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THE LADIES' PHILOSOPHY.
CORRECTLY GIVEN, FROM COPIES USED IN THE THEATRES,
Printed at the Chiswick Press,
BY C. WHITTINGHAM;
REFUSAL, OR LADIES' PHILOSOPHY,
Was first acted at Drury Lane, in 1720; Moliere's Femmes ScAvantes formed the groundwork of the second title.
The famous South Sea bubble gave rise to the character of Sir Gilbert Wrangle; the excellent delineation of which, as well as the merit of the whole play, would have insured its success but for a political party (raised against the author by his former comedy of the NONJUROR), which succeeded in limiting the first run of the REFUSAL to six nights.
Mr. Garrick, however, who esteemed it one of the author's best plays, opened Drury Lane Theatre with it in 1747, when Mr. Macklin's fine acting assisted greatly to establish its popularity. The sub-committee of Drury Lane have this season auspiciously commenced their manage. ment, by the re-production of this and other popq. lar and sterling relics of the old school.
SPOKEN BY THE AUTHOR. GALLANTS! behold before your eyes the wight, Whose actions stand accountable to-night, For all your dividends of profit or delight. New plays resemble bubbles, we must own, But their intrinsic value soon is known; There's no imposing pleasure on a town. And when they fail, count o'er his pains and trouble, His doubts, his fears, the poet is a bubble. As heroes by the tragic muse are sung; So to the comic, knaves and fools belong : Follies, to-night, of various kinds we paint, One, in a female philosophic saint, That would by learning nature's laws repeal, Warm all her sex's bosoms to rebel, And only with Platonic raplures swell. Long she resists the proper use of beauty, But flesh and blood reduce the dame to duty. A coxcomb too, of modern stamp we show, A wit—but impudent-a South Sea beau. Nay, more-our muse's fire (but pray protect her) Roasls, to your taste, a whole South Sea director. Bat let none think we bring him here in spite, For all their actions, sure, will bear the light; Besides, he's painted here in height of power, Long ere we laid such ruin at bis door: When he was levee'd, like a statesman, by the town, And thought his heap'd-up millions all his own. No, no; stock’s always at a thousand here; He'll almost bonest on the stage appear. Such is our fare, to feed the mind our aim, But poets stand like warriors in their fame; Oneill day's work brings all their past to shame. Thus having tasted of your former favour, The chance seems now for deeper stakes than ever. As after runs of luck, we're most accurst, To lose our winnings, than have lost at first; A first stake lost has often sav'd from ruin, But on one cast to lose the tout—is hard undoing. But be it as it may—the die is thrown, Fear now were folly-Pass the rubicon.