LADIES, this Play in too much haste was writ, To be o'ercharged with either plot or wit; 'Twas got, conceived, and born in six weeks' space,

And wit, you know, 's as slow in growth asgrace.

Sure it can ne'er be ripen'd to your taste;

I doubt 'twill prove, our author bred too fast :
For mark 'em well, who with the Muses marry,
They rarely do conceive, but they miscarry.
'Tis the hard fate of those who are big with rhyme,
Still to be brought to bed before their time.
Of our late poets Nature few has made;
The greatest part are-only so by trade.
Still want of something brings the scribbling fit;
For want of money some of 'em have writ,
And others do't, you see, for-want of wit.
Honour, they fancy, summons 'em to write,

CROSS.

So out they lug in wresty Nature's spite,
As some of you spruce beaux do-when you fight.
Yet let the ebb of wit be ne'er so low,
Some glimpse of it a man may hope to show,
Upon a theme so ample as-a beau.
So, howsoe'er true courage may decay,
Perhaps there's not one smock-face here to-day,
But's bold as Cæsar-to attack a play.
Nay, what's yet more, with an undaunted face,
To do the thing with more heroic grace,
'Tis six to four ye attack the strongest place.
You are such Hotspurs in this kind of venture,
Where there's no breach, just there you needs must

enter :

But be advised

E'en give the hero and the critic o'er,

For Nature sent you on another score ;

She form'd her beau, for nothing but her whore.

APOLOGIES for Plays, experience shows,
Are things almost as useless as-the beaux.
Whate'er we say (like them) we neither move
Your friendship, pity, anger, nor your love.
'Tis interest turns the globe; let us but find
The way to please you, and you'll soon be kind.
But to expeet, you'd for our sakes approve,
Is just as though you for their sakes should love;
And that, we do confess, we think a task
Which (though they may impose) we never ought
to ask.

This is an age, where all things we improve
But, most of all, the art of making love.
In former days, women were only won
By merit, truth, and constant service one;
But lovers now are much more expert grown;
They seldom wait, to approach by tedious form;
They're for despatch, for taking you by storm.
Quick are their sieges, furious are their fires,
Fierce their attacks, and boundless their desires.
Before the Play's half ended, I'll engage
To show you beaux come crowding on the stage,
Who with so little pains have always sped,
They'll undertake to look a lady dead.

How have I shook, and trembling stood with

awe,

When here, behind the scenes, I've seen 'em draw

-A comb; that dead-doing weapon to the heart,
And turn each powder'd hair into a dart!
When I have seen 'em sally on the stage,
Dress'd to the war, and ready to engage,
I've mourn'd your destiny-yet more their fate,
To think, that after victories so great,
It should so often prove their hard mishap
To sneak into a lane, and get—a clap.
But, hush they're here already; I'll retire,
And leave 'em to the ladies to admire.
They'll show you twenty thousand arts and graces,
They'll entertain you with their soft grimaces,
Their snuffbox, awkward bows, and-ugly faces.
In short, they're after all so much your friends,
That lest the Play should fail, the author ends;
They have resolved to make you some amends.
Between each act (perform'd by nicest rules)
They'll treat you with-an Interlude of fools:
Of which that you may have the deeper sense,
The entertainment's-at their own expense.

Enter AMANDA.

How does the happy cause of my content, [Meeting her kindly.

My dear Amanda ?

You find me musing on my happy state,
And full of grateful thoughts to Heaven, and you.
Aman. Those grateful offerings Heaven can't
receive

With more delight than I do :

Would I could share with it as well
The dispensations of its bliss!

That I might search its choicest favours out,
And shower 'em on your head for ever.

Love. The largest boons that Heaven thinks fit to grant,

To things it has decreed shall crawl on earth,
Are in the gift of woman form'd like you.
Perhaps when time shall be no more,
When the aspiring soul shall take its flight,
And drop this ponderous lump of clay behind it,
It may have appetites we know not of,
And pleasures as refined as its desires-

But till that day of knowledge shall instruct me,
The utmost blessing that my thought can reach,
[Taking her in his arms.
Is folded in my arms, and rooted in my heart.
Aman. There let it grow for ever!
Lore. Well said, Amanda-let it be for ever-
Would Heaven grant that-

Aman.
'Twere all the heaven I'd ask.
But we are clad in black mortality,
And the dark curtain of eternal night
At last must drop between us.
Love.

It must.

Forgive the weakness of a woman,

I am uneasy at your going to stay so long in town;

I know its false insinuating pleasures;

I know the force of its delusions;

I know the strength of its attacks;

I know the weak defence of nature;

I know you are a man-and I—a wife.

Love. You know then all that needs to give you rest,

For wife's the strongest claim that you can urge.
When you would plead your title to my heart,
On this you may depend. Therefore be calm,
Banish your fears, for they

Are traitors to your peace: beware of them,
They are insinuating busy things

That gossip to and fro,

And do a world of mischief where they come. But you shall soon be mistress of 'em all; I'll aid you with such arms for their destruction, They never shall erect their heads again. You know the business is indispensable, that obliges me to go for London; and you have no reason, that I know of, to believe that I'm glad of the occasion. For my honest conscience is my witness, I have found a due succession of such charms In my retirement here with you,

I have never thrown one roving thought that way.
But since, against my will, I'm dragg'd once more
To that uneasy theatre of noise,

I am resolved to make such use on't,
As shall convince you 'tis an old cast mistress,
Who has been so lavish of her favours,
She's now grown bankrupt of her charms,
And has not one allurement left to move me.

Aman. Her bow, I do believe, is grown so weak
Her arrows (at this distance) cannot hurt you;
But in approaching 'em, you give 'em strength.
The dart that has not far to fly, will put
The best of armour to a dangerous trial.

Love. That trial past, and you're at ease for ever; When you have seen the helmet proved, You'll apprehend no more for him that wears it. Therefore, to put a lasting period to your fears, I am resolved, this once, to launch into temptation: I'll give you an essay of all my virtues, My former boon companions of the bottle Shall fairly try what charms are left in wine: I'll take my place amongst them,

Love. Fy, fy, Amanda! it is not kind thus to distrust me.

Aman. And yet my fears are founded on my love.

Love. Your love then is not founded as it ought; For if you can believe 'tis possible

I should again relapse to my past follies,

I must appear to you a thing

Of such an undigested composition,
That but to think of me with inclination,
Would be a weakness in your taste
Your virtue scarce could answer.

Aman. 'Twould be a weakness in my tongue; My prudence could not answer,

If I should press you farther with my fears;
I'l therefore trouble you no longer with 'em.

Love. Nor shall they trouble you much longer, A little time shall show you they were groundless: This winter shall be the fiery trial of my virtue :