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Enter Mr. WOOD WARD, Dressed in Black, and holding a Handkerchief to his Eyes.
XCUSE me, Sirs,, I pray-- I can't yet speak
I'm crying now and have been all the week !
'Tis not alone this mourniug suit, good masters;
I've that within--for which there are no plaisters.
Pray wou'd you know the reason why I'm crying?
The Comic mufe, long fick, is now a dying!
And if she goes, my tears will never ftop;
For as a play'r, I can't squeeze out one drop :
I am undone, that's all.--Shall lose my bread
I'd rather, but that's nothing—lose my head.
When the sweet maid is laid upon the bier,
Shuter and I shall be chief mourners here.
To her a mawkish drab of Spurious breed,
Who deals in sentimentals will succeed !
Poor Ned and I are dead to all intents,
We can as soon speak Greek as sentiments!!
Both nervous grown, to keep our spirits up,
We now and then take down a hearty cup.
What Mall we do?-If Comedy for fake us!
They'll turn us out, and no one else will take us,
But why can't I be moral? - Let me try-
My heart thus pressing-fix'd my face and eye
With a sententious look, that nothing means,
(Faces are blocks, in sentimental scenes)
Thus I begin--All is not gold that glitters,
Pleasure seems sweet, but proves a glass of bitters.
When ign'rance enters, folly is at hand;
Learning is better far than house and land.
Let not your virtue trip, who trips may stumble,
And virtue is not virtue, if she tumble.
I give it up--morals won't do for me ;
To make you laugh I must play tragedy.
One hope remains — hearing the maid was ill,
A doctor comes this night to sew his skill.
To cheer her heart, and give your muscles motion,
He in five draughts prepar’d, presents a potion :
A kind of magic charm--for be assurd,
will swallow it, the maid is cur'd :
But desprate the Doctor, and her case is,
If you rejeet the dose, and make wry faces !
This truth be boasts, will beast it while he lives,
No pois’nous drugs are mix'd in what he gives ;
Should he fucceed, you'll give him his degree ;
If not, within he will receive no fee!
The college you, muft his pretensions back,
Pronounce him regular, or dub him quack.
By Dr. GOLDSMITH.
ELL, having stoop'd to conquer with success,
And gain'd a husband without aid from dress,
Still as a Bar-maid, I could wish it too,
As I have conquer'd him to conquer you :
And let me say, for all your resolution,
That pretty Bar-maids have done execution,
Our life is all a play, compos’d to please,
“ We have our exits and our entrances.”
The first act shews the simple country maid,
Harmless and young, of ev'ry thing afraid;
Blushes when hir’d, and with unmeaning action,
I hopes as how to give you satisfaction.
Her second aet displays a livelier scene,-
Th’ unblushing Bar-maid of a country inn.
Who whisks about the house, at market caters,
Talks loud, coquets the guests, and scolds the waiters.
Next the scene shifts to town, and there she foars,
The chop-house toast of ogling connoisieurs.
On 'Squires and Cits she there displays her arts,
And on the gridiron broils her lover's hearts
And as she smiles, her triumphs to compleat,
Even Common Councilmen forget to eat.
fourth act Mews her wedded to the 'Squire,
And Madam now begins to hold it higher;
Pretends to taste, at Operas cries caro,
And quits her Nancy Dawson, for Che Faro.
Doats upon dancing, and in all her pride,
Swims round the room, the Heinel of Cheapside :
Ogles and leers with artificial
Till having loft in age the power to kill,
She fits all night at cards, and ogles at spadille.
Such, thro' our lives, the eventful history-
The fifth and last act still remains for me.
The Bar-maid now for your protection prays,
Turns Female Barrister, and pleads for Bayes.
To be Spoken in the Character of Tony LUMPKIN,
By J. CRADDOCK, Esq.
'ELL- now all's ended and my comrades gone,
Pray what becomes of mother's nonly fon?
A hopeful blade !--in town I'll fix my station,
And try to make a blufter in the nation.
As for my cousin Neville, I renounce her,
1. Off-in a crack--I'll carry big Bett Bouncer.
Why should not I in the great world appear?
I foon shall have a thousand pounds a year ;
No matter what a man may here inherit,
In London--'gad, they've some regard to spirit.
I see the horses prancing up the streets,
And big Bett Bouncer, bobs to all she meets ;
Then hoikes to jiggs and pastimes ev'ry night-
Not to the plays--they say it d’n’t polite,
To Sadler's-Wells perhaps, or Operas go,
And once by chance, to the roratorio. ·
Thus here and there, for ever up and down,
We'll set the fashians too, to half the town;
And then at auctions-money ne'er regard,
Buy pictures like the great, ten pounds a yard;
Zounds, we shall make these London gentry say,
We know what's damn'd genteel, as well as they,
* This came too late to be Spoken.
Young MARLOW (his Son) Mr. L E W E S.