PROLOGUE.

BY THE AUTHOR.

Spoken on the Tenth Night, by Mrs. BULKLEY.

GRANTED our cause, our suit and trial o'er,
The worthy Serjeant need appear no more:
In pleasing I a different client choose,

He served the Poet,-I would serve the Muse:
Like him, I'll try to merit your applause,

A female counsel in a female's cause.

Look on this form*,-where Humour, quaint and sly, Dimples the cheek, and points the beaming eye; Where gay Invention seems to boast its wiles In amorous hint, and half-triumphant smiles; While her light mask or covers Satire's strokes, Or hides the conscious blush her wit provokes. -Look on her well-does she seem form'd to teach? Should you expect to hear this lady preach? Is gray experience suited to her youth? Do solemn sentiments become that mouth? Bid her be grave, those lips should rebel prove To every theme that slanders mirth or love.

Yet thus adorn'd with every graceful art To charm the fancy and yet reach the heart Must we displace her? And instead advance The Goddess of the woful countenance

*Pointing to the figure of Comedy.

The sentimental Muse!-Her emblems view,

The Pilgrim's Progress, and a sprig of rue!
View her too chaste to look like flesh and blood-
Primly portray'd on emblematic wood!

There fix'd in usurpation should she stand,

She'll snatch the dagger from her sister's hand:
And having made her vot'ries weep a flood,

Good heaven! she'll end her comedies in blood-
Bid Harry Woodward break poor Dunstal's crown!
Imprison Quick, and knock Ned Shuter down;
While sad Barsanti, weeping o'er the scene,
Shall stab herself—or poison Mrs. Green.-

Such dire encroachments to prevent in time,
Demands the critic's voice-the poet's rhyme.
Can our light scenes add strength to holy laws!
Such
puny patronage but hurts the cause:
Fair Virtue scorns our feeble aid to ask;

And moral Truth disdains the trickster's mask.
For here their fav'rite stands*, whose brow, severe
And sad, claims Youth's respect, and Pity's tear;
Who, when oppress'd by foes her worth creates,
Can point a poniard at the Guilt she hates.

* Pointing to Tragedy.

EPILOGUE.

BY THE AUTHOR.

Spoken by Mrs. BULKLEY.

LADIES, for you-I heard our poet say-
He'd try to coax some moral from his play:
'One moral's plain,' cried I, without more fuss;
'Man's social happiness all rests on us:

6

Through all the drama-whether d-n'd or not'Love gilds the scene, and women guide the plot. • From every rank obedience is our due

'D'ye doubt?-The world's great stage shall prove it true.'

The Cit, well skill'd to shun domestic strife, Will sup abroad;-but first, he'll ask his wife: John Trot, his friend, for once will do the same, But then-he'll just step home to tell his dame.

The surly Squire at noon resolves to rule,
And half the day-Zounds! Madam is a fool!
Convinced at night, the vanquish'd victor says,
Ah, Kate! you women have such coaxing ways!
The jolly Toper chides each tardy blade,

Till reeling Bacchus calls on Love for aid:
Then with each toast he sees fair bumpers swim,

And kisses Chloe on the sparkling brim!

Nay, I have heard that Statesmen-great and wiseWill sometimes counsel with a lady's eyes;

The servile suitors watch her various face,
She smiles preferment, or she frowns disgrace,
Curtsies a pension here-there nods a place.

Nor with less awe, in scenes of humbler life,
Is view'd the mistress, or is heard the wife.
The poorest Peasant of the poorest soil,
The child of poverty, and heir to toil,
Early from radiant Love's impartial light

Steals one small spark to cheer his world of night:
Dear spark! that oft through winter's chilling woes
Is all the warmth his little cottage knows!

The wand'ring Tar, who not for years has press'd The widow'd partner of his day of rest,

On the cold deck, far from her arms removed,
Still hums the ditty which his Susan loved;
And while around the cadence rude is blown,
The boatswain whistles in a softer tone.

The Soldier, fairly proud of wounds and toil,
Pants for the triumph of his Nancy's smile;
But ere the battle should he list' her cries,
The lover trembles-and the hero dies!
That heart, by war and honour steel'd to fear,
Droops on a sigh, and sickens at a tear!

But ye more cautious, ye nice-judging few,
Who give to Beauty only Beauty's due,
Though friends to Love-ye view with deep regret
Our conquests marr'd, our triumphs incomplete,
Till polish'd Wit more lasting charms disclose,
And Judgment fix the darts which Beauty throws!
-In female breasts did sense and merit rule,
The lover's mind would ask no other school;
Shamed into sense, the scholars of our eyes,
Our beaux from gallantry would soon be wise;
Would gladly light, their homage to improve,
The lamp of Knowledge at the torch of Love!

DRAMATIS PERSONE,

AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE IN 1775.