PROLOG
OGUE,
TO THE YOUNG QUAKER,
A COMEDY written by Mr. O'KEEFFE,
Spoken by Mr. PALME R.
Auguft, 1783.
LD Crab, a Critick, looking o'er our Bill,
Thus vents his angry Spleen, and rails his fill.
"A Comedy !-The man's too bold by half-
I can't bear Comedies that make me laugh.
I doubt, my friend, he'll make both me and you fick-
Farce is his province, and a Farce with Mufick.
Hay-market!-Zounds the Fellow makes me fret-
Where's Mrs. Bannifter, Mifs George, and Brett?
Edwin's fongs, fal, lal, tag, rag, all Concetto!
Charles Bannister's bold Bafs, and droll Falfetto?
Five Acts!-a bore!-and are his Scenes fo long,
There's no room edgeways to fqueeze in a fong?
Make it two Farces! Cut it in the middle!
Nor play a Solo thus without a Fiddle."
Our Bard 'tis true firft woo'd the Publick here,
And here their fmiles have oft difpell'd his fear:
Of fportive Farce he feem'd the fav'rite Child,
And with a fong your eafy ears beguil'd.
To-night, not dreaming of a grand effay,
By some strange Meteor fancies led aftray,
He meant an Opera, and produc'd a Play.
You then [to the Orchestra] whose breath and refin'd bows in league
Have pip'd, and scrap'd whole hours without fatigue, Take breath, to-night! Ceafe wind, and cat-gut
Your lungs, your nimble elbows, quiet keep!
Your old friend comes for once in Mafquerade-
Yet, fear him not! for, conftant to his Trade,
Again he'll join your Band, again he'll court your
aid.
And you [to the audience] who fit in many an aweful Row
Enthron'd above [galleries] or on the Bench below;
[Boxes.
Good men and true of our Dramatick Pannel, [Pit.
Let not your mercy leave its ancient channel!
If by fome chance or impulfe-Heav'n knows whence-
Our Bard quits Sound, and wanders into Sense;
If Wit and Humour on the furface flow,
While folid Senfe and Moral lurk below,
Let him be pardon'd! nor your verdict dread,
Tho' Farce, fometimes pops in her waggifh head!
By Mildness you shall teach him to fucceed,
And write hereafter-Comedies indeed!
Spoken by Mifs FRODSHAM, in the Character of DINAH.
more nam'd Primrose, I'm my Reuben's wife,
And Dinah Sadboy I am call'd for life.
There will I reft. Though alter'd be my name,
My faith and manners fhall remain the fame.
Still fhall my cheek fhow Nature's white and red;
No cap shall rife, like Steeple from my head;
Powder, pomatum, ne'er my locks fhall deck,
Nor curls, like Saufages, adorn my neck.
In leathern carriage though I fometimes go,
I'll mount no lofty chaife in Rotten-Row.
Me fhall the eye of Wonder ne'er behold
In varnish'd vehicle, all paint and gold,
With liveried flaves behind, in grand parade,
All fticks, bags, lace, brown powder, and cockade-
Drawn thro' the crowded Park-while at my fide
The booted nobles of the nation ride-
Showing at once in ftate and splendour vain,
Both Lazarus and Dives in my train.
Ye, who in marriage, wealth and grandeur feek, Think what a bleffing is a wife that's meek!
A helpmate, true of heart, and full of Love,
Such as to Reuben Dinah means to prove!
-Much art thou chang'd, my Reuben!-But 'twere ftrange
To with thy faithful Dinah too might change.
Wife of thy bofom, ne'er fhall I delight
To turn the night to day, the day to night;
The Vigils pale of Balls and Routes to keep,
Or at the Card-table to murther fleep.
My mind fhall ftill be pure, my thoughts ferene,
My habit fimple, and my perfon clean,
No pomps and vanities will I pursue,
But love my home, and love my husband too.
PROLOGUE
To the BIRTH-DAY, A COMEDY of Two ACTS, Written by Mr. O'KEEFE,
First acted at the THEATRE ROYAL in the HAY-MARKET, Auguft 12, 1783.
Spoken by Mr. PALMER.
WHEN Fate on fome tremendous act seems,
And Nature labours with the dread event,
Portents and Prodigies convulse the earth,
That heaves and ftruggles with the fatal birth.
In happier hours are lavish Bleffings given,
And pour'd in floods, to mark the hand of Heaven.
In a long series of bright glories dreft,
Britons must hail This Day supremely bleft.
Firft on This Day, in Liberty's great cause,
A BRUNSWICK came to guard our Rights and Laws
On this great Day, our glorious annals tell,
By British arms the pride of Cuba fell,
For then the Moro's gallant chief o'erthrown,
Th' Havannah faw his fate, and felt her own:
The felf-fame Day, the fame auspicious morn,
Our elder Hope, our Prince, our GEORGE, was born.
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