PROLOGUE BY THE AUTHOR Spoken on the Tenth Night, by Mrs. Bulkley GRANTED our cause, our suit and trial o'er, A female counsel in a female's cause. 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 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 form'd to teach? Should you expect to hear this lady preach? 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. Yet, thus adorn'd with every graceful art To charm the fancy and yet reach the heartMust 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 bloodPrimly portray'd on emblematic wood! There, fix'd in usurpation, should she stand, Good heaven! she'll end her comedies in blood- Such dire encroachments to prevent in time, And moral truth disdains the trickster's mask. THE RIVALS 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. Kate, and the postilion, 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 hour's warning. Fag. Ay, ay, hasty in everything, or it would not be Sir Anthony Absolute! 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? Fag. No.-Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle you no farther:-briefly then-Captain Absolute and Ensign Beverley are one and the same person. Thos. The devil they are! Fag. So it is indeed, Thomas; and the ensign half of my master being on guard at present-the 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-you know I ha' trusted you. Fag. You'll be secret, Thomas? Thos. As a coach-horse. Fag. Why then the cause of all this is-Love, Love, Thomas, who (as you may get read to you) has been a masquerader ever since the days of Jupiter. Thos. Ay, ay;-I guessed there was a lady in the case:but pray, why does your master pass only for an ensign?Now if he had shammed general indeed Fag. Ah! Thomas, there lies the mystery o' the matter. Hark'ee, Thomas, my master is in love with a lady of a very singular taste: a lady who likes him better as a half-pay ensign than if she knew he was son and heir to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet with three thousand a year. Thos. That is an odd taste indeed!-But has she got the stuff, Mr. Fag? Is she rich, hey? Fag. Rich!-Why, I believe she owns half the stocks! Zounds! Thomas, she could pay the national debt as easily as I could my washerwoman! She has a lap-dog that eats out of gold, she feeds her parrot with small pearls,—and all her thread-papers are made of bank-notes! 8 Thos. Bravo, faith!-Odd! I warrant she has a set of thousands at least:-but does she draw kindly with the captain? Fag. As fond as pigeons. Thos. May one hear her name? Fag. Miss Lydia Languish.-But there is an old tough aunt in the way; though, by-the-by, she has never seen my |