PROLOGUE.

SPOKEN BY MR. THEOPHILUS CIBBER.

In ancient Greece the comic muse appear'd,
Sworn foe to vice, by virtue's friends rever'd;
Impartial she indulg'd her noble rage,
And satire was the business of the stage.
No reigning ill was from her censure free,
No sex, no age of man, and no degree;
Whoe'er by passion was, or folly, led,
The laurell'd chief, or sacerdotal head,
The pedant sophist, or imperious dame,
She lash'd the evil, nor conceal'd the name.

How hard the fate of wives in those sad times,
When saucy poets would chastise their crimes!
When each cornuting mate, each rampant jilt
Had her name branded on the stage with guilt!
Each fair may now the comic muse endure,
And join the laugh, though at herself, secure.

Link'd to a patient lord, this night behold
A wilful headstrong terinagant, and scold :
Whom, though her husband did what man could do,
The devil only could reclaim like you:
Like you whose virtues bright embellish life,
And add a blessing to the name of wife.

A merry wag, to mend vexatious brides, These scenes begun, which shook your father's sides : And we, obsequious to your taste, prolong Your mirth, by courting the supplies of song: If you approve, we our desires obtain, And by your pleasures shall compute our gain.

Mrs. Chatterley. Mrs. Coates.
Miss Tidswell. Miss Cox.

Nell

Miss Mellon. Mrs. Jordan.

Tenants and Servants.

SCENE-A Country Village.

1

Nell. PR'YTHEE, good Jobson, stay with me tonight, and for once make merry at home.

Job. Peace, peace, you jade, and go spin; for if I ack any thread for my stitching, I will punish you by virtue of my sovereign authority.

Nell. Ay, marry, no doubt of that, whilst you take your swing at the alehouse, spend your substance, get as drunk as a beast, and then come home like a sot, and use one like a dog.

Job. Nounz! do you prate? Why, how now, brazenfice, do you speak ill of the government? Don't you know, hussy, that I am king in my own house, and that this is treason against my majesty?

Nell. Did ever one hear such stuff? But I pray you now, Jobson, don't go to the alehouse to-night.

Job. Well, I'll humour you for once; but don't grow saucy upo 't; for I am invited by sir John Loverule's butler, and am to be princely drunk with punch at the hall-place: we shall have a bowl large enough to swim in.

Nell. But they say, husband, the new lady w lot suffer a stranger to enter her doors; she grudge en a draught of small beer to her own servant., and see

ral of the tenants have come home with bro

e's

from her ladyship's own hands, only for sme

beer in the house.

Job. A plague on her for a fanatical ja almost distracted the good knight. Bu abroad, feasting with her relations, and come home to-night; and we are to have.

a fiddle, and merry gambols.

Nell. O, dear husband, let me go with yo

as merry as the night's long.

Job. Why how now, you bold baggage be carried to a company of smooth-fac'd, e ing, lazy, serving-men? No, no, you jade

cuckold.

Nell. I'm sure they would make me promised I should see the house; and t not been here before since you married an home.

Job. Why, thou most audacious strumpe dispute with me, thy lord and master? Ge or else my strap shall wind about thyt foundedly.

AIR.

He that has the best wife,
She's the plague of his life;

But for her who will scold and will guer
Let him cut her off short

Of her meat and her sport,
And ten times a day hoop her barrel, brave
And ten times a day hoop her barrel.

Nell. Well, we poor women must always and never have any joy; but you men run t at your pleasure.

Job. Why, you most pestilent baggage, v hoop'd? Be gone,

Nell.. 1 must obey.

Job. Stay; now I think on't, here's sixpenc

1

P

get ale and apples, stretch and puff thyself up with amb's wool, rejoice and revel by thyself, be drunk and wallow in thy own sty, like a grumbling sow as thou

art.

[Sings.

He that has the best wife,
She's the plague of his life, &c.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. SIR JOHN LOVERULE'S House. Enter Butler, Cook, Footman, Coachman, LUCY, LETTICE, &c.

But. I would the blind fiddler and our dancing neighbours were here, that we might rejoice a little, while our termagan lady is abroad: I have made a most sovereign bowl of punch.

Lucy. We had need rejoice sometimes, for our devilish new lady w il never suffer it in her hearing.

Enter blind Fiddler, Jobson, and Neighbours. But. Welcorne, welcome all; this is our wish.Honest old acquaintance, goodman Jobson, how dost thou?

Job. By my troth, I am always sharp-set towards punch, and am now come with a firm resolution, though but a poor cobler, to be as richly drunk as a lord: I am a true English heart, and look upon drunkenness as the best part of the liberty of the subject.

But. Come, Jobson, we'll bring out our bowl of punch in solemn procession; aud then for a song to [Exeunt. crown our happiness.

Re-enter JOBSON, Butler, &c. with a Bowl of Punch.

AIR.

Come, jolly Bacchus, god of wine,
Crown this night with pleasure;
Let none at cares of life repine,
To destroy our pleasure :
Fill up the mighty sparkling bowl,
That every true and loyal soul
May drink and sing without control,
To support our pleasure.