YE fair married dames, who so often deplore, That a lover once blest, is a lover no more, Attend to my counsel, nor blush to be taught, That prudence must cherish what beauty has caught.

The bloom of your cheek, and the glance of your eye,

Your roses and lilies, may make the men sigh;
But roses, and lilies, and sighs pass away,
And passion will die, as your beauties decay.

Use the man that you wed like your fav'rite guittar,

Though music in both, they ar both apt to jar;

How tuneful and soft from a delicate touch, Not handled too roughly, nor play'd on too much.

The sparrow and linnet will feed from your hand, Grow tame by your kindness, and come at com mand:

Exert with your husband the same happy skill, For hearts, like young birds, may be tamed to your will.

Be gay and good-humour'd, complying and kind, Turn the chief of your care from your face to your mind;

'Tis there that a wife may her conquests improve, And Hymen shall rivet the fetters of love.

A LA MERCURE, equipp'd from top to toe,
My godship's name and quality you know.
Commission'd from Apollo, I come down
T'attend this bench of justices, the town;
Assembled here, all members of the quorum:
To lay a matter of complaint before 'em.

The errand's not in character, 'tis true;
But what our betters bid us, we must do.
Therefore, t' appear with decency at session,
I've stole, you see, the garb of the profession.
This gown and band belong to serjeant Prig-
And this-our brother Puzzle's learned wig.-
[Putting on the gown, &c.
Dress makes the man, sirs, vestis virum facit-
So now to business-Hem!-si vestris placet-
May't please your worships-Forgery, which is
grown

To such a height as neʼer before was known-
I say, a forgery hath been committed,
By which king Pluto's myrmidons, outwitted,
Certain choice spirits, in theatric shape,
Have suffer'd from Elysium to escape;
Of Shakespeare's offspring an ideal train,
Sprung, Pallas-like, from an immortal brain!
Their names-I have 'em down-but, to be brief,
Shall only just enumerate the chief.
Imprimis, with Madeira swell'd, and sack,
There's Sir John Falstaff, alias call'd Plump Jack;
Next, Captain Pistol, a notorious bully;
And Miss Doll Tearsheet, famed for jilting cully;
The widow Quickly, vintner, bawd and whore,
With Bardolph, Peto, Nym, and-several more;

Link'd in a gang, each cut-purse with his crony,
All arrant thieves and Dramatis Persona;
Bent, as supposed, to prostitute to shame
Th' aforesaid Shakespeare's honour, name, and
fame.

I shall not trespass on your worship's time,
T' explain at full the nature of this crime:
But, poets having an exclusive right
To bring their mental progeny to light,
This right's invaded by the party 'peach'd;
Who, vi et armis, hath th' old bard o'er-reach'd;
By counterfeiting of his hand, do you see,
Feloniously to set these vagrants free;
With base design t' adopt them for his own,
Though Shakespeare's property, and his alone.
Such is the fact.-A critic were an ass,
No doubt, to let such imposition pass;
Nor could a cheat so palpable succeed,
But that the captain of the guard couldn't read-
Not he, for laughing, though to 've saved his soul;
The scene and circumstances were so droll.

Pistol, with yellow nightcap patch'd with red, With mother Quickly was retired to bed; And, waking, swore, by Styx, he would not come, Sans preparation, pike and beat of drum.

Of aqua-vite having stole a flaggon, Bardolph and Nym were playing at snap-dragon; Sometimes proceeding from hard words to blows, As by mistake Nym seiz'd on Bardolph's nose:

With Falstaff sat Doll Tearsheet, cheek by joll, And while she Luss'd his chin and scratch'd lus

poll,

SCENE I.-A Street in Westminster, on the Day of the Coronation of King Henry the Fifth.

Sir JOHN FALSTAFF enters solus. WHAT a scurvy quarter is this? Not a bush or a blind Cupid in the neighbourhood! 'Sblood, my legs will fail me ere I reach a tavern. Phoo Phoo-It is some comfort, however, I escaped with my life. The green-apron'd rascals, crowding after the procession, had well nigh made an end of me.

BARDOLPH enters.

Bar. O, Sir John, I'm glad I have found ye. I was in the fearfullest quandary for you in the world. I hope your honour has got no hurt.

Fal. Not its death's wound, I hope; though Hal, indeed, look'd somewhat cold upon me.

Bar. Cold, Sir John! I am a-fear'd we shall be in limbo shortly: for my lord chief justice

Fal. Hold thy ill-omen'd croaking. If faithful

Bar. To be sure, Sir John, what you say is right; for, as the song says, ingratitude is worse than the sin of witchcraft. But I hope your honour got no personable harm in the mob: you were carried off the terrace, for all the world like a dunghill from Mill-bank by a spring-tide.

