PROLOGUE On Opening the New THEATRE ROYAL in LIVERPOOL, On Friday, June 5, 1772. Spoken by Mr. YOUNGER. WHEREVER Commerce spreads the swelling fail, Letters and Arts attend the profp'rous gale. Long too has Merfey roll'd her golden tide, } Condemn'd, 1 Condenm'd, alas! to hawk unlicens❜d Bayes, Hence made free merchants of the letter'd world, MR. GIBSON, late of the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, OCCASIONAL OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE, On the Departure of the MANAGER of the THEATRE ROYAL COVENT-GARDEN, May 26, 1774. Spoken by Mifs BARSANTI. F mortal men how equal is the date! OF Kings and Mock Kings fubmit alike to Fate. Abroad, in ftate, one mighty monarch lies; While here, his Majefty of Brentford dies. Hung be the Stage with black! and Juliet's Bell, 'Midst flashing Refin, toll our monarch's knell ! While we with tragick plumes and mournful verse, In flow proceffion all attend his hearse. First, in dead march the mufick-anbrac'd drums→→→ Then with a monftrous purfe the Treasurer comes. The hugenefs of the bag your fancy cozens ! Prick it! and out come ORDERS by whole Dozens! Swell'd as it is, no fubftance fure enough; No cafh-but like a bladder blown-all puff! Two tiny Fairies bear an Epitaph; Two Printers next, with each a Paragraph; Both boafting of Applause that ne'er was shown, Big Big as a Sybil's Self, or fomething bigger,' One, like Lord Chamberlain, his office graces; A Modern-Antient, English-Grecian, Chorus. 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, Oft did your favour cherish his pretences, VOL. III S PROLOGUE PROLOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF BON TON.. Spoken by Mr. KING. 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 diftricts, 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 stiles, 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! |