Big as a Sybil's Self, or fomething bigger,
Old Mother Shipton comes, a noble figure!
Full horribly fhe grins with ghaftly charms,
Our Monarch's baby-image in her arms.
Then follow Sylphs, Ghofts, Witches in Macbeth,
A gouty Harlequin, a Prompter out of breath;
A white-glov'd Housekeeper with whiter wand,
An empty box-book in the other hand;

One, like Lord Chamberlain, his office graces;
The other fhews you there are ftore of places.
Six Beggar's-Opera Ladies tend the bier,
Parted, like Hector's wife, 'twixt Smile and Tear;
Elfrida's Virgins too proceed before us,

A Modern-Antient, English-Grecian, Chorus.
Scene-fhifters, Candle-fnuffers, and Stage-keepers,
Bill-ftickers, Pickpockets, and Chimney-fweepers,
The Mob without doors, and the Mob within,
Close the Proceffion, and complete the din.

Thus having buried him let's waive Diffection! 'Tis now too late to give his faults correction. Peace-if peace may be-to his fhade! He died Felo de fe, poor foul! a Suicide:

Yet he confefs'd with his departing breath,
And in the very article of death,

Oft did your favour cherish his pretences,
Which now defrays his Funeral Expences.
S

VOL. III

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

PROLO

TO THE COMEDY OF BON TON.

Spoken by Mr. KING.
November, 1773-

ASHION in ev'ry thing bears fov'reign fway,. And Words and Perriwigs have both their day. Each have their purlieus too, are modish each In ftated districts, Wigs as well as Speech. The Tyburn Scratch, thick Club, and Temple Tye, The Parfon's Feather-top, frizz'd broad and high! The Coachman's Cauliflow'r, built tiers on tiers! Differ not more from Bags and Brigadiers, Than great St. George's, or St. James's ftiles, From the broad dialect of Broad St. Giles.

What is BON TON?-Oh, damme, cries a Buck-Half drunk-afk me, my dear, and you're in luck! Bon Ton's to fwear, break windows, beat the watch, Pick up a wench, drink healths, and roar a catch. Keep it up, keep it up! damme, take your swing! Bon Ton is Life, my Boy; Bon Ton's the Thing!

Ah!

Ah! I loves Life, and all the joys it yieldsSays Madam Fuffock, warm from Spitalfields. Bone Tone's the fpace 'twixt Saturday and Monday, And riding in a one-horse chair o'Sunday! 'Tis drinking tea on fummer afternoons.

At Bagnigge-Wells, with China and gilt fpoons! 'Tis laying-by our ftuffs, red cloaks, and pattens, To dance Cow-tillions, all in filks and fattins!

Vulgar! cries Mifs.

The feather'd fpinfter,

Obferve in higher life and thrice-feather'd wife!

The CLUB's Bon Ton. Bon Ton's a conftant trade Of Rout, Feftino, Ball, and Masquerade!

'Tis Plays and Puppet-fhews; 'tis fomething new; 'Tis losing thoufands ev'ry night at Lu! Nature it thwarts, and contradicts all reafon; 'Tis ftiff French ftays, and Fruit when out of feafon! A Rofe, when Half a Guinea is the price; A fet of Bays, fcarce bigger than fix mice; To vifit friends, you never wifh to fee; Marriage 'twixt thofe, who never can agree; Old Dowagers, dreft, painted, patch'd and curl'd ; This is Bon Ton, and this we call the WORLD!

True, fays my Lord; and thou, my only fon, Whate'er your faults, ne'er fin against BoN TON! $ 2 Who

Who toils for learning at a Publick School,
And digs for Greek and Latin, is a fool!
French, French, my boy's the Thing! jafez! prate,
chatter !

Trim be the mode, whipt fyllabub the matter!
Walk like a Frenchman! for on English pegs
Moves native aukwardnefs with two left legs.
Of courtly friendship form a treacherous league;
Seduce men's daughters, with their wives intrigue;
In fightly femi-circle round your nails;

Keep your teeth clean-and grin, if fmall talk
fails-

But never laugh, whatever jeft prevails!

}

Nothing but nonfenfe e'er gave laughter birth,
That vulgar way the vulgar fhew their mirth.
Laughter's a rude convulfion, fenfe that juftles,
Difturbs the cockles, and diftorts the mufcles.
Hearts may be black, but all fhould wear clean faces;
The Graces, Boy! the Graces, Graces, GRACES!
Such is BON TON! and walk this City thro',
In Building, Scribbling, Fighting, and Virtù,
And various other fhapes, 'twill rife to view.
To night our Bayes, with bold but carelefs tints,
Hits off a fketch or two, like Darly's prints.
Should Connoiffeurs allow his rough draughts ftrike 'em,
'Twill be BoN TON to fee 'em and to like 'em.

}

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

On opening the THEATRE ROYAL, at LIVERPOOL, for the

ΤΗ

Winter Seafon.

Spoken by Mr. YOUNGER.
October, 1774.

HE troops, who lately fhone in bright array,
Proud on these plains their banners to display,
Call'd to their pofts in town by beat of drum,
Aided with fresh recruits I hither come.

I, your old Serjeant, once again appear,
Happy to fix my Winter-quarters here;

Here, where Good-humour fhews her fmiling mien,
And Judgment with fair Candour ever seen.
Oh for a foul of flame, that might infpire,
Thro' all our ranks, a truely-martial fire!
But, oh my breath is weak, my words are vain,
My efforts poor, the mighty point to gain.
What tho' in ev'ry breaft ftrong ardours glow,
On you alone their longing eyes they throw.
Your frowns at once their nobleft fpirit damp,
And ftrike a terror thro' our little camp;
Yet, if you fmile, again their hopes return,
Again their fouls with love of glory burn;