steward racks, and tenants rave,
His matchless ardour tir'd each fear-struck mind, Money she wants, and money the will have.
His genius foar'd when ritons droup'd and Meanwhile, terrific hangs the unpaid bijl,
pin'd ;

Long as from Portman-square to Ludgate-hill.
Whilft each State Atlas funk beneath the load, The 'quire, exhausted, in defponding plight,
His heart, unthook, with patriot virtue glow'd ; Creeps to his chambers to avoid the light,
Like Hercules, he freed 'em from the weight, Or at the Mouni with fome old snarler chimes,
And on his shoulders fix'd the cottering state; In damning vives, and railing at the times.'
His strength the monsters of the land deficd, Such is the scene!--If then we fetch you down
To raile his country's glory was his pride, Amuleinents which endear the finoky town,
And for her service, as he liv'd, he died. And through the pealant's poor but useful hands
O for his powers, thole feelings to impart, We circulate the produce of your

lands;
Which rous'd to action every d coping heart ! In this voluptuous diflipated age,
Now, while the ang y trumpet founds alarms, Sure there's icme merit in our rural stage t.
And all the nation cries, “ To arms, l arms!" Happy the call, nor wholly vain the play,
Then would his native strength each Brito which weds you to your acres but a day.

know,
And scorn the threats of an invading foc :
Hatching and feeding every civil broil,
France looks with envy on our happy foil ;

§ 107. Epilogue to Percy; 1778. GARRICK.
When mischief 's on the ring the cries for war,
In!ulis diftres, and bases ner conqueror.

I MUST, will lycak-I hope my dress and air

Announce the man of fashion, not the play'r: But Shakspeare fung-ani well this land he

Tho' gentlemen are now furbid the scenes, knew,

(rue,

Yet I have ruth'd through heroes, kings, and
O hear his voice ! that nought thall make us

os qucens ;
“ 1f England to itself do reft out true.” Reblvd, in piry to this polish'd age,

To drive theic ballad heroes from the stage106. Prclogue to obe Princess of Parma; 1775. “ To drive the deer with hound and horn,

CUMBERLA.D., “ Earl Percy took his way ;
ERE dark November, with his dripping wings.

" The child may rue that is unborn
Shuts out the cheerful face of men and things,

" The hunting of that day.” You ail can tell how foon the dreary scene A pretty basis, truly, for a maudlin play! Affects your wires and daughters with the {p!cen. What ! Thall a fcribbling, fenfeless woman dare Madam begins" My dear, these odious rains To offer to your tastes Tuch tasteless fare ? “ Will bring on all my old rheumatic pains; Is Douglas or is Percy, fir'd with passion, “ In fifty places it came in latt night

Ready, for love or glory, death to dath on, “ This vile old crazy manfion's such a fright! Fit company for modern fill-life men of " What's to be done?”—“In very truth, my love,

fashion ? 6. I think 'twere better for us to remove.

Such madness will our hearts but lightly groze ; This taid, if as it chance that gentle spouse We've no such frantic nobles now-a-days. Bears but a second int'rest in the house, Could we believe old stories, those strange felThe bill is pals d-no fooncr laid than done

lows L'p Springs the hen-bird, and the covey 's gone : Marricd for love, could of their wives he jealousThen hey for London! there the game begins; ay, constant to 'em too-and, what is worse, Bouquets, and diarrond ftars, and golden pins, The vulgar fouls thought cuckoldom a curse ! A thoufand freakish wants, a thousand figlis,

Moit wedded pairs had then one purse, one A thousand poutings, and ten thousand lyes;

mind, Trim, and new-rigg d, and launch'd for picafure's Onc bed 100-- fo preposterously join'd! gale,

From such barbarity (thank Heaven!, we 're Out madam comes, her gosings at her tail;

rohud. Away they scamper to prelent their faces Old songs their happiness at home record, At Joh son's citadel, for side-box places, From home they fep'rate carriages abhorr'dHe to their joint and supplicating moan One horse fers'd bo:h-my lady rode behind Presents a face of brass, a heart of Itone; Or, monarch-like, while their address is stating, 'Twas death alone could snap their bon is asunder: Sends them a " veto” by his lord in waiting. Now, tack'd lo llightiy, not to snap's the wonder.

my lord.

* Lord Chatham died May 11, 1778. Mr. Hanbury, of Kelmail, in Northamptonshire.

+ This prologue was spoken at the private theatre of

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Nay, death itself could not their hearts divide, When, dire milhap! tho' neither shame nor fin,
They mix'd their love with monumental pride; Sappho herself, and not her Muse, lies in.
Foi, cut in ftone, they still lay side by side. The virgin Nine in terror My the bow'r,
But why there Gothic ancestors produce ? And matron Juno claims desporic pow'r:
Why scour their rusty armours ? What 's the use: Soon Gothic hags the classic pile o'errurn,
'Twould not your nicer optics much regale, A caudle-cup tupplants the facred urn;
To see us beaux bend under coats of inail : Nor books nor implements escape their rage,
Should we our limbs with iron doublets bruise..

