PROLOGUE TO ZOBEIDE. A TRAGEDY. WRITTEN BY JOSEPH CRADOCK, ESQ. ACTED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN, M.DCC.LXXII. KEN BY MR. QUICK, SPO In these bold times, when learning's sons explore And quit for Venus many a brighter here; Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is lost! There mangroves spread, and larger than I've And apples, bitter apples, strew the ground: (Tasting them.) The inhabitants are cannibals, I fear; I heard a hissing - there are serpents here! Oh, there the people are best keep my distance. Our captain (gentle natives) craves assistance; Our ship's well stor❜d—in yonder creek we've laid her, His honour is no mercenary trader. This is his first adventure, lend him aid, And we may chance to drive a thriving trade. His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far, Equally fit for gallantry and war. What, no reply to promises so ample? EPILOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES, IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN, AT HIS BENEFIT. HOLD! prompter, hold! a word before your non sense: I'd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience. [Takes off his mask. Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth? The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps. No I will act, I'll vindicate the stage: Shakespeare himself shall feel my tragic rage. Off! off, vile trappings! a new passion reigns; The maddening monarch revels in my veins. Oh! for a Richard's voice to catch the theme: 'Give me another horse! bind up my wounds! soft'twas but a dream.' Ay, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreating: If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating. 'Twas thus that Æsop's stag, a creature blameless, Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless, Once on the margin of a fountain stood, 'And cavill'd at his image in the flood. 'The deuce confound,' he cries, 'these drumstick shanks! They never have my gratitude nor thanks; They're perfectly disgraceful! strike me dead! But for a head, yes, yes, I have a head: How piercing is that eye! how sleek that brow! My horns- I'm told horns are the fashion now.' Whilst thus he spoke, astonish'd, to his view, Near, and more near, the hounds and huntsmen drew. 'Hoicks! hark forward!' came thundering from behind: He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind; Whilst his strong limbs conspire to set him free, [Taking a jump through the stage-door. EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF THE WHAT? five long acts—and all to make us wiser! Well, since she thus has shown her want of skill, you, you. The world's a masquerade! the masquers, you, [To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery. Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses! False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses! Statesmen with bridles on; and, close beside 'em, Patriots in party-colour'd suits that ride 'em. 1 The Sisters] A comedy by Mrs. Charlotte Lennox, 1769, taken from the authoress's own novel, Henrietta.' It was performed only one night. The author of the Biographia Dramatica says that this epilogue is the best that has appeared the last thirty years.' |