No mother fear'd her daughter's tender age,
Or thought the devil haunted ev'ry ftage.
But if these old examples fail to move,
Nobler and nearer fhall our toils approve.
To Britain's court we boldly lift an eye,
And claim a monarch once our flage ally.
With generous maxims of a Portius' part,
He form'd to virtue's rules his youthful heart.
To him the actor's rules were fully known,
And the ftage taught the graces of the throne.
Our lefs ambitious labours humbly chufe,
The milder beauties of the comic Mufe.
Our guiltless aim the moments to beguile,
And move, as reafon prompts, th' approving fmile.
Our modeft ftage no loofer fhows fhall ftain,
Nor ribbald words your decent ears profane,
But forms, by Shakespear's glowing pencil wrought,
The genuine fruits of his creative thought,
Prefent the image of a mighty mind,
Bound by no limits, to no rules confin'd.
To-night his pow'rful magic claims your eyes,
And bids the vifionary fcenes arife.
Oh may your breafts the pleafing influence warm,
And hide our failings by the poet's charm,
And taught by Nature's and her Shakespear's laws,
Grant us your honest, your unforc'd applaufe.
Epilogue, Spoken by Mifs Courtney, Niece to Lord Sandwich. In the Cla
ELL, firs, I guess by what you've feen to-night,
You fear no danger from a female fpright;
Light airy beings, ready, quick and gay,
Like jugler's balls, now there, and then away ;.
Humble, obedient, without noife or firife,
Uncommon qualities
But why, you'll fay, fo eager to be free?
Why fuch a hank'ring after liberty?
This indicates a roving inclination
To be difgufted at your fituation.
What could one do, confin'd in defert ifle?
But one young man within a thousand mile;
He too hot thro' and thro' by Cupid's dart,
Poor foul, I pity'd him with all my heart.
No creature elte but fuch as Caliban.
Catch me again, then, mafler, if you can!
My liberty attain'd, no longer air,
I'm grown corporeal, like my neighbours there;
Yet ftill, I promife to preferve full well
My airy virtues in this mortal shell.
Ye wedded dames, obedience learn from me,
Yet, have an eye to proper liberty.
Gallants, let Ferdinand's example move
Your hearts to virtuous conftancy in love.
Ye fair, if in Miranda's part you find
A fpotlefs innocence, and gentle mind,
Copy what Shakespear's hand from nature drew;
Such charms will prove as amiable in you,
And place your merits in a brighter view.
Prologue to the comedy of All in the Wrong, acted at Drury-Laue during the Jummer months of the prefent year 1761.
Written and Spoken by Mr. Foote.
O-night be it known to box, gall'ries, and pit,
Will be open'd the original warehouse for wit,
The new manufacture, Foote and Co. undertakers,
Play, opera, pantomime, farce,- by the makers.
We fcorn, like our brethren, our fortunes to owe
To Shakespear and Southern, to Otway and Lowe:
Tho' our judgment may err; yet our justice is shown.
For we promile to mangle no works but our own;
And moreover on this you may firmly rely,
If we can't make you laugh, that we won't make you cry.
For our monarch, who knew we were mirth-loving fouls,
Has lock'd up his light'ning, his daggers and bowls;
Refolv'd that in buskins no heroes should stalk,
He has fhut us quite out of the tragedy walk.
No blood, no blank verse, in short we're undone,
Unless you're contented with frolic and fun.
If, tir'd of her round in the Ranelagh mill,
There should be one female inclin'd to fit ftill:
If, blind to the beauties, or fick of the fquall,
A party should not chufe to catch cold at Vaux-half:
If at Sadler's fweet Wells, the wine fhould be thick,
The cheesecakes be four, or Miss Wilkinson fick :
If the fume of the pipes should prove pow'rful in June,
Or the tumblers be lame, or the bells out of tune;
We hope you will call at our warehouse in Drury,
We've a curious affortment of goods, I affure you,
Domestic and foreign, indeed all kinds of wares,
English cloths, Irish linens, and French Pet-enl'airs;
If for want of good cuftom or loffes in trade,
The poetical partners fhould bankrupts be made;
If from dealings too large, we plunge deeply in debt,
And a whereas comes out in the Mufe's Gazette,
We'll on you our affigns for certificates call,
Tho' infolvents we're honest, and give up our all.
Epilogue to Edgar and Emmeline. Written by Mr. Garrick. Spoken by
LD times, old fashions, and the fairest gone;
Let us return, good folks, to fixty-one
To this bleft time, ye fair, of female glory,
When pleasures unforbidden lie before ye!
No fprites to fright ye now, no guardian elves;
Your wife directors are - your own dear felves
And every fair one feels, from old to young,
While these your guides you never can do wrong.
Weak were the fex of yore- - their pleasures few-
How much more wife, more fpirited are you?
Would any lady Jane, or lady Mary,
Ere they did this or that, confult a fairy?
Would they permit this faucy pigmy crew,
For each fmall flip, to pinch 'em black and blue ?
Well may you fhudder for with all your charms,
Were this the cafe-good heav'n, what necks and arms!
Thus did they ferve our grandames heretofore -
The very thought must make us moderns fore!