They spike the ink-stand, and they rend the Good Hearen! how much court-plaisier we

page : should use !

Poems and plavs one barbarous fate partake; We wear no armour now but on our fhoes. Ovid and Plautus fuffer at the stake; [cake. Let not with barbarism truc taste be blended; And Aristotle 's only fai’d-to wrap plumOld vulgar virtues cannot be defended;

Yet thall a woman tempt the tragic fccne?
And dare--but hold - I must repreis my spleen ;
I see your hearts are pledu'd to her applaule,

While Shakspeare's fpirit seems to aid her cause; § 108 Epilogue to Fatal Falsehood; 1779. Well pleas’ul to aid-fince o'er his sacred bier

biera SHERIDAN. A female hand did ample trophies rear, UNHAND me, gentlemen, by Heaven, 1 fay. And gave the gentleit laurel that is worshippa)

,

, I'll make a gliott of him who bars my way.

(Bebind the scenes. Frith let me come-a poetaster true, As lean as enry, and as baneful too ;

§ 109. Prologue to the Farbers; 1979. GARRICK. On the duli audience let me vent my rage, Or drive thcle female fcribblers froin the stage;

WH

THEN from the world departs a son of fame, For sense or history, we've none but these,

His deeds oí' works embalın liis precious The law of liberty and wit they seize;

name; In tragic-comic-pastoral – they dare to Yet, not content, the public call for art, piease.

To rescue from the tomb his mortal part; Each puny bard must surely burst with spite, Demand the painter's and the sculptor's hand, To find that women with luch fame can write: To spread his mimic form throughout the land; But o, your partial favour is the cause, A form, perhaps, which living was neglected, Who feid their follies with such full applause; And, when it could not feel respect, respected. Yet still our tribe ihall feek to blast their fame, This night, no butt or picture claims your praises And ridicule caclı fair pretender's aim; Our claim 's superior---we his fpirit raise ; Where the dull duties of domcstic life From Time's dark sto:c-house bring a long-loft Wage with the Muse's toiis eternal strife.

play, What motley cares Corilla's mind perplex, And drag it from oblivion into day. While maids and metaphors conspire to vex! But who the authorNeed I name the wit, In itudinus dishabille behold her fir,

Whom Nature prompeed as bis genius writ: A letteı'd gossip, and a housewife wit; Truth smil'd on Fancy for each well-wrought At oua ipvoking, though for different views,

stori, Her gods, her cook, her milliner, and muse; Where characters live, act, and stand before ye. Round her firew'd roon a frippery chaos lies, Suppose there characters, various as they are, A chequer'd wreck of notable and wife; The knave, the fool, the worthy, wise, and fair, Bills, books, caps, couplets, combs, a varicd mass, For and against the author pleading at your bar. Oppress the toilet, and obscure the glass ; First pleads Tom Jones---grateful his heart and Uninth'd here an epigram is laid,

warm... And there, a mantua-maker's bill unpaid; “ Brave, gen'rous Britons! Thield this play from Here new-born plays foretaste the town's ap

harm; plausc,

" My best friend wrote it; should it not fucceed, There, dormant patterns lie for future gauze : Tho' with my Sophy bleft---my heart will Amoral eslay now is all her care;

« bleed.' A Satire next, and then a bill of fare :

Then from his face he wipes the manly rear. A scene the now projects, and now a dish; Courage, iny master!" Partridge cries, “ don't Here's Actthe firli--and here- Remove with filh. ** ftar : Now while this eye in a fine phrensy rolls, “ Should Envy's serpents biss, or Malice frown, That, soberly calis up a bill for coals ;

• Tho' I 'm a coward, zounds! I'll knock 'em Black pins and daggers in one leaf the sticks,

“ down." And tcars, and thread, and bowls, and thimbles Next, fweet Sophia comes-- the cannot speak... mix.

Her wilhes for the play o'erspread her cheek; Sappho, 'eis true, long vers'il in epic song, In ev'ry look her sentiments you read, For years esteem'd all household studies wrong; And more than eloquence her blushes plead.

Now

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o foe;

Now Blifil bows---with smiles his false heart gild. Scarce rural Kensington duc honour gains,
ing.--

The vulgar verdure of her walk remains,
“ He was my foe--- I beg you 'll damn this field - Where white-rob'd misics amble two by iwo,
“ing

Nodding to bootcd beaux-"How do, how do?" Right!" Thwackum roars, no mercy, Sirs, With gen'ral questions, that no answer wait,

How vasily full! A'n't you come vastly late ? Scourge the dead author, thro' his orphan play.' “* Isn't it quite charming? When do you Icave “ What words !" cries Parfon Adanıs; " fic,

" town? " fie! dilown 'cm !

