PROLOGUE Spoken by a CHI MAKE me to speak a prologue! Is A prologue? Lord! are prologues f Such heathen words! so hard to brin The drama-Athens-God knows ho Then if I should mistake a word, yo There's Mr. Wilks within would snu. But I must do't. Plays, like ambassadors, in form a When first they've public audience of t The prologue ceremoniously harangues, And moves your pity for the author pa Acquaints you that he stands beh And trembles for the fondling Or with-Nay, if the poet pe He puts me clearly out-Or u (I mean a curtsey) [Curtse Or else in thread-bare jests Or gravely tell you what you How Ben and Shaksper Then damn the critic Who, right or w loved mistress, Variety, and lie in a barn, in a warm barn, upon a truss of clean straw Mode. With a wholesome country girl, whose breath is sweeter than the bloom of violets, in a straw hat, a kersey gewn, and a white dimity waistcoat; with natural red and white that innocently flushes over her face, and shews every emotion of her heart. Heart. Thus thy imaginations always cheat thee of thy joys. No, no: if we get credit for a barn, 'tis all I expect. This is a change of life, however. Mode. True; we tread no more the same insipid circle; our pains quicken our pleasures, and disappointments give spirit to our joys. Heart. Ha! then a man should be sick to relish health. "Mode. Therefore I hate London, where their "pleasures, like their Hyde-Park circle, move al"ways in one round; where yesterday, to-day, and "to-morrow, are eternally the same; to the choco late-house, to dinner, the coffee-house, the play"house, a bottle, or a wench; 'tis the journey of a "dog in a wheel, the music of a country fiddle, eter"nally vexing the strings to thrum the same weary ❝ notes. "Heart. Pr'ythee, no more; thy raillery, too, is "the same dull dish served over and over. Thou "hast no appetite, and railest at a feast." Mode. Wherefore has nature opened this wild irregular scene of various pleasures! why given us appetites, passions, limbs, but to possess, desire, enjoy her beautiful creation? I'll travel over, and taste every blessing; nor wait till the tired sense palls with possession, but fly from joy to Joy, unsated, fresh for new delights. Heart. Do so, make yourself as good an entertainment as you can possibly form in imagination; while I walk forward, and endeavour to get a real supper and a bed. [Going Mode. Nay, I'll go with you. You know I am no Platonic; in love or mutton, I always fall to without ceremony. [Exeunt. SCENE II. FLORA, AURA, and some country Maids and Men dancing, with a fiddle before them, singing, the burden of the ballad: The lads and the lasses a sheep-sheering go. Aura. In short, my feet are out o' measure; I am tired with the mirth of the day, "and my weary "limbs hobble after the crowd, like a tired pack"horse to the lamentable music of his own heavy "bells." Flora. You have won the garland of the green; the sheep-sheerers have given you the honours of their feast; you must pay the fees, and dance out of their debt. "Aura. Strike up then, thou torturer of cat-guts, "clap thy ear and thy hands to the fiddle, and awake "the drowsy strings." Flora. First we'll have the sheep-sheering song. THE SHEEP-SHEERING, A BALLAD. When the rose is in bud, and blue violets blow, Fat oxen low, The lads and the lasses a sheep-sheering go. The cleanly milk-pail And every lad has his lass. The shepherd sheers his jolly fleece, How much richer than that which they say was in Greece! 'Tis our cloth and our food, And our politic blood; 'Tis the seat which our nobles all sit on: 'Tis a mine above ground, Where our treasure is found; 'Tis the gold and the silver of Britain. |