SPOKEN BY MRS. KEMBLE.
"Long before the beginning of this Play,"
I heard some deep ones in the Green-Room, say,
They had their fears and doubts—whilst some did
quake—
And others wish'd it bed-time for her sake.
Do you, our best Physicians, ever kind, }
Prescribe our true Cephalic for the Mind,
Of these our Neighbours, and kind Friends—behind,
And with it, give a cordial of the best,
To one, with deepest Gratitude imprest.
For some there are—I have them in my eye—
Will sicken and turn pale with jealousy,
Whene'er we scribbling Women wield the Pen,
Or dare invade the Rights of scribbling Men;
And fir'd with zeal, in dread array appear—
With Tenets from the learned Hemisphere;
Thence cry (kind Souls) "Invention is the only Art,
And mere Translation but a second Part;
Besides—we Men of Taste—can ne'er withstand
E'en Nature's Garrick thus at second Hand!
Then why do Comic Writers live on Theft,
When such Ragouts and Dainties still are left?
Not richer were, in Congreve's days or Behn,
For now, the Males are Females—Women, Men—
Nay some so manly, and so orthodox,
Will drive you four in Hand—or hold the Box;
And if perchance the fatal Die is thrown,
Will storm and swear, like any Lord in Town."

But might I whisper in this Censor's ear,
I'd prove his observations too severe—
And urge—"Translation to hit off with skill,
Is not the province of each common Quill;
But by improving what was writ before,
Tho' Genius may be less, our Judgment's more;
And whilst we paint with energy from Life,
The gallant Husband, or more gallant Wife,
With Tints from living Portraits from the Spot,
It matters not by whom related—or begot;
And thus, much surer shall we reach the Heart,
Than all the lifeless pomp of boasted Art."
As such, deny her not—at least the merit
Of giving Gallic Froth—true British Spirit.

And as for you, ye Fair, how blooms the Cheek,
How sweet the Temper which those eyes bespeak?
No Midnight Oil has e'er destroy'd a Grace,
Or Gaming's Horrors found with you a place;
But Cupid lent you all those winning Arts,
Which at a glance—can warm the coldest Hearts.

Check then with me these Censors as unjust,
Who form their judgments—as they live—on Trust.
Nor ever credit what they dare to say,
Unless with you they join, and like our Play.

Use for a signal then—your Magic Fan,
And all the House will follow to a Man;
Or should there be a disaffected few—
A Counter Revolution—rests with you.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

Contemporary spellings and hyphenation have been retained even whereinconsistent. The following changes have been made and can be identifiedin the body of the text by a grey dotted underline:

return to town and dress for your receptioureturn to town and dress for your reception
I know no other way to shew my humility, then to accept your presentI know no other way to shew my humility, than to accept your present
You were giving me an an account, BluntlyYou were giving me an