. An't you quite tir’d? Pray, can we set you " Good Lord !---de mortuis nil nisi bonum:

down ?"
“If such are Christian teachers, it ho'll revere 'em These suburb pleasures of a London May,
“ If thus they preach, the devil alone thould hear Imperfect yet, we hail the cold delay :
: tnm.”

But if this plea 's denied, in our excuse
Now Slipllop enters---Tho' chis scriv'ning va- Another still remains you can 't refule;
grant

It is a lady writes and hark---a noble Muse! Slated my virtue, which was ever flagrant,

But see a critic starting from his bench“ Yet, like black Tbello, I'd bear scornsand whips,

“ A noble author?" Yes, Sir, but the play 's “ Slip into poverty to th' very hips,

not French; T'cxult this play---may it decrrase in favour, Yet if it were, no blame on us could fall; “ And be its fame immorializ' for ever!'' For we, you knoll, must follow fashion's call : Squire Western, reeling with October mellow, And true it is, things lately were in train Tally-o-boys !--- Yoicks !--- Critics, hunt the ro woo the Gallic Mule at Dury-lane; is fellow!

Vot to impuit a troop of foreign elves, Damn 'on ! these wits are varmint not worth But treat you with French actors in ourselves : breeding :

["ing" A friend we had, who vow'd he'd make us " What good e'er came of writing and of read- fpeak Next comes, brim full of spite and politics, Pure flippant French-by contract-in a week; His lifter Western-- and thus deeply Ipcaks :

Told us 't was time to study what was good, “ Wits are arm'd pow'rs; like tirancc attack the Polith, and leave off being understood:

Chat crowded audiences we thus might bring Negotiate till they sleep---then strike the blow." To Monsieur Parsons, and Chevalier King : Allworthy last pleads to your noblest paflions : Or should the vulgars grumble now and then, “ Ye gen'rous leaders of the tastes and fashions, rhe prompter might translate---for country gen6. Departed Genius left his orphan play

tlemen.
To your kind care---What the dead wills, obcy. Straight all lub?crib'd---kings, gods, mutes, fing-
" ( then respect the father's fond bequeft,

er, actor;
• And make his widow fimile, his fpirit rett !! A Flanders figure-dancer our contractor.

But here I grieve to own, tho' 't be to voli, § 110. Prologue 10 tbe Miniature-Picture ; 1780. He acted---e' cnas most contractors do,

SHERIDAN. Sold what he never dealt in ; and, th' amount
CHILL'D by rude gales, while yet reluctant Being first discharg'd, fubmitted his account.
May

And what th' event? Their industry was such,
Withholds the beauties of the vernal day; Dodd spoke good Flemish, Bannister bad Durch :
As some fond maid, whom matron frowns reprove, Then the rogue told us, with infulting eale,
Suspends the smile her heart devotes to love; So it was foreign it was sure to please :
The season's pleasures too delay their hour, Beaux,' wits applaud, as falhion thould command,
And winter revels with protracted pow'r : And milles laugh---to seem to understand-
Then blame not, critics, if thus late w

we bring So from cach clime our foil may fomething gain; A winter's drama; but reproach-the spring. Manhood from Rome, and (prightliness from What prudent cit dares yet the season truft,

Spain;
Balk in his whisky, and enjoy the dust? Some Rullian Roscius next delight the age,
Housd in Cheapside, scarce yet the gayer spark And a Dutch Heinel skate along the stage.
Achieves the Sunday triumph of the Park; Exotic fopperics, hail ! whose Hart'ring smile
Scarce yet you see him, dreading to be late, Supplauts the sterner virtues of our ille!
Scour the New-road, and dath thro' Groticnor- Thus while with Chinese firs and Indian pincs
gite.

Our nurs'ries (warm, the British oak declines:
Anxious and fearful too-his steed to show, Yet vain our Mufes fear---no foreign laws
The hack'd Bucephalus of Rotten-row : We dread, while native beauty pleads our cause :
Careless he seems, yet vigilantly fly,

While you too judge, whose smiles are honours
Woves the stray glance of ladies palling by ;

higher While his off-hcel, insidiously aside,

Than verse should gain, but were those eyes inProvokes the caper which hc fecms to chide.

spire.

64

* The late Herry Fielding, Esq. author of t eplay,

3 S 3

But

But if the men presume your pow'r to awe,

1 This fair committee shall derail the reft; Retort their churlith fenatorial law:

And then let monsters, if tht y dare, fracji. This is your house---and move.--the gentle

men withdraw : Then they may vote, with envy never ceasing, Your influence has increas'd and is increasing :

§ 112. Prologue to Faial Curiofity; 1792.

