Unwilling, we must change the nobler scene,
And, in our turn, present you Harlequin ;
Quit poets, and set carpenters to work,
Show gaudy scenes, or mount the vaulting
Turk:

For, though we actors, one and all, agree
Boldly to struggle for our-vanity,
If want comes on, importance must retreat;
Our first great ruling passion is-to eat.
To keep the field, all methods we'll pursue;
The conflict glorious! for we'll fight for you:
And, should we fail to gain the wish'd applause,
At least we're vanquish'd in a noble cause.

§ 27. Occasional Prologue, spoken at Covent-
Garden Theatre, by Mr. Barry. 1750.
WHEN vice or folly over-runs a state,
Weak politicians lay the blame on fate:
When rulers useful subjects cease to prize,
And damn for arts that caus'd themselves to
rise;

When jealousies and fears possess the throne,
And kings allow no merit--but their own;
Can it be strange, that men for flight prepare,
And strive to raise a colony elsewhere?
This custom has prevail'd in ev'ry age,
And has been sometimes practis'd on the stage:
For-entre nous-these managers of merit,
Who fearless arm, and take the field with spirit,
Have curb'd us monarchs with their haughty
mien,

And Herod* have out-Herod-ed-within.
[Pointing to the Green Room.
O, they can torture twenty thousand ways!
Make bouncing Bajazett retreat from Bayes!
The ladies too, with every power to charm,
Whose face and fire an anchorite might warm,
Have felt the fury of a tyrant's arm.
By selfish arts expell'd our ancient seat,
In search of candor, and in search of meat,
We from your favor hope for this retreat.

If Shakspeare's passion, or if Jonson's art,
Can fire the fancy, or can warm the heart,
That task be ours; but if you damn their

scenes,

And heroes must give way to Harlequins,
We too can have recourse to mime and dance;
Nay, there, I think, we have the better chance:
And, should the town grow weary of the mute,
Why, we'll produce a child upon the flute.||
But, be the food as 'twill, 'tis you that treat!
Long they have feasted-permit us now to eat.
28. Epilogue spoken by Mrs. Clive, on the
two occasional Prologues at Covent-Garden
and Drury-Lane. 1750.

[Enters hastily, as if speaking to one
who would oppose her.]
I'LL do't: by Heaven, I will-Pray get you

gone;

What! all these janglings, and I not make one? *Mr. Quin. Both Quin and Barry. Mr. Garrick. Mrs. Cibber, &c.

A child, said to be about four years of age, had been introduced on the stage of Drury-Lane theatre,

to play a tune on that instrument.

Was ever woman offer'd so much wrong?
These creatures here would have me hold my
tongue!

I'm so provok'd, I hope you will excuse me ;
I must be heard-and beg you won't refuse me.
While our mock heroes, not so wise as rash,
With indignation hold the vengeful lash,
And at each other throw alternate squibs,
Compos'd of little wit-and some few fibs;
I, Catherine Clive, come here to attack 'em all,
And aim alike at little and at tall.
But first, ere with the buskin'd chiefs I brave it,
A story is at hand, and you shall have it.
Once on a time two boys were throwing dirt,
gentle youth was one, and one was some-

A

what pert:

peated,

.

Each to his master with his tale retreated,
Who gravely heard their diff'rent parts re-
[treated.
How Tom was rude, and Jack, poor lad! ill-
The master paus'd-to be unjust was loath,
Call'd for a rod, and fairly whipp'd them both.
In the same master's place, lo! here I stand
And for each culprit hold the lash in hand.
First, for our own-O, 'tis a pretty youth!
But out of fifty lies I'll sift some truth:
'Tis true, he's of a choleric disposition,
And fiery parts make up his composition.
How have I seen him rave when things mis
carried!

[ried.
Indeed, he's grown much tamer since he mar
If he succeeds, what joys his fancy strike!
And then he gets-to which he's no dislike.
Faults he has many-but I know no crimes;
Yes, he has one-he contradicts sometimes:
And when he falls into his frantic fit,
He blusters so,
it makes e'en me submit.
So much for him-the other youth comes next,
Who shows, by what he says, poor soul! he's
vex'd.

He tells you tales how cruelly this treats us,
To make you think the little monster beats us.
Would I have whin'd in melancholy phrase,
How bouncing Bajazet retreats from Bayes?
I, who am woman, would have stood the fray;
At least not snivell'd thus, and run away!
Should any manager lift arm at me,
I have a tyrant arm as well as he !-
In fact, there has some little bouncing been,
But who the bouncer was, inquire within
No matter who-I now proclaim a peace,
And hope henceforth hostilities will cease;
No more shall either rack his brains to tease ye,
But let the contest be-who most shall please ye,
§ 29. Prologue to Taste. 1752. Spoken in the
Character of an Auctioneer. GARRICK.
BEFORE this court I, Peter Puff, appear,
A Briton born, and bred an auctioneer!
My useful, honest, learned, bawling brothers,
Who, for myself, and eke a hundred others,
With much humility and fear implore ye,
To lay our present desperate case before ye.

