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Spoken by Mr. SHUTER, at the Opening of the Old Theatre, at Richmond, on Saturday, June 6, 1767.


ELCOME, ye Generous, Polite, and Fair, Who to our lowly Roof this Night repair! Who come, invited by our humble Bill,

To the Old Theatre on Richmond Hill;
Where to those guests, whose rafte not over-nice is,
We serve up common fare-at common prices.

No Cornice here, no Frieze to feaft your eyes, No Galleries on Dorick Pillars rife;

No gaudy Paintings on the Roof we deal in,

To break your Necks with looking tow'rds the Cieling;

No Theatre we boaft fuperbly built,

A Gingerbread Round O, a Cock-pit gilt;
But a plain Booth, of Boards ill put together,
To raise a Stage, and keep out Wind and Weather.


Yet here fhall Heroes in their Buskins ftalk, And Shakespeare's Ghofts in this fmall Circle walk; Here Tragedy fhall take three narrow Strides; And laughing Comedy hold both her Sides:

Here shall the Moor fay" Haply for I am black !" And here plump Falstaff-"Give me a Cup of Sack,” Here Bobadill fhall don his dirty Buff,

And cry the Cabin is convenient enough."

Ovid (by those who read him I am told) Says, one Philemon feafted Jove of old: With Flitch of Bacon did the God regale, While Goody Baucis fill'd the Jug of Ale! -For Baucis and Philemon, 'tis well known, Were of those days the Darby and Old Joan.In Wicker-Chair well-pleas'd the Thunderer fat, Laugh'd, fung, drank, fmok'd, and join'd their

ruftick chat:

The naked rafters view'd not with disdain,
Nor fat beneath the humble Thatch in pain.

Thus, while you deign to vifit our poor Cottage, And kindly taste of our Dramatick Pottage, We, all intent to fhew bur Zeal and Love, Shall each a Baucis or Philemon prove, And every gueft fhall feem to us-a Jove!



Spoken by Mr. PowELL at the clofing of the Theatre Royal, in Covent-Garden, on Saturday, June 4, 1768, being the Anniverfary of His Majefty's Birth-Day.


ET us, ere yet we

finish our career,

And close the labours of the circling year,

Due homage to our Royal Mafter pay,

And hail with Plaudits this aufpicious Day!

His Birth diftinguish'd this illuftrious Morn:
His Birth, who boasts HE WAS A BRITON BORN.

Tyrants, whofe vaffals tremble and obey,
Feel the poor triumphs of defpotick sway.
The hated Sov'reign, with imperious awe,
Iffues his Edicts, and proclaims them Law;
While Superftition, grim and favage Maid,
Rivets the cruel fetters Law has made.


Empire like this a British King difdains:

O'er a free nation, which he loves, he reigns;
The Monarch's Pow'r upholds the People's Right,
And Liberty and Loyalty unite.

Thrice happy Britain, on whose Sea-girt Isle,
Freedom and Commerce, Guardian Angels, fmile!
O may each fubject with his Monarch prove,
The virtuous raptures of his country's love!
Hail, like his King, each happy native morn;
And boaft, like him, HE WAS A BRITON BORN!




On the Appearance of Mifs MORRIS in the Character of JULIET, at the THEATRE ROYAL in COVENT GARDEN.

Spoken by Mr. POWELL.



HEN frighten'd Poets give the Town a Play,
Some bold or gentle Prologue leads the way:
But when new Players their weak powers engage,
And rifque their future fortunes on the stage;
No Bard appears to plead their defp'rate cause,
To filence cenfure, or befpeak applause.
Authors too cautious to direct your choice,

Mere empty echoes of the publick voice,
With lefs Poetick Fire than Critick Phlegm,
Praife as you praife, and blame what you condemn.

Actors, as Actors feel; and few fo fear'd,
But well remember when they first appear'd;
When fudden tumult fhook the lab'ring breaft,
With Hope, and Fear, and Shame at once poffeft;
When the big tear ftood trembling in the eye,
And the breath ftruggled with the rifing figh.


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