STANZAS ON WOMAN.
When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is—to die.
John Trott was desired by two witty peers
To tell them the reason why asses had ears.
"An't please you," quoth John, "I'm not given to letters,
Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters;
Howe'er, from this time, I shall ne'er see your graces,
As I hope to be saved!—without thinking on asses."
SONG.
The wretch condemn'd with life to part,
Still, still on Hope relies;
And every pang that rends the heart
Bids expectation rise.
Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,
Adorns and cheers the way;
And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.
STANZAS.
Weeping, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight,
Myra, too sincere for feigning,
Fears th'approaching bridal night.
Yet why impair thy bright perfection?
Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had Myra follow'd my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear.
EPILOGUE
TO "SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER."
INTENDED TO BE SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY AND MISS CATLEY.
Enters Mrs. Bulkley, who curtsies very low as beginning to speak. Then enters Miss Catley, who stands full before her, and curtsies to the Audience.
MRS. BULKLEY.
Hold, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your business here?
The Epilogue.
MRS. BULKLEY.
The Epilogue?
MISS CATLEY.
Yes, the Epilogue, my dear.
MRS. BULKLEY.
Sure you mistake, Ma'am. The Epilogue, I bring it.
MISS CATLEY.
Excuse me, Ma'am. The author bid me sing it.
Recitative.
Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring,
Suspend your conversation while I sing.
MRS. BULKLEY.
Why, sure the girl's beside herself! an Epilogue of singing,
A hopeful end, indeed, to such a blest beginning.
Besides, a singer in a comic set—
Excuse me, Ma'am, I know the etiquette.
MISS CATLEY.
What if we leave it to the house?
MRS. BULKLEY.
The house!—Agreed.
MISS CATLEY.
Agreed.
MRS. BULKLEY.
And she whose party's largest shall proceed.
And first, I hope you'll readily agree
I've all the critics and the wits for me.
They, I am sure, will answer my commands;
Ye candid judging few, hold up your hands.
What! no return? I find too late, I fear,
That modern judges seldom enter here.
I'm for a different set:—Old men, whose trade is
Still to gallant and dangle with the ladies.
Recitative.
Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling
Still thus address the fair with voice beguiling.
Air.—Cotillion.
Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever
Strephon caught thy ravish'd eye.
Pity take on your swain so clever,
Who without your aid must die.
Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu!
Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho!
Da Capo.
MRS. BULKLEY.
Let all the old pay homage to your merit;
Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit.
Ye travell'd tribe, ye macaroni train,
Of French friseurs and nosegays justly vain,
Who take a trip to Paris once a year
To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here,—
Lend me your hand: O fatal news to tell,
Their hands are only lent to the Heinelle.
MISS CATLEY.
Ay, take your travellers—travellers indeed!
Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the Tweed.
Where are the chiels?—Ah! ah, I well discern
The smiling looks of each bewitching bairn.
Air.—A bonny young Lad is my Jocky.
I sing to amuse you by night and by day,
And be unco merry when you are but gay;
When you with your bagpipes are ready to play,
My voice shall be ready to carol away
With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey,
With Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey.
Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit,
Make but of all your fortune one va toute:
Ye jockey tribe, whose stock of words are few,
"I hold the odds.—Done, done, with you, with you."
Ye barristers, so fluent with grimace,
"My Lord,—Your Lordship misconceives the case."
Doctors, who cough and answer every misfortuner,
"I wish I'd been called in a little sooner:"
Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty,
Come end the contest here, and aid my party.
MISS CATLEY.
Air.—Ballinamony
Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack,
Assist me, I pray, in this woful attack;
For—sure I don't wrong you—you seldom are slack,
When the ladies are calling, to blush and hang back.
For you're always polite and attentive,
Still to amuse us inventive,
And death is your only preventive:
Your hands and your voices for me.
MRS. BULKLEY.
Well, Madam, what if, after all this sparring,
We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring?
MISS CATLEY.
And that our friendship may remain unbroken,
What if we leave the Epilogue unspoken?
MRS. BULKLEY.
Agreed.
MISS CATLEY.
Agreed.
MRS. BULKLEY.
And now with late repentance,
Un-epilogued the Poet waits his sentence.
Condemn the stubborn fool who can't submit
To thrive by flattery, though he starves by wit.
[Exeunt.
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
A COMEDY.
PREFACE.
When I undertook to write a comedy, I confess I was strongly prepossessed in favour of the poets of the last age, and strove to imitate them. The term genteel comedy was then unknown amongst us, and little more was desired by an audience, than nature and humour, in whatever walks of life they were most conspicuous. The author of the following scenes never imagined that more would be expected of him, and therefore to delineate character has been his principal aim. Those who know any thing of composition, are sensible, that in pursuing humour, it will sometimes lead us into the recesses of the mean; I was even tempted to look for it in the master of a spunging-house: but in deference to the public taste, grown of late, perhaps, too delicate, the scene of the bailiffs was retrenched in the representation. In deference also to the judgment of a few friends, who think in a particular way, the scene is here restored. The author submits it to the reader in his closet; and hopes that too much refinement will not banish humour and character from ours, as it has already done from the French theatre. Indeed the French comedy is now become so very elevated and sentimental, that it has not only banished humour and Molière from the stage, but it has banished all spectators too.
Upon the whole, the author returns his thanks to the public for the favourable reception which the Good-Natured Man has met with: and to Mr. Colman in particular, for his kindness to it. It may not also be improper to assure any who shall hereafter write for the theatre, that merit, or supposed merit, will ever be a sufficient passport to his protection.
WRITTEN BY DR. JOHNSON.
SPOKEN BY MR. BENSLEY.
Press'd by the load of life, the weary mind
Surveys the general toil of humankind;
With cool submission joins the labouring train,
And social sorrow loses half its pain.
Our anxious bard, without complaint, may share
This bustling season's epidemic care;
Like Cæsar's pilot, dignified by fate,
Toss'd in one common storm with all the great;
Distress'd alike, the statesman and the wit,
When one a borough courts, and one the pit.
The busy candidates for power and fame,
Have hopes, and fears, and wishes just the same
Disabled both to combat, or to fly,
Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply.
Uncheck'd, on both, loud rabbles vent their rage,
As mongrels bay the lion in a cage.
Th'offended burgess hoards his angry tale,
For that blessed year when all that vote may rail;
Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss,
Till that glad night when all that hate may hiss.
"This day the powder'd curls and golden coat,"
Says swelling Crispin, "begged a cobbler's vote!"
"This night our wit" the pert apprentice cries,
"Lies at my feet: I hiss him, and he dies!"
The great, 'tis true, can charm th'electing tribe;
The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe.
Yet, judg'd by those whose voices ne'er were sold
He feels no want of ill-persuading gold;
But, confident of praise, if praise be due,
Trusts, without fear, to merit, and to you.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
MEN.
MR. HONEYWOOD.
CROAKER.
LOFTY.
SIR WILLIAM HONEYWOOD.
LEONTINE.
JARVIS.
BUTLER.
BAILIFF.
DUBARDIEU.
POSTBOY.
WOMEN.
MISS RICHLAND.
OLIVIA.
MRS. CROAKER.
GARNET.
LANDLADY.
Scene—London.
"Butler.—Sir, I'll not stay in
the family with Jonathan."—p. 271.