Did their poor hearts for cards or dancing beat,
These elves rais'd blifters on their hands and feet:
Tho' Loo the game, and fiddles play'd most sweetly-
They could not fqueeze poor Pam, nor foot Moll Peately.
Were wives with husbands but a little wilful,
Were they at that fame Loo a little skilful;
Did they with pretty fellows laugh or sport
Wear ruffs too small, or petticoats too short:
Did they, no matter how, disturb their cloaths;
Or, over lilied, add a little rofe !-
These spiteful fairies rattled round their beds,
And put ftrange frightful nonfenfe in their heads!
Nay, while the husband fnor'd, and prudent aunt,
Had the fond wife but met the dear gallant
Tho' lock'd the door, and all as ftill as night
Pop thro' the key-hole whips the fairy sprite,
Trips round the room" my husband!"—madam cries—
"The devil!-where!" the frighted beau replies,
Jumps thro' the window she calls out in vain,
He, cur'd of love-and cool'd with drenching rain,
Swears" d-m-n him if he'll e'er intrigue again!"
These were their tricks of old. But all allow,
No childish fears disturb our fair ones now.
Ladies, for all this trifling, 'twould be best
To keep a little fairy in your breaft:
Not one that should with moderate paffions war,
But juft to tweak you when you go too far.
Prologue and Epilogue to the Andria of Terence, performed lately with applanfe by the young gentlemen of Weftminfter-School.
Scilicet, extincto tam charo rege, quis effe
Aut ludo poterat, lætitiæve locus!
Nunc intermiffam repetit comœdia scenam, '
Dum nihil eft, quod non omina faufta ferat;
Dum Georgi aufpiciis ftudiifque virilibus aucta,
Læta foris res eft Anglica, læta domi.
Quæque oris magni advolvit commercia ponti,
Fert etiam laurus quælibet aura novas.
Felices! queis rex, populi ut mereatur amorem,
Ufque docet, populum quam ftudiofus amet;
Qui, melius quo fint leges pietafque tuendæ ;
Quod jubet, exemplo comprobat ipfe fuo.
Et ne quid defit, conjux en regia, tanto
Annis, ingenio, moribus apta viro!
Dî faciant fimili felices prole parentes,
Quæ fceptra hæc olim geftet honore pari.
Sic fua libertas, fic patria jura, fidesque
Gentibus his nulla stent violanda manu.
Longum iter emenfi, jam tandem huc venimus omnes,
Ipfe, uxor, foboles, hei mihi! tota domus.
Nempe coronandus rex; pompæque fuperbæ
Haud parvum accedit regia nupta
Vifendi ftudio, puerique uxorque fatigant;
Ni cedam, noftro fub lare nulla quies.
Vifo loca, inquiro pretium quis crederet? Eheu!
Quifque locus bis fex conftitit aurcolis.
Dein tentanda via eft per mille pericula, turbam
Dum luctans abigo hoc fufte, abigorque fimul.
Territat hinc, obftans prætenta cufpide, miles;
Hinc, urgens fremitu & calce, minatur equus.
Paffim fe agglomerat denfato examine vulgus ;
Turba frequens fummas veftit ubique domos,
Longa illic fixos tenet expectatio; pauci
Evigilant, plures opprimit alta quies.
Jam lente procerum procedit lucidus ordo
Sub noctem haud adeo lucidus ordo redit.
Quo ftrepitu interea refonant, quo compita plaufu!
Dum grata exultat patria rege fuo.
Confundor totus vario difcrimine fcenæ,
Splendore & tanto mens oculique ftupent.
Pompa quidem augufta eft. Votis tamen omibus oro,
Me vivo, ut nullâ fit reditura die.
Fragments of Celtic poetry, from Olaus Verelius, a German writer; literally
The daughter comes by midnight to the tomb of ber deceafed father, and thus begins her folemn incantation over bis grave.
Angantyr. Daughter Hervor, full of fpells to raise the dead, why doft
Awake, Angantur, Her- thou call fo? Wilt thou run on to
vor the only daughter of thee and Suafu. doth awake thee. Give me out of thy tomb the hardened fword which the dwarfs made for Suafurlama. Hervardur, Hior vardur, Herani, and Angantyr, with helmet, and coat of mail, and a fharp word, with fhield and accoutrements, and bloody fpear.
wake you all, under the roots of trees. Are the fo..s of Andgrim, who delighted in mifchief, now become duft and afhes? Can none of Eyvor's fons now speak with me out of the habitations of the dead! Harvardur, Hiorvardur! fo may you all be within your tombs, as a thing that is hanged up to putrify among infects, unless you de
thy own mischief? Thou art mad and out of thy fenfes, who art defperately refolved to waken the dead. I was not buried either by thy father or other friends. Two which lived after me got the fword Tirfing, one of whom is now poffeffor
Hervor. Thou doft not tell the truth: fo let Odin hide thee in the tomb, as thou haft Tirfing by thee. Art thou unwilling, Angantyr, to give an inheritance to thy only child?
Angantyr. I will tell thee, Hervor, what will come to pafs: this Tirfing will, if thou doft believe me, deftroy almoft all thy off-fpring. Thou shalt have a fon, who after
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