Fal. Bardolph, away with thy filthy compari sons; I am ill at ease, and more disposed to spleen than merriment. I pr'ythee look out, and see if there be a bawdy-house at hand.

Bar. What here, so near the court, Sir John? Fal. Where better? 'Sblood, dost think there are no whores at court? Are there no dames of honour? Dost think Hal hath banish'd them too? Look out, look out.

Bar. I will, Sir John.

[Exit BAR.

Fal. I would I were in East-cheap. Mine hos tess hath a most excellent cordial; and I never

stood in more need of it than now. The gross indignity Hal hath put on me, sticks in my throat, and in the end, may go near to choak me. I shall never gulp it down: that's flat; unless, indeed, a full cup of sherris help to clear the way. And then, how I shall stomach it; how I shall digest it, Heaven knows! At present both my person and knighthood are in jeopardy; my lord chief justice, to whose care I am commended, holding me not altogether in good liking. But no matter-if I am to be provided for, what avails it who is my caterer? I could wish, nevertheless, old white wine stood higher in his lordship's favour; that I may not be stinted at table, or in my by-drinkings. I like not such splenetic temperaments; such phlegmatic constitutions; grey-beards, that never make allowances for the continual waste of radical moisture.-'Sblood, I am as foundered and as sore as a blind horse in a mill. Bardolph! where a plague art thou gotten to, Caterwauling?

Mrs QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET enter.
Quick. O, Sir John Falstaff!
Dol. O, sweet Sir John!

Fal. How! mine hostess, and my good vestal, Mrs Tearsheet! save ye, gentlewomen both! goodmorrow!

Quick. Godild ye, Sir John-Well, I vow and protest an I didn't say he would take as civil notice of his old acquaintance: nay, tho'f he was created by my lord mayor of London.

Doll. What talk ye of lord mayors and fusty citizens, gossip Quickly? Sir John is a courtier, and to be sure we must gratulate him now as one of the greatest knights in the nation-O, sweet Sir John!

Fal. Truce with your formalities, Mrs Dorothy. Pray, have you seen none of your followers by the way? Pistol, nor Peto?

Quick. No verily, Sir John, not one.-We have seen nothing of any of them to-day. They are all gone to the coronation, I warrant; and, indeed, we should have been there too, hadn't it been for that wicked villain, constable Fang, that, by a mistake of the beadle of our ward, would have carried us to Bridewell this morning.

Fal. How! mine hostess and my fair Dorothy to Bridewell, I can assure ye.

Quick. Even to Bridewell, I can assure ye. Fal. But how! how dame Quickly to Bridewell? a decent church-going widow and a modest maiden, I should say single gentlewoman, to a house of correction! why, what

Quick. So I said, Sir John. Nuthook, Nuthook, says I, do you know what you do, says I?— Have me to Bridewell, says I-I say to Bridewell, indeed! a ruptable housekeeper, that has paid scot and lot, and borne the burden of half the parish any time these twenty years?

Fal. That thou hast, hostess; of the male half, I'll be sworn for thee.

Quick. Beside, says I, do you know Sir John Falstaff! says I.-Touch a hair of Mrs Dorothy's

BARDOLPH re-enters.

Bar. I have been looking all about, Sir John, but I cannot find one.

Quick. What is it Sir John wants, Mr Bardolph? Bur. A bawdy-house, mistress.

Quick. O Jesu-Maria! Mrs Dorothy.

Fal. How, sirrah! what call'st thou a bawdyhouse? I sent thee to look out for a house of civil entertainment, where I might repose myself after my fatigue? Why, what, you rogue, would you make of me?

Quick. Marry come up indeed; a bawdy-house truly? but as to a house of civil entertainment, Sir John, here is one hard by, where the knights and lords, and all the great gentlemen of the court, are entertained, both by night and by day, as civilly as at their own homes; and by gentlewomen as kind to them, I warrant ye, as their own ladies themselves.-A house of civil entertainment a bawdy-house? why I keep a house of civility myself, and I would have you to know, Mr Bardolph

Bar. Nay, nay, 'tis all one: what Sir John pleases.

Quick. Yes, by my truly, and so I think it ought, for if Sir John recommends you to the king

Doll. Nay, were I Sir John, I'm sure I would never promote such a clown as Bardolph at court.

Bar. Ah! Doll, Doll, I am afraid our promotion will be at the gallows. If Sir John has any interest with the hangman, he may get me preferr'd, perhaps, to the top of the ladder. Doll. Why, how now, varlet?

Quick. Do you hear? do you hear, sweet Sir

John?