To laugh at us, our calling, and our friends :
'Tis said, this night a certain wag intends

If lords and ladies, and such dainty folks,
Are cur'd of auction-hunting by his jokes;
Should this odd doctrine spread throughout
the land,

"Before you buy, be sure to understand;"
O, think on us, what various ills will flow,
When great ones purchase only what they
know!

Why laugh at taste? It is a harmless fashion,
And quite subdues each detrimental passion:
The fair ones' hearts will ne'er incline to man,
While thus they rage for-china and japan.
The virtuoso too, and connoisseur,
Are ever decent, delicate, and pure;
The smallest hair their looser thoughts might
hold,
[cold.
Just warm when single, and when married,
Their blood, at sight of beauty, gently flows;
Their Venus must be old, and want a nose!
No am'rous passion with deep knowledge
thrives;

"Tis the complaint, indeed, of all our wives!
"Tis said virtù to such a height is grown,
All artists are encourag'd-but our own.
Be not deceiv'd; I here declare on oath,
I never yet sold goods of foreign growth;
Ne'er sent commissions out to Greece or Rome:
My best antiquities are made at home.
I've Romans, Greeks, Italians, near at hand,
True Britons all, and living in the Strand.
I ne'er for trinkets rack my pericranium;
They furnish out my room from Herculaneum.
But hush-

Should it be known that English are employ'd,
Our manufacture is at once destroy'd;
No matter what our countrymen deserve,
They'll thrive as ancients, but as moderns
starve;

If we should fall, to you it will be owing;
Farewell to arts-they are going, going, going!
The fatal hammer's in your hand, O town!
Then set us up, and knock the poet down.

$30. Prologue to Virginia. 1754. Written

and spoken by Mr. GARRICK. PROLOGUES, like compliments, are loss of time,

[lege.

"I read no Greek, sir-when I was at school,
Terence had prologues-Terence was no fool."
" He had; but why ?" replied the bard, in rage:
"Exotics, monsters, had possess'd the stage;
But we have none in this enlighten'd age!
Your Britons now, from gallery to pit,
Can relish nought but sterling Attic wit.
Here, take my play, I meant it for instruction;
If rhymes are wanting for its introduction,
E'en let that nonsense be your own produc-
tion."

Off went the poet.It is now expedient
I speak as manager, and your obedient.
I, as your cat'rer, would provide your dishes,
Dress'd to your palates, season'd to your wishes.
Say but you're tir'd with boil'd and roast at
home,

We too can send for niceties from Rome;
To please your tastes will spare nor pains nor
money,

Discard sirloins, and get you macaroni
Whate'er new gusto for a time may reign,
Shakspeare and beef must have their turn again.
If novelties can please, to-night we've two-
Though English both, yet spare 'em as they're

new.

To one, at least, your usual favors show;
A female asks it can a man say No?
Should you indulge our novice* yet unseen,
And crown her, with your hands, a tragic
queen;

Should you,' with smiles, a confidence impart,
To calm those fears which speak a feeling heart;
Assist each struggle of ingenuous shame,
Which curbs a genius in its road to fame :
With one wish more her whole ambition
ends-

She hopes some merit, to deserve such friends.

$ 31. Epilogue to the same. 1754. GARRICK.
THE poet's pen can, like a conjurer's wand,
Or kill or raise his heroine at command:
And I shall, spirit-like, before I sink,
Not courteously inquire, but tell you, what

you think.

From top to bottom I shall make you stare,
By hitting all your judgments to a hair!
And, first, with you above I shall begin-

[To the upper gallery. Good-natur'd souls, they're ready all to grin. Though twelve-pence seat you there, so near the ceiling,

'Tis penning bows, and making legs, in rhyme: 'Tis cringing at the door, with simp'ring grin, When we should show the company withinSo thinks our bard, who, stiff in classic knowledge, Preserves too much the buckram of the col-The folks below can't boast a better feeling. "Lord, sir," said I, "an audience must be No high-bred prud'ry in your region lurks, woo'd, You boldly laugh and cry as nature works. Says John to Tom, (ay-there they sit together,

And, lady-like, with flattery pursued ;

They nauseate fellows that are blunt and rude. Authors should learn to dance as well as As honest Britons as e'er trod on leather,) write-" [sight!" "Tween you and I, my friend, 'tis very vild, "Dance at my time of life! Zounds, what a That old Vergeenus should have struck his Grown gentlemen, ('tis advertis'd,) do learn by

child; [ruler; night. [these, I would have hang'd him for't had I been Your modern prologues, and such whims as And duck'd that Apus too, by way of cooler.” The Greeks ne'er knew-turn, turn to Soph-| * Mrs. Graham, afterwards Mrs. Yates, then a new

ocles."

actress.