COLMAN But there, I trust, the re!olution's finish'd ; Sure none will lay---jt ought to be diminish'd. LONG Since, beneath this humble roof, this

play,

Wrought by true English genius, faw the day, § 111. Epilogue to the famie; 1780. Forth from this humile roof it sca: ce has firay'd;

JEKYLL. In prouider theatres 't was never play'd. HE men, like tyrants of the Turkish kind,

Thire you have gap'd and doz'd o'r many a THE Have long our fox's energy consind;

piece, In full-dress black, and tows, and folemn stalk, Patchi’il up from France, or stolen from Rome Have long monopoliz'd the Prologue's waik;

or Greece, But still the flippant Epilogue was ours,

Or made of shreds from Shakspeare's golden

fleece. It alk'd, for gay support, the female pow'rs; It ask'd a flirting air, coquet and free,

There scholars, fimple nature cast afide, And so, to murder it, they fix on me.

Llave trick'd their heroes out in clailic pride;

No scenes where genuine pailion runs to waste, Much they mistake my talents--- I was born To tell, in fobs and lighs, foine tale forlorn;

But all hedg'd in by shrubs of modern tafie! To wet my handkerchief with Juliet's woes,

Each tragedly laid out like garden grounds, Or turn to Shore's despair my tragic nole.

One circling gravel marks its narrow bounds. Yes, gentlemen, in education's ipite,

Lillo's plantations were of forest growth--You still shall find that we can read and write;

Shakspeare's the fame---great nature's hard in

both ! Like you, can swell a debt or a debate, Can quit the card-ta'ile to steer the state,

Give me a tale the passions to controul, And bid our Belle Allemblée's rhet'ric How,

" Whore slightest word may harrowup the soul!" To drown your dull declaimers at Soho!

A magic potion, of charm'd drugs commixt, Methinks e'en now I hear my sex's tongues,

Where pleasure courts, and honour comes betus ir!

Such are the scenes that we this night reneve, The thrill, smart melody of female lungs ! The storm of question, the division calm,

Scenes that your fathers were well-pleas'd to view. With “ Hear her! hear her! Mrs. Spcaker, Once we half-paus’d--- and while cold fears pre" Ma'am!

vail, O order! order !” Kates and Susans rise,

Strive with faint strokes to foften down the tale;

Butfoon, arries in all its maure woes,
And Miry'ret moves, and Tabitha repies.
Look to the camp---Coxheath and Warley The shade of Li!!o to our fancy rote:
Common

Check thy weak hand, it faid, or feein'd to say--, Supplied, at least, for ev'ry rent a woman;

Nor of is manly vigour rob my play!

From British annals I the fiory drew, The cartridge-paper wrapp'd the billet-cicux,

And British bicarts thall feel, and bear it too, The rear and piquet formd the rendezvous ; The drum's itern rattle shook the nuptial bed,

Pity thall inore their fouls, in spite of rules;

Aad terror takes no letion from the schools. The knapsack pillow'd Lety S: proi's tert; Love was the 'vatch-word, till the morning fifc Speak to their buforis, to their feelirgs trust,

You 'll find their sentence generous and jui. Rous'd the tame Major and his warlike wite.

Look to the stage.--10-night's example draws
A female Dramatist to grace the caule-
So fade the triumphs of prefumptuous man!

§ 113. Proingue to the Birtb-Day', AME. 12, And would you, ladies, but complete my plan,

1783.

COLMAN. Here should ye sign some patrio: petition WHEN fate on some tremendous ałt seems To mend our contitutional condition.

bent, The men invade our rights, the minic elves And nature labours with the dread event, Lisp and nick-nume God's creatieres like ourlelves, Porien's and prodigies convulse the earth, Rouge more than we do, fimper, flounce, and fret, That heaves and firuggles with the fa:ai birth. And they coquet, good gods, bru they caquet! In beppier bours are lavifh blessings given, They too are coy; and, monstrous to relate, And pour’d in foods to mark the hand of Hca, Theirs is the coyness in a tête-à-tête. Yes, ladies, yes, I could a tale unfold,

in a long series of bright glories drest, Would barrozu up your---cushions--- were it told ; Britons must hail this day fupremely bleft. Part your combined curls, and fretze---pomatum, First on this day, in liberty's great cause, At griefs and grievances, as I could late 'em. 1 Brun.ivick can.c to guard our rights and lanys: But such eternal blazon must not speak;

On this great dav, our glorious anuals tell, Besides, the House adjourns come day next week. By British arms the pride of Cuba fell;

Fa

ven.

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