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E PILOGUE

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To the COMEDY called A FRIEND in NEED is a FRIEND

INDEED!

Spoken by Mrs. BULK L E Y.

July, 1783.

WOMAN, of all who feel the Hour of Need,

Wants most, most rarely finds, a Friend Indeed;
Doom'd in each sex, alas! by turns to prove
False, hollow Friendship, and infidious Love.
Hogarth, on whom, sweet Humour's darling child
At once Minerva and Thalia smil'd;
Whose pencil'd satire Vice and Folly (mote,
Who many a Comedy on canvas wrote ;
With coat tuck'd up, straw hat, and linen gown,
Draws honest Marg'ry just arriv'd in town:
With ruddy health and innocence she glows,
Fresh as the morn, and blooming like the rose :
In the inn. yard, a Hag, who ready stands,
Lays on the harmless maid, her harpy hands;

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Too well the Beldam knows the treach'rous art,
To tempt, and to corrupt the female heart;
Too soon to ruin she decoys her prey,
• Then casts her, like a loathsome weed, away.”

-“ Pooh! pooh! (cries Citpup) this is all a lie! « Poets and Painters will make free-Oh fie! “ Poor souls! they love to bounce, and think they

railly ; “ Nothing but Truth and Honour in 'Change

Alley ! " Plump Marg'ry at a monstrous Premium went“ Prodigious interest -almost Cent per Cent. « I found her poor, not bleft with Halt a Crown; “ Stampt her my own, and broughth:r upon Town“ Made her as fine as hands, or gold, could make

her« Built her a Coach---a grand one !-in Long-Acre! " Marg'ry's good fortunes allon me depend ; “ I ruin'd her--and am her only Friend."

Happy the high-born fair, whose ample dower, Pours in her wealthy lap a Golden Shower! While many a friend, fincere no doubt, surrounds Her thousand charms--and hundred thousand pounds : But she, who pines in want, whose early bloom Deceit would canker, or Distress confume,

Let

Let jealous fears her ev'ry step attend,
And mark the Flatterer, from the real Friend !
He, who with gold would bribe her into vice,
Buys but her Honour at a dearer price :
Not generous, but prodigal and vain;
A Bosom Traitor! cruel, not humane!
But He, whose virtuous hand her wants supplies,
And wipes the tears of Anguish from her eyes;
Who rears, o'ercharg'd with grief, her drooping head,
And summons Hymen to the genial bed;
Let Love and Gratitude his merits plead,
And lodge him in her heart, a Friend indeed!

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE,
TO THE YOUNG QUAKER,

A COMEDY written by Mr. O'KEEFFE,
Spoken by Mr. PALM ER.

Auguft, 1783

OLD Crab, a Critick, looking o’er our Bill,

Thus vents his angry Spleen, and rails his fill. A Comedy ! -The man's too bold by halfI can't bear Comedies that make me laugh. I doubt, my friend, he'll make both me and you fick Farce is his province, and a Farce with Mufick. Hay-market ! --Zounds the Fellow makes me fretWhere's Mrs. Bannister, Miss George, and Brett? Edwin's songs, fal, lal, tag, rag, all Concetto ! Charles Bannister's bold Bass, and droll Falsetto? Five Aets!-a bore !_and are bis Scenes so long, There's no room edgeways to squeeze in a song? Make it two Farces! Cut it in the middle! Nor play a Solo thus without a Fiddle.”

Our Bard 'tis true first woo'd the Publick here, And here their smiles have oft difpellid his fear: Of sportive Farce he seem'd the fav’rite Child, And with a song your easy ears beguild.

To-night,

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To-night, not dreaming of a grand essay,
By some strange Meteor fancies led aftray,
He meant an Opera, and produc'd a Play.
You then [to the Orchestra] whose breath and refind

bows in league Have pip'd, and scrap'd whole hours without fatigue, Take breath, to-night! Cease wind, and cat-gut

sleep!
Your lungs, your nimble elbows, quiet keep!
Your old friend comes for once in Masquerade-
Yet, fear him not! for, constant to his Trade,
Again he'll join your Band, again he'll court your

aid. And you to the audience] who fit in many an

aweful Row Enthron'd above [galleries] or on the Bench below;

[Boxes. Good men and true of our Dramatick Pannel, (Pit. Let not your mercy leave its ancient channel !: If by some chance or impulse-Heav'n knows whenced Our Bard quits Sound, and wanders into Sense; If Wit and Humour on the surface flow, While folid Sense and Moral lurk below, Let him be pardon'd! nor your verdict dread, Tho' Farce, sometimes pops in her waggish head! By Mildness you shall teach him to succeed, And write hereafter-Comedies indeed!

EPILOGUE

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