"At the Theatre Royal, Drury-Lane-
Will be presen-ta-ted a tragedy called
Sarah"-

I'm glad 'tis Sarah-then our Sall may see
Her namesake's tragedy: and, as for me,
I'll sleep as sound as if I were at sea-

"To which will be added a new
mask-"

[maces Zounds! why a mask? We sailors hate gri Aboveboard all; we scorn to hide our faces. But what is here, so very large and plain? "Bri-tan-nia."- -O, Britannia!- →good again

Huzza, boys! By the Royal George, I swear, Tom Coxen, and the crew, shall straight be there.

All free-born souls must take Bri-tan-nia's part, And give her three round cheers, with hand [Going off, he stops.

So blindly thoughtful, and so darkly read,
They take Tom Durfey's for the Shakspeare's
Head.

A vintner once acquir'd both praise and gain,
And sold much perry for the best Champagne.
Some rakes this precious stuff did so allure,
They drank whole nights-what's that when
wine is pure ?

"Come, fill a bumper, Jack."-“I will, my Lord."

"Here's cream!-damn'd fine!-immense !--
upon my word!

Sir William, what say you ?"-"The best,.
believe me.
[me."
In this-eh, Jack!-the devil can't deceive
Thus the wise critic, too, mistakes his wine;
Cries out, with lifted hands-"'Tis great! di-
vine!"
[him ;,

Then jogs his neighbor, as the wonders strike
"This Shakspeare! Shakspeare!-O, there's
nothing like him!"

In this night's various and enchanted cup

To various things the stage has been com- Some little perry's mix'd, for filling up.

par'd,

As apt ideas strike each humorous bard:
This night, for want of better simile,
Let this our theatre a tavern be;
The poets vintners, and the waiters we.
So, as the cant and custom of the trade is,
You're welcome, gemmen; kindly welcome,
ladies.

To draw in customers, our bills are spread;
You cannot miss the sign; 'tis Shakspeare's
Head.
[vine,
From this same head, this fountain-head di-
For different palates springs a different wine;
In which no tricks, to strengthen or to thin

'em

For high, luxurious souls, with luscious smack,
There's Sir John Falstaff in a butt of sack;
And, if the stronger liquors more invite ye,
Bardolph is gin, and Pistol aqua-vitæ.
But should you call for Falstaff, where to find
him,

He's gone-nor left one cup of sack behind him,
Sunk in his elbow-chair, no more he'll roam,
No more, with merry wags, to Eastcheap come;
He's gone to jest and laugh, and give his
sack, at home.

As for the learned critics, grave and deep,
Who catch at words, and, catching, fall asleep;
Who, in the storms of passion, hum and haw-
For such our master will no liquor draw-

-

The five long acts, from which our three are

taken,

Stretch'd out to sixteen years,* lay by, forsaken :
Lest, then, this precious liquor run to waste,
"Tis now confin'd and bottled for your taste.
'Tis my chief wish, my joy, my only plan,
To lose no drop of that immortal man!

35. Prologue to the Apprentice. 1756.
Spoken by Mr. Murphy, Author of the Piece,
dressed in black. GARRICK.

BEHOLD a wonder for theatric story!
The culprit of this night appears before ye
Before his judges dares these boards to tread,
"With all his imperfections on his head!"
Prologues precede the piece, in mournful verse,
Whose doleful march may strike the harden'd
And wake its feelings for the dead behind.
mind,
To melt that rock of rocks, the critic's heart..
Trick'd out in black, thus actors try their art,.
No acted fears my vanity betray!

As undertakers walk before the hearse;

I am, indeed-what others only play.
Thus far myself. The farce comes next in view;
Though many are its faults, at least 'tis new.
No smuggled, pilfer'd scenes from France we
show;

'Tis English-English, sirs, from top to toe.
Though coarse my colors, and my hand un-
skill'd,

From real life my little cloth is fill'd.

[mind

My hero is a youth, by fate design'd
For culling simples-but whose stage-struck.
Nor fate could rule, nor his indentures bind.

A place there is, where such young Quixotes

meet;

'Tis call'd the spouting-club-a glorious treat! Where prenticed kings alarm the gaping street

*The action of the Winter's Tale, as written by Shakspeare, comprehends sixteen years.

