By DAVID GARRICK, Efq.
Enter Mr. WOOD WARD, Dreffed 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 fuit, 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 he goes, my tears will never ftop;
For as a play'r, I can't squeeze out one drop :
I am undone, that's all-fhall lofe my bread-
I'd rather, but that's nothing-lofe my head.
When the fweet maid is laid upon the bier,
Shuter and I fhall be chief mourners here.
To her a mawkish drab of spurious breed,
Who deals in fentimentals will fucceed!
Poor Ned and I are dead to all intents,
We can as foon Speak Greek as sentiments!!
Both nervous grown, to keep our spirits up,
We now and then take down a hearty cup.
What shall 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 preffing-fix'd my face and eye-
With a fententious look, that nothing means,
(Faces are blocks, in fentimental 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 ftumble,
And virtue is not virtue, if the tumble.
I give it up-morals won't do for me;
To make you laugh I must play tragedy.
One hope remains-bearing the maid was ill,
A doctor comes this night to fhew his fkill.
To cheer her heart, and give your muscles motion,
He in five draughts prepar'd, prefents a potion:
A kind of magic charm-for be affur'd,
If you will fwallow it, the maid is cur'd:
But defp'rate the Doctor, and her cafe is,
If you reject the dose, and make wry faces !
This truth be boafts, 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 pretenfions back,
Pronounce him regular, or dub him quack.
By Dr. GOLDSMITH.
ELL, having ftoop'd to conquer with fuccefs,
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 fay, for all your refolution,
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 fhews the fimple 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 fatisfaction.
Her fecond act difplays a livelier fcene,—
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 fcene fhifts to town, and there fhe foars,
The chop-house toast of ogling connoissieurs.
On 'Squires and Cits fhe there difplays her arts,
And on the gridiron broils her lover's hearts-
And as fhe fmiles, her triumphs to compleat,
Even Common Councilmen forget to eat.
The fourth act fhews her wedded to the 'Squire,
And Madam now begins to hold it higher;
Pretends to tafte, 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 Cheapfide:
Ogles and leers with artificial skill,
Till having loft in age the power to kill,
She fits all night at cards, and ogles at fpadille.
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, Efq.
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 flation,
And try to make a blufter in the nation.
As for my coufin Neville, I renounce her,
Off-in a crack-I'll carry big Bett Bouncer.
Why should not I in the great world appear?
I foon fhall have a thousand pounds a year;
No matter what a man may here inherit,
In London-gad, they've fome regard to fpirit.
I fee the horfes prancing up the streets,
And big Bett Bouncer, bobs to all he meets;
Then hoikes to jiggs and pastimes ev'ry night-
Not to the plays-they fay it a'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 fet the fabians 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.
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