Yet when so kind you seem, 'tis past dispute
We gain some favour, if not costs of suit.

No spleen is here! I see no hoarded fury; -
I think I never faced a milder jury!

Sad else our plight! where frowns are transportation,

A hiss the gallows, and a groan damnation!
But such the public candour, without fear
My client waives all right of challenge here.
No newsman from our session is dismissed,
Nor wit nor critic we scratch off the list;
His faults can never hurt another's ease,
His crime, at worst, a bad attempt to please:
Thus, all respecting, he appeals to all,
And by the general voice will stand or fall.

5

ΤΟ

ΙΟ

PROLOGUE

BY THE AUTHOR

SPOKEN ON THE TENTH NIGHT, BY MRS. BULKLEY

Granted our cause, our suit and trial o'er,
The worthy serjeant need appear no more:
In pleasing I a different client choose,

He served the Poet I would serve the Muse: 5 Like him, I'll try to merit your applause,

A female counsel in a female's cause.

1

Look on this form, where humour, quaint and sly,

Dimples the cheek, and points the beaming eye;
Where gay invention seems to boast its wiles
Io In amorous hint, and half-triumphant smiles;
While her light mask or covers satire's strokes,
Or hides the conscious blush her wit provokes.
Look on her well does she seem formed to teach?
Should you expect to hear this lady preach?
15 Is grey experience suited to her youth?

Do solemn sentiments become that mouth?
Bid her be grave, those lips should rebel prove
To every theme that slanders mirth or love.
1 Pointing to the figure of Comedy.

Yet, thus adorned with every graceful art To charm the fancy and yet reach the heart, Must we displace her? And instead advance The goddess of the woful countenance

The sentimental Muse! Her emblems view,
The Pilgrim's Progress, and a sprig of rue!

View her too chaste to look like flesh and blood –
Primly portrayed on emblematic wood!
There, fixed in usurpation, should she stand,
She'll snatch the dagger from her sister's hand:
And having made her votaries weep a flood,
Good heaven! she'll end her comedies in blood
Bid Harry Woodward break poor Dunstal's crown°!
Imprison Quick, and knock Ned Shuter down;
While sad Barsanti, weeping o'er the scene,
Shall stab herself or poison Mrs. Green.

Such dire encroachments to prevent in time,
Demands the critic's voice the poet's rhyme.
Can our light scenes add strength to holy laws!
Such puny patronage but hurts the cause:
Fair virtue scorns our feeble aid to ask;
And moral truth disdains the trickster's mask.
For here their favourite stands,1 whose brow severe
And sad, claims youth's respect, and pity's tear;
Who, when oppress'd by foes her worth creates,
Can point a poniard at the guilt she hates.

1 Pointing to Tragedy.

25

5

ACT I

SCENE I. A Street

Enter THOMAS; he crosses the Stage; FAG follows, looking after him

Fag. What! Thomas! sure 'tis he? What!

Thomas! Thomas!

Thos. Hey! Odd's life! Mr. Fag!-give us your hand, my old fellow-servant.

Fag. Excuse my glove, Thomas: I'm devilish glad to see you, my lad. Why, my prince of charioteers, you look as hearty but who the deuce thought of seeing you in Bath?

Thos. Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. 10 Kate, and the postillion, be all come.

Fag. Indeed!

Thos. Ay, master thought another fit of the gout was coming to make him a visit; so he'd a mind to gi't the slip, and whip! we were all off at an 15 hour's warning.

Fag. Ay, ay, hasty in every thing, or it would not be Sir Anthony Absolute!

h

Thos. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does young master? Odd! Sir Anthony will stare to see the Captain here!

Fag. I do not serve Captain Absolute now.

Thos. Why sure!

Fag. At present I am employed by Ensign Beverley.

Thos. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed for the better.

Fag. I have not changed, Thomas.

Thos. No! Why, didn't you say you had left young master?

5

IO

Fag. No. Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle you no farther: - briefly then Captain Absolate and Ensign Beverley are one and the same 15

person.

Thos. The devil they are!

the

Fag. So it is indeed, Thomas; and the ensign half of my master being on guard at present captain has nothing to do with me.

Thos. So, so! What, this is some freak, I warrant! Do tell us, Mr. Fag, the meaning o't

しい

Fag. You'll be secret, Thomas?

Thos. As a coach-horse.

Fag. Why then the cause of all this is — Love,

20

25