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, Be timely wise; for, O! be sure of this:- $53. Epilogue to the Reprisal. 1757. Spo ken by Miss MACKLIN. AYE-now I can with pleasure look around, Safe as I am, thank Heaven, on English ground. In a dark dungeon to be stow'd away, 'Midst roaring, thund'ring, danger, and dismay; Expos'd to fire and water, sword and bulletMight damp the heart of any virgin pullet. I dread to think what might have come to pass, Had not the British lion quell'd the Gallic ass. By Champignon a wretched victim led To cloister'd cell, or more detested bed, My days in pray'r and fasting I had spent ; As nun, or wife, alike a penitent. His gallantry, so confident and eager, Had prov'd a mess of delicate soup-meagre. To bootless longings I had fell a martyr; But Heaven be prais'd, the Frenchman caught a Tartar. Yet soft-our author's fate you must decree; Shall he come safe to port, or sink at sea? Your sentence, sweet or bitter, soft or sore, Floats his frail bark, or runs it bump ashoreYe wits above, restrain your awful thunder; In his first cruize 'twere pity he should founder. [To the gallery. Safe from your shot, he fears no other foe, No gulf but that which horrid yawns below. [To the Pit. The bravest chiefs, e'en Hannibal and Cato, Have here been tam'd with-pippin and potatoe. Our bard embarks in a more Christian cause, He claims not mercy, but he claims applause, His pen against the hostile French is drawn, Who damus him is no Antigallican. Indulg'd with fav'ring gales and smiling skies, Hereafter he may board a richer prize. But if this welkin angry clouds deform, storm; [Looking round the house. And hollow groans portend th' approaching [To the gallery Should the descending show'rs of hail redouble, And these rough billows hiss, and boil, and bubble, [To the pit. He'll launch no more on such fell seas of trouble. § 54. Prologue to the Author. 1757. FOOTE. 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 judgements 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: 66 Up gets the boy, the father leads the ass, 64 FOOTE. IN former times there liv'd one Aristotle, Who, as the song says, lov'd, like me, his bottle. To Alexander Magnus he was tutor (A'n't you surpris'd to hear the learned Shuter?) But let that rest-a new tale I'll advance, A tale ?-no; truth, mun-I'm just come from France. [ter; From Paris I came; why I went there, no matI'm glad that once more I'm on this side the .water. 'Twas to win a large wager that hurried me over; But I wish'd to be off when I came down to Dover ; my To swallow sea-water the doctors will tell ye, But the sight of such water at once fill'd belly; [sea, They who choose it for physic may drink of the But only to think on 't is physic for me. When I first went on board, Lord! I heard such a racket, Such babbling and squabbling, fore and aft, through the packet; The passengers bawling, the sailors yoho-ing, The ship along dashing, the winds aloft blowing; Some sick, and some swearing, some singing, some shrieking, Sails hoisting, blocks rattling, the yards and trod before. We madeCalais soon, and were soon set on shore, And I trod on French ground, where I ne'er [Yo, yo-ho. The scene was quite chang'd; 'twas no more, With Damme Jack, yes, boy-or Damme Tom, no! [plaisance; 'Twas quite t'other thing, mun, 'twas all comWith cringes and scrapes we were welcom'd to France: Ah, Monseer Angloy—they cried—be on ven nu, shambles: To be crowded amongst them at first I was loth, For fear they should seize me, and souse me for broth. At last though, they call'd me my Lor Angleterre, (Lord, had you then seen but my strut and my stare!) Wee, wee, I cried, wee then-and put on a sword; [queer; § 56. Epilogue to the Minor. 1760. NEAR the mad mansions of Moorfields I'H bawl; Shut up your shops, and listen to my call. knew the mother and her daughter well: Mother. O child! I've got no bread. dence an't dead! [say; For there came in at noon, that very day, With reason good the child this truth might A better sure a table ne'er was put on. Bread, greens, potatoes, and a leg of mutton, But we ne'er had a rashier for the coals. Ay, that might be, ye cry, with those poor souls: And d'ye, deserve it? How d'ye spend your Let's go see Foote; O, Foote's a precious limb! In pastimes, prodigality, and plays! [days? Old Nick will soon a foot-ball make of him! Think you to meet with side-boxes above, For foremost rows in side-boxes you shove: Where giggling girls and powder'd fops may sit? And crowd the house for Satan's benefit.No, you will all be cramm'd into the pit, Drop, to atone, your money at the door, O! what, you snivel?-Well, do so no moreAnd if I please-I'll give it to the poor. So I did, I saw things that were wonderful much queerer; to me. Each one was a talker, but no one a hearer. I soon had enough of their pallovousee; Its a fine phrase to some folks, but nonsense [show, All folks there are dress'd in a toyshop-like A hodge-podging habit 'twixt fiddler and beau; Such hats, and such heads too, such coats and such skirts[shirts. They sold me some ruffles-but I found the GARRICK. HITHER,in days of yore, from Spain or France, Came a dread sorceress, her name Romance: O'er Britain's isle her wayward spells she cast, And Common Sense in magic chain bound fast. In mad sublime did each fond lover woo, And in heroics ran each billet-doux : High deeds of chivalry their sole delight, Each fair a maid distress'd, each swain a knight. Then might Statira Oroondates see But Novel for our buck and lively romp! "Tis not alone the small-talk and the smart, 'Tis Novel most beguiles the female heart. Miss reads-she melts-she sighs-love steals upon her And then-alas, poor girl!-good night, poor Honor! § 58. Prologue to All in the Wrong. 1761. Written and spoken by Mr. FOOTE. TO-NIGHT, be it known to box, gall'ries, and pit, Will be open the original warehouse of wit; The new manufacture, Foote and Co. undertakers, owe Play, opera, pantomime, farce-by the makers. We scorn, like our brethren, our fortunes to [Rowe: To Shakspeare and Southerne, to Otway and Though our judgement may err, yet our justice is shown, [own; For we promise to mangle no works but our 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 mirthloving souls, Has lock'd up his lightning, his daggers, and bowls; Resolv'd that in buskins no hero should stalk, He has shut us quite out of the tragedy-walk. No blood, no blank verse-in short we're un done, 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 sit still; If, blind to the beauties, or sick of the squall, A party shouldn't choose to catch cold at Vauxhall; [thick, If at Sadler's sweet Wells the wine should be` The cheesecakes be sour, or Miss Wilkinson sick, [in June, If the fume of the pipe should prove pow'rful Or the tumblers be lame, or the bells out of tune; We hope you will call at our warehouse in Drury: Lye, We've a curious assortment of goods, I assure Domestic and foreign, indeed all kind of wares, English cloth, Irish linens, and French pet-en $59. Epilogue to the Liar, 1761; between Our plot concluded, and strict justice done, And every office of intelligence, O. Wild. Too mild a sentence! Must the good and great Patriots be wrong'd, that booksellers may eat? M. Gr. Your patience, Sir; yet hear another word: [sword; Turn to that hall where Justice wields her Think in what narrow limits you would draw, By this proscription, all the sons of law: For 'tis the fix'd determin'd rule of courts, (Viner will tell you-nay, even Coke's Reports) All pleaders may, when difficulties rise, To gain one truth expend a hundred lies. O. Wild. To curb this practice I am somewhat loth; A lawyer has no credit but on oath. [show; M. Gr. Then to the softer sex some favor Leave us possession of our modest No! These lines were added by Mr.Garrick, on its being reported that he was the author of the picce; and, however humorous and poetical, contain as strict matter of fact as the dullest prose. the just, Whene'er the patriot sinks to silent dust, And bursts the cerements of the awful tomb, Nor deem it much, that we retrace, to-night, If there soft Pity pour her plenteous store, For fabled kings, and empires now no more; Much more should you, from freedom's glorious plan, Who still inherit all the rights of man; Much more should you with kindred sorrows glow For your own chiefs, your own domestic woe; Much more a British story should impart The warmest feelings to each British heart. $61. Prologue to the School for Lovers. 1762. Written and spoken by Mr. GARRICK. SUCCESS makes people vain-the maxim's We all confess it, and not over-new. [true, The veriest clown, who stumps along the streets, And doffs his hat to each grave cit he meets, Some twelve months hence, bedawb'd with livery lace, Shall thrust his saucy flambeau in your face. Not so our bard-though twice your kind applause Has, on this fickle spot, espous'd his cause; And, nobly by transgressing, charm ye more. Alas! our author dares not laugh at schoolsPlain sense confines his humbler muse to rules: Heshifts no scene-But here I stopt him short"Not change your scenes?" said I—“ I'm sorry for 't: My constant friends above, around, below, Have English tastes, and love both change and show: Without such aid even Shakspeare would be flat, "As usual, sir--abuse you all they can!" An old trite proverb let me quote— As is your cloth, so cut your coat. To suit our author, and his farce, Short let me be, for wit is scarce ; Nor would I show it, had I any: The reasons why are strong and many. Should I have wit, the piece has none; A flash in pan with empty gun, The piece is sure to be undone. A tavern with a gaudy sign, Whose bush is better than the wine, May cheat you once--Will that device, Neat as imported, cheat you twice? BAYES. 'Tis wrong to raise your expectations: To turn the penny, once a wit Hung out a board, on which he boasted, These facts laid down, then thus I reason, § 63. Epilogue to Elvira. 1763. GARRICK. LADIES and gentlemen-'tis so ill-bredWe have no epilogue, because I'm dead; For he, our bard, with phrensy-rolling eye, Swears you shan't laugh, when he has made you cry: At which I gave his sleeve a gentle pull, Suppose they should not cry, and should be dull; In such a case, 'twould surely do no harm; A little lively nonsense taken warm, On critic stomachs delicate and queasy, 'Twill even make a heavy meal sit easy. The town hates epilogues-It is not true, I answer'd that for you and you and you [To Pit, Boxes, and First Gallery. They call for epilogues and hornpipes too. [To the upper Gallery. to you they're civil, not, they'll play the Madam, the critics say Here, if they have 'em devil I speak of foreign ladies, not our own. With all these suff'rings, is it not provoking, $ 64. Mr. Foote's Address to the Public, after a Prosecution against him for a Libel. 1764. FOOTS. HUSH! let me search before I speak aloudIs no informer skulking in the crowd, With art laconic noting all that's said, Malice at heart, indictments in his head; Prepar'd to level all the legal war, And rouse the clamorous legions of the bar? Is there none such?-Not one :-then, entre nous, I will a tale unfold, though strange, yet true; The application must be made by you. At Athens once, fair queen of arms and arts, There dwelt a citizen of moderate parts *; Precise his manner, and demure his looks, His mind unletter'd, though he dealt in books; Amorous, though old; though dull, lov'd repartee; And pen'd a paragraph most daintily: George Faulkner, bookseller. |