PROLOGUE

On Opening the New THEATRE ROYAL in LIVERPOOL, On Friday, June 5, 1772.

Spoken by Mr. YOUNGER.

WHEREVER Commerce spreads the swelling

fail,

Letters and Arts attend the profp'rous gale.
When Cæfar first these regions did explore,
And northward his triumphant Eagles bore,
Rude were Britannia's fons-a hardy race-
Their faith, idolatry; their life, the chace.
But foon as Traffick fix'd her focial reign,
Join'd Pole to Pole, and nations to the Main,
Each art and fcience follow'd in her train.
Augusta then her pomp at large display'd,
The feat of majefty, the mart of trade;
The British Muse unveil'd her awful mien,
And Shakespeare, Jonfon, Fletcher, grac❜d the Scene:

Long too has Merfey roll'd her golden tide,
And feen proud veffels in her harbours ride:
Oft on her banks the Mufe's fons would roam,
And wifh'd to fettle there a certain home;

}

Condemn'd,

1

Condenm'd, alas! to hawk unlicens❜d Bayes,
Contraband Mummeries, and fmuggled Plays!
Your foft'ring care at length reliev'd their woes:
Under your aufpices this Staple rose.

Hence made free merchants of the letter'd world,
Boldly advent'ring forth with fails unfurl'd,
To Greece and Rome, Spain, Italy and France,
We trade for Play and Op'ra, Song and Dance.
Peace to his fhade, who firft purfu'd the plan!
You lov❜d the Actor-for you lov'd the Man.*
True to himself, to all mankind a friend,
By honeft means he gain'd each honeft end.
You, like kind Patrons, who his virtues knew,
Prompt to applaud, and to reward them too,
Crown'd his last moments with his wish obtain❜d,
A ROYAL CHARTER by your bounty gain'd!

MR. GIBSON, late of the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden,

OCCASIONAL

OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE,

On the Departure of the MANAGER of the THEATRE ROYAL COVENT-GARDEN, May 26, 1774.

Spoken by Mifs BARSANTI.

F mortal men how equal is the date!

OF

Kings and Mock Kings fubmit alike to Fate. Abroad, in ftate, one mighty monarch lies; While here, his Majefty of Brentford dies.

Hung be the Stage with black! and Juliet's Bell, 'Midst flashing Refin, toll our monarch's knell ! While we with tragick plumes and mournful verse, In flow proceffion all attend his hearse. First, in dead march the mufick-anbrac'd drums→→→ Then with a monftrous purfe the Treasurer comes. The hugenefs of the bag your fancy cozens ! Prick it! and out come ORDERS by whole Dozens! Swell'd as it is, no fubftance fure enough; No cafh-but like a bladder blown-all puff! Two tiny Fairies bear an Epitaph;

Two Printers next, with each a Paragraph;

Both boafting of Applause that ne'er was shown,
And crouded Houfes that were never known.

Big

Big as a Sybil's Self, or fomething bigger,'
Old Mother Shipton comes, a noble figure!
Full horribly fhe grins with ghaftly charms,
Our Monarch's baby-image in her arms.
Then follow Sylphs, Ghofts, Witches in Macbeth,
A gouty Harlequin, a Prompter out of breath;
A white-glov'd Housekeeper with whiter wand,
An empty box-book in the other hand;

One, like Lord Chamberlain, his office graces;
The other shews you there are store of places.
Six Beggar's-Opera Ladies tend the bier,
Parted, like Hector's wife, 'twixt Smile and Tear;
Elfrida's Virgins too proceed before us,

A Modern-Antient, English-Grecian, Chorus.
Scene-fhifters, Candle-fnuffers, and Stage-keepers,
Bill-ftickers, Pickpockets, and Chimney-sweepers,
The Mob without doors, and the Mob within,
Close the Proceffion, and complete the din.

Thus having buried him let's waive Diffection! 'Tis now too late to give his faults correction. Peace-if peace may be-to his fhade! He died Felo de fe, poor foul! a Suicide:

Yet he confefs'd with his departing breath,
And in the very article of death,

Oft did your favour cherish his pretences,
Which now defrays his Funeral Expences.

VOL. III

S

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

TO THE COMEDY OF BON TON..

Spoken by Mr. KING.
November, 1773.

ASHION in ev'ry thing bears fov'reign fway, And Words and Perriwigs have both their day. Each have their purlieus too, are modish each In ftated diftricts, Wigs as well as Speech. The Tyburn Scratch, thick Club, and Temple Tye, The Parfon's Feather-top, frizz'd broad and high! The Coachman's Cauliflow'r, built tiers on tiers! Differ not more from Bags and Brigadiers, Than great St. George's, or St. James's stiles, From the broad dialect of Broad St. Giles.

What is BON TON?-Oh, damme, cries a Buck -Half drunk-afk me, my dear, and you're in luck! Bon Ton's to fwear, break windows, beat the watch, Pick up a wench, drink healths, and roar a catch. Keep it up, keep it up! damme, take your swing! Bon Ton is Life, my Boy; Bon Ton's the Thing!

Ah!