There Brutus starts, and stares by midnight ta- | And, in her cock'd-up hat, and gown of camlet, per, Presumes on something-touching the lord1 Who all the day enacts-a woollen-draper. Hamlet. Here Hamlet's ghost stalks forth with doubled A cousin, too, she has, with squinting eyes, fist, [list!" With waddling gait, and voice like London Cries out, with hollow voice, "List, list, O, cries, And frightens Denmark's prince-a young tobacconist.

The spirit too, clear'd from his deadly white,
Rises a haberdasher to the sight!

Nor young attorneys have this rage withstood,
But change their pens for truncheons, ink for
blood;

And (strange reverse!) die for their country's
good.

Through all the town this folly you may trace;
Myself am witness 'tis a common case.
I've further proofs, could ye but think I wrong
ye-

Look round-you'll find some spouting youths
among ye.

To check these heroes, and their laurels crop,
To bring them back to reason-and their shop;
To raise a harmless laugh, was all my aim;
And if I shun contempt-I seek not fame.
Indulge this firstling, let me but begin,
Nor nip me-in the buddings of my sin:
Some hopes I cherish, in your smiles I read
'em ;
['em.
Whate'er my faults, your candor can exceed

Spoken

§ 36. Epilogue to the same. 1756.
by Mrs. Clive. SMART.
[Enters, reading the play-bill.
A VERY pretty bill-as I'm alive!
The part of-Nobody-by Mrs. Clive!
A paltry, scribbling fool-to leave me out!
He'll say, perhaps, he thought I could not
spout.

Malice and envy to the last degree!
And why?—I wrote a farce as well as he,
And fairly ventur'd it, without the aid
Of prologue dress'd in black, and face in mas-
querade;

O, pit, have pity-see how I'm dismay'd!
Poor soul! this canting stuff will never do,
Unless, like Bayes, he brings his hangman too.
But granting that, from these same obsequies,
Some pickings to our bard in black arise;
Should your applause to joy convert his fear,
As Pallas turns to feast Lardella's bier;
Yet 'twould have been a better scheme. by half,
T' have thrown his weeds aside, and learn'd
with me to laugh.

I could have shown him, had he been inclin'd,
A spouting junto of the female kind.
There dwells a milliner in yonder row,
Well-dress'd, full-voic'd, and nobly built for

show,
Who, when in rage she scolds at Sue and Sarah,
Damn'd, damn'd dissembler! thinks she's more
than Zara.

She has a daughter, too, that deals in lace,
And sings "O ponder well" and " Chevy Chase,"
And fain would fill the fair Ophelia's place;

Who, for the stage too short by half a story,
Acts Lady Townly-thus-in all her glory;
And, while she's traversing her scanty room,
Cries" Lord, my lord, what can I do at!
home?"

In short, there's girls enough for all the fellows,
The ranting, whining, starting, and the jealous,
The Hotspurs, Romeos, Hamlets, and Othellos..
O! little do these silly people know
What dreadful trials actors undergo.
Myself, who most in harmony delight,
Am scolding here from morning until night.
Then take advice by me, ye giddy things,
Ye royal milliners, ye apron'd kings!
Young men, beware, and shun our slippery
ways,

Study arithmetic, and burn your plays;
And you, ye girls, let not our tinsel train
Enchant your eyes, and turn your madd'ning
brain:

Be timely wise; for, O! be sure of this :-
A shop, with virtue, is the height of bliss.
§ 37. Prologue to the Author. 1757. FOOTE.
SEVERE their task, who, in this critic age,
With fresh materials furnish out the stage!

Not that our fathers drain'd the comic store;
Fresh characters spring up as heretofore.
Nature with novelty does still abound ;
On ev'ry side fresh follies may be found.
But then the taste of every guest to hit,
To please at once the gallery, box, and pit,
Requires, at least, no common share of wit.

Those who adorn the orb of higher life,
Demand the lively rake or modish wife;
Whilst they, who in a lower circle move,
Yawn at their wit, and slumber at their love.
If light, low mirth employs the comic scene,
Such mirth as drives from vulgar minds the

spleen,

The polish'd critic damns the wretched stuff, And cries" "Twill please the gall'ries well. enough."

Such jarring judgments who can reconcile?
Since fops will frown, where humble traders-
smile.

To dash the poet's ineffectual claim,
And quench his thirst for universal fame,
The Grecian fabulist, in moral lay,
Has thus address'd the writers of his day :
"Once on a time, a son and sire, we're told,
The stripling tender, and the father old,
Purchas'd a jack-ass at a country fair,
To ease their limbs, and hawk about their ware;
But, as the sluggish animal was weak,
They fear'd, if both should mount, his back
would break:

Up gets the boy, the father leads the ass,
And through the gazing crowd attempts to pass !