PROLOGUE TO THE CAPUCHIN.
RITICKS, whene'er I write, in every Scene
Difcover meanings that I never mean; Whatever character I bring to view,
I am the father of the child 'tis true,
But every babe his chriftening owes to you.
"The Comick Poet's eye, with humorous air,
Glancing from Watling-street to Grosvenor-square,
He bodies forth a light ideal train,
And turns to fhape the phantoms of his brain:
Meanwhile your fancy takes more partial aim,
And gives to airy nothing Place and Name."
A Limner once, in want of work, went down
To try his fortune in a country town;
The waggon, loaded with his goods, convey'd
To the fame spot his whole dead ftock in trade,
Originals and Copies-ready made.
To the new Painter all the country came,
Lord, Lady, Doctor, Lawyer, 'Squire, and Dame, The humble Curate, and the Curate's wife;
All ak a likeness-taken from the life.
Behold the canvafs on the eafel ftand!
A pallet grac'd his thumb, and brushes fill'd his hand:
But, ah! the Painter's skill they little knew,
Nor by what curious rules of Art he drew.
The waggon-load unpack'd, his ancient store
Furnifh'd for each a face drawn long before,
God, Dame, or Hero-of the days of yore.
The Cæfars, with a little alteration,
Were turn'd into the Mayor and Corporation;
To reprefent the Rector and the Dean,
He added wigs and bands to Prince Eugene:
The ladies, blooming all, deriv'd their faces
From Charles the Second's Beauties and the Graces.
Thus done, and circled in a fplendid frame,
His works adorn'd each room, and fpread his fame.
The countrymen of taste admire and ftare,
66 My Lady's leer! Sir John's majestick air!
Mifs Dimple's languifh too!-extremely like!
And in the ftyle and manner of Vandyke!—}
Oh this new Limner's pictures always strike!
Old, young, fat, lean, dark, fair; or big, or little;
The very man or woman to a tittle!"
Foote and this Limner in fome points agree,
And thus, good firs, you often deal by me.
When, by the Royal Licence and Protection,
I fhew my fmall Academy's collection,
The Connoiffeur takes out his glass, to pry
Into each Picture with a curious eye;
Turns topsy-turvy my whole compofition,
And makes mere Portraits all my Exhibition,
From various forms Apelles Venus drew :
So from the million do I copy you.
But ftill the copy's fo exact, you say;
Alas, the fame thing happens every day!
How many a modifh well-dreft fop you meet,
Exactly fuits his fhape-in Monmouth-street!
In Yorkshire Warehouses, and Cranborn-Ally,
'Tis wonderful how fhoes and feet will tally!
As honeft Crifpin understands his trade,
On the true human fcale his lafts are made,
The measure of each fex and age to hit,
And every fhoe, as if befpoke, will fit.
My Warehouse thus for Nature's walks fupplies Shoes for all ranks, and Lafts of every fize: Sit ftill, and try them, firs; I long to please ye; How well they fit! I hope you find them eafy: If the Shoe pinches fwear you cannot bear it, But, if well made-I wish you health to wear it.
To the Revived Comedy of EPICANE, or the SILENT
APPY the foaring Bard, who boldly wooes, And wins the favour of the Tragick Mufe! He from the grave may call the mighty dead, In Bufkins and Blank Verfe the Stage to tread ; On Pompeys and old Cæfars rife to fame, And join the Poet's to th' Hiftorian's name. The Comick wit, alas! whofe eagle eyes Pierce nature thro' and mock the time's difguife, Whofe pencil living follies brings to view, Survives thofe follies, and his portraits too; Like ftar-gazers deplores his lucklefs fate, For last year's Almanacks are out of date. "The Fox, the Alchymift, the Silent Woman, "Done by Ben Jonfon, are out done by no Man.” Thus fay, in rough, but panegyrick rhymes, The Wits and Criticks of our author's times.
But now we bring him forth with dread and doubt,
And fear his learned focks are quite worn out.
The fubtle Alchemift grows obfolete,
And Drugger's humour fcarcely keeps him sweet.
To-night if you would feaft your eyes and ears,
Go back in fancy near two hundred years;
A play of Ruffs and Farthingales review,
Old English fashions, fuch as then were new!
Drive not Tom Otter's Bulls and Bears away;
Worfe Bulls and Bears difgrace the prefent day.
On fair Collegiates let no Critick frown!
A Ladies' Club ftill holds its rank in town.
If modern cooks, who nightly treat the Pit,
Do not quite cloy and furfeit you with wit,
From the old kitchen please to pick a bit!
If once, with hearty ftomachs to regale
On old Ben Johnson's fare, tho' fomewhat ftale,
A meal on Bobadil you deign'd to make,
Take EPICANE for his and Kitely's fake!
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