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T O

DOCTOR GOLDSMITH,

ΟΝ ΤΗΕ

SUCCESS OF HIS COMEDY,

CALLED THE

MISTAKES OF A NIGHT.

L

ONG have our Comic Writers try'd to move With Tales of Pity and chafte Scenes of Love; On Stilts fublime the laughing Mufe they raife, For nothing low our Taste refin'd can please. Nor Wit, nor Humour, fuch grave Preachers knew The maudlin House resembles Whitfield's Crew. No Burfts of Laughter fhake the merry Pit. In folemn Silence all attentive fit; Till fome fad Story, big with tragic Woe, From the touch'd Boxes caufe the Tear to flow. So deep the Comedy, it makes you ftare To find no poifon'd Bowl or Dagger there. Gay Mirth and honeft Joke are in Difgrace, Melpomene ufurps her Sifter's Place.

Let Sentiment but ftiffen ev'ry Line,

The raptur'd Audience cries, That's fine! that's fine! Goldsmith at length, warm in Thalia's Caufe,

Broke the dull Charm, and refcu'd Nature's Laws.

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By Mr. REDDISH, at Drury-Lane Theatre, in 1771.

Written by Mr. CRADDOCK.

100 long had Corinth wept her evil Hour,

T

Too long had Corinth felt a Tyrant's Power, Too long had groan'd in Chains-her Fate deplor❜d, Ere fam'd Timoleon Liberty restor❜d.

He, like fome Rock the Billows lash in vain,
Still tow'rs aloft, and overawes the Main :
In vain the Surges roar, the Clouds impend,
The Thunder rolls, the forked Fires defcend.
He like their fam'd Coloffus awful ftood,
A fteady Patriot for the public Good.

A Grecian Daughter too demands Applaufe,
Who nobly combats in a Parent's Caufe.
O fpare-in Mercy fpare-fhe trembling pleads,
And Pity ftruggles tho' a Tyrant bleeds:
View well the Motives all their Actions move,
Timoleon Wonder claims, Eunefia Love.

Ye generous Bulwarks of the British State,
Who live again those Wonders we relate,
Who ftill the bright Career of Glory run,
Tranfinit the Laurels that yourselves have won,

With

With unabating Zeal your Course pursue,
Ye keep not Corinth, but yourselves in View.

Nor think ye Fair, your Glories more confin'd,
Who foothe the Heart, or humanize the Mind;
The generous Labour will at length recoil,
The generous Labour well repays your Toil:
Succeeding Annals trace Eunefia's Fame,
Succeeding Annals blefs Timoleon's Reign.
The World perceives that Influence ye bring,
From great Examples future Heroes fpring;
Heroes with more than mortal Ardour fir'd,
When Beauty crowns that Virtue fhe infpir'd,

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PROLOGUE

TO THE

PROVOK'D HUSBAND,

Spoken laft CHRISTMAS, at

CASHIO BUR Y,

THE

SEAT of the EARL of ESSEX.

W

Written by the fame.

HATEVER Ills affect our wayward State,
We juftly lay each deep Mistake to Fate;
If poor Sir Francis loft his mighty Boon,
He only liv'd fome twenty Years too foon.
'Twas long ago our Author drew, from Life,
A fober Hufband, and a fickle Wife.

Oh! could he now the living Draught renew,
He would be firft, ye Fair, and picture you;
Allow more Scope, yet wifer Maxims trace,
And give us fomething more than Lady Grace.
The Knight's fair Lady too might hold her Sway,
And teach her good Sir Francis to obey:
Nor Manly four his deep-laid Schemes deplore,
Thank Heaven the Race of Wrongheads are no more.
Expell'd the Houfe-He's in a bitter Taking,
Expulfion-now perhaps had been his Making:
Tho' loft his Glories in St. James's Air,
The lavish City would thofe Wrongs repair,
Be-fur'd, be-chain'd-Heftruts the new Lord-Mayor.

If

If to the Senate then he chance to go,
He gets his Leffon well, and cries out-No.
The Crowd ftraight hail an Idol of their own,
Made of the true Materials-Wood or Stone:
Him the loud Voice of glowing Fame pursues;
Nay more thofe Oracles of Truth-the News:
For him rich Steams of fragrant Incense rife,
And smoky Off'rings reach the vaulted Skies.
Unknowing then despise no earthly Clod,
For Crowds have chang'd a BULLOCK to a God.

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