RECITATIVE,

Col. T. Now the Barbarian's gone, Mifs, tune your

tongue,

And let us raise our spirits high with fong!

RECITATIVE.

Mifs Cro. Colonel, de tout mon cœur➡

-I've one in petto,

Which you shall join, and make it a duetto.

RECITATIVE..

Ld. Min. Bella Signora, & amico mio!
I too will join, and then we'll make a trio-

Col. T. Come all and join the full-mouth'd chorus,
And drive all tragedy and comedy before us!

All the Company rife, and advance to the Front of the Stage.
A I R.,

Cel. T. Would you ever go to fee a tragedy?

Mifs Cro. Never, never.

Col. T. A comedy?

Ld. M. Never, never,

Live for ever!

Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee!

Col. T. Ld. M. and Mifs Cro.

Spoken by Mrs. CLIVE.

LADIES methinks I hear you all complain,
Lord! here's the talking creature come again!"

G..6

The

The men seem frighted-for 'tis on record
A prating female will have the laft word.
But you're all out; for fure as you're alive,
Not Mrs. Friendly now, I'm Mrs. Clive;
No Character from Fiction will I borrow,
But, if you please, I'll talk again to-morrow.
Then you conclude, from cuftom long in vogue,
That I come here to fpeak an Epilogue,
With Satire, Humour, Spirit, quite refin'd,
Double-entendre too, with Wit combin'd,
Not for the Ladies-but to please the Men-
All this you guefs and now you're out again;
For to be brief, our Author bid me fay
She tried, but cou'd n't get one to her Play.
No Epilogue! why, Ma'am, you'll fpoil your treat,
An Epilogue's the cordial after meat;

For when the feaft is done, without all queftion,
They'll want liquors to help them to digestion;
And Critics, when they find the banquet light,
Will come next time with better appetite;
So beg your friends to write-for faith 'tis hard,
If 'mongst them all you cannot find one Bard.
She took the hint-Will you, good Sir? or you, Sir?
A Sifter Scribbler! fure you can't refuse her!
Some Lawyers try'd-not one cou'd make an end on't,
They'd now fuch work with Plaintiff and Defendant.
A Poet tried, but he alledged for reafon,
The Mufes were fo bufy at this season,
In penning Libels, Politics, and Satires,
They had not leifure for fuch trifling matters.
What's to be done, the cry'd? can't endeavour
To fay fome pretty thing ?-I know you're clever.
I promis'd-but unable to fucceed,

you

Beg you'll accept the purpofe for the deed;
Tho' after three long hours in Play-house coop'd,
1 fear you'll fay you've all been finely dup'd.

E P PILOGUE

то THE

FASHIONABLE LOVE R.
Spoken by Mrs. BARRY.

ADIES, your country's ornament and pride,
Ye who the nuptial deity has tied

LA

In filken fetters, will ye not impart

For pity's fake fome portion of your art
To a mere novice, and prescribe some plan
How you would have me live with my good man?
Tell me, if I fhould give each paffing hour
To love of pleasure or to love of power;
IF with the fatal thirft of defperate play
I shou'd turn day to night and night to day;
Had I the faculty to make a prize

Of each pert animal that meets my eyes,
Say are thefe objects worth my serious aim;
Do they give happiness, or health, or fame ?
Are hecatombs of lovers hearts of force
To deprecate the demons of divorce?

Speak my advifers, fhall I gain the plan
Of that bold club, which gives the law to man,
At their own weapons that proud fex defies
And fets up a new female Paradife?

Lights for the Ladies! Hark, the bar bells found!
Show to the club-room-See the glafs goes round-..
Hail, happy meeting of the good and fair,

Soft relaxation from domestic care,

Where virgin minds are early train'd to loo,
And all Newmarket opens to the view.

In these gay scenes fhall I affect to move,.
Or pafs my hours in dull domestic love?
Shall I to rural folitudes defcend
With Tyrrel my protector, guardian, friend,
Or to the rich Pantheon's round repair,
And blaze the brightest heathen-goddess there
Where fhall I fix? Determine ye who know,
Shall I renounce my husband, or Soho?
With eyes half-open'd and an aking head,
And ev❜n the artificial rofes dead,

When

H

When to my toilette's morning task refign'd,.
What vifitations then may feize my mind!
Save me juft Heaven, from fuch a painful life,
And make me an unfashionable wife !.

PROLOGUE

TO THE

CARELESS

HUSBAND.

Acted privately by a Person of Quality.

ADIES, I come, (if not engag'd elsewhere).
T'invite you to an entertainment here.
To-night our Poet Laureat makes a feast,
And hopes each difh is feafon'd to your taste ;-
Subftantial fenfe you'll find, as you would wish,
And fprigs of wit to garnish every dish.

A Careless Hufband on the board we lay;
But that's a common dish, perhaps you'll fay :
The next lefs common is,- an eafy wife;
A fpare-rib feldom found in modern life.
Then, for the dishes on the fides, we fet
A flutt'ring coxcomb, and a falfe coquet;
Our fop fhou'd be a fricaffee compleat,
'Twas drefs'd at Paris by the laft receipt;
And sure, that dish muft please an English nation,
Where. Paris cooks have been fo long the fashion.
A dame antique of fifty and above,

Whofe feeble pulfe ftill beats a march to love,
We fet before you next but this cold pye
Is fomewhat mouldy grown with ftanding by.
'Tho' fhe herself will tell you to her praise,
She has had offers in her younger days.

Nor is this all, we have another cover;

A foft, obedient, fighing, filly lover:

Who beft his miftrefs loves, when worst she treats him,
As fawns her lap-dog moft, when most she beats him.
But I forgot, not yet have told you all;

We have befides a pickl'd Abigail;

Who serves her mistress,-and O! fad difafter,
Will undertake more work, and ferve her mafter.

Prepare

Prepare your ftomachs for the treat we bring,
The cloth is laid, -the bell just going to ring.

E PI L 0 G U

ΤΟ

E

POLLY HONEY COM B. E..

M

WRITTEN BY MR. GARRICK.

Spoken by Mifs POPE.

Enter, as POLLY, laughing-Ha! ha! ba!

Y poor Papa's in woeful agitation

While I, the Cause, feel here [Atriking her bosom no palpitation

We Girls of Reading, and fuperior Notions,

Who from the fountain-head drink Love's fweet potions,
Pity our Parents, when fuch paffion blinds 'em,

One hears the good folks rave-one never minds 'em..
Till thefe dear Books infus'd their foft ingredients,
Afham'd and fearful, I was all Obedience.
Then my good Father did not ftorm in vain,
I blush'd and cry'd-I'll ne'er do so again:
But now no bugbears can my spirit tame,

I've conquer'd Fear-and almoft conquer'd Shame ;
So much these dear Inftructors change and win us,
Without their light we ne'er fhould know what's in us.
Here we at once fupply our childish wants-
NOVELS are Hotbeds for your forward Plants.
Not only Sentiments refine the Soul,

But hence we learn to be the Smart and Drole;
Each aukward circumftance for laughter ferves,
From Nurfe's Nonfenfe to my Mother's NERVES:
Though Parents tell us that our genius lies
In mending linen, and in making pies;
I fet fuch formal precepts at defiance,

That preach up prudence, neatness, and compliance;
Leap thefe old bounds, and boldly fet the pattern
To be a Wit, Philofopher, and Slattern-
O! did all Maids and Wives my spirit feel,
We'd make this topfy-turvy World to reel: