All that FANCY's felf has feign'd, Painted lawns, and chequer'd fhades, Thou by night fhail grace my arm, } "Come to the Pump-room,--come away. PROLOGUE to the CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE. Written by Mr. GARRICK, and Spoken by Mr. HOLLAND. OETS and painters, who from nature draw law: That each fhould neighbourly assist his brother, R 4 Το To-night your matchlefs Hogarth gives the thought, The painter's dead, yet ftill he charms the eye; On poor Jack Falstaff's grave, and Juliet's bier! The strong impreffions of their heart decay. SCENE, an Affembly. Several perfons at cards, at different tables; among the rest Col. Trill, Lord Minum, Mrs. Quaver, Sir Patrick Mahony. Ld. Min. I hate a play-house-trump!-It makes me fick. ft Lady. We're two by honours, Ma'am. Ld. Min. And we the odd trick. Pray do you know the author, Colonel Trill? Col. T. I I know no poets, heaven be prais'd-Spadille! ift. Lady. I'll tell you who, my Lord! Ld. Min. What, he again? (whispers my Lord) And dwell fuch daring fouls in little men !" Be whofe it will, they down our throats will cram it! Col. T. O, no.-I have a club-the beft. We'll damn it. Ld. Min. And mine, by Jupiter-We've won the game. Col. T. What, do you all love mufic? Mrs. Qu. No, not Handel's. And nafty plays Ld. Min. Are fit for Goths and Vandals. (Rife from the table, and pay.) From the Picquett-table. Sir Pat. Well, faith and troth!-that Shakespeare was no fool. (Pay, and rife from table.) SONG by the Colonel. I hate all their nonsense, Their Shakespeares and Johnfons, Their plays, and their playhouse, and bards: 'Tis finging, not faying, But playing as we do at cards! Am pleas'd too with Comus; So clever, fo neat in Their tricks, and their cheating! Like them we would fain deal our cards. Sir Pat. King Lear is touching!-And how fine to fee Oh, he's an angel of a blackamoor! Ld. Min. What, when he chokes his wife? Col. T. And calls her whore ? Sir Pat. King Richard calls his horfe-and then Macbeth, Sir Pat. Laugh if you please, a pretty play Ld. Min. Is pretty. Sir Pat. And when there's wit in't Col. T. To be fure 'tis witty. (All laugh.) Sir Pat. I love the playhoufe-now fo light and gay, 4 Ld. Min. 'Tis fo much lighter. Mrs. Qu. Either more or less. (To Sir Pat.) Sir Pat. Me!-1 feldom blush For little Shakespeare, faith! I'll take a push.. Ld. Min. News! news!-here comes Mifs Crotchet from the play. Enter Mifs Crotchet. Mrs. Qu. Well, Crotchet, what's the news? Mifs Cro. We have loft the day. Col. T. Tell us, dear Mifs, all you have heard and feen. Mifs Cro. I'm tir'd-a chair-here, take my capuchin ! Ld. Min. And is'nt damn'd, Mifs ? Mi's Cro. No, my Lord, not quite : But we fhall damn it. Col. T. When? Mifs Cro. To-morrow night. There is a party of us, all of fashion, Refolv'd t'exterminate this vulgar paffion: 5 A play. A playhouse, what a place!-I must forfwear it; Such crouds of city-folks! fo rude and preffing! We have among us, Mifs, fome foolish folks. There was fome merit in the piece no doubt. Mifs Cro. O, to be fure! if one could find it out. And talk, and quarrel-as they come and go- Scream, faint, fcold, kifs-and go to bed again. (All laugh.) Such is the play-your judgment! never fham it. Col. T. Oh damn it! Mrs. Qu. Damn it! Mifs Cro. Damn it! Ld Min. Damn it! Sir Pat. Well, faith, you speak your minds, and I'll be freeGood night! this company's too good for me. [Going. Col. T. Your judgment, dear Sir Patrick, makes us proud. [Exit. RECITATIVE. Col. T. Now the barbarian's gone, Mifs, tune you tongue, And let us raise our spirits high with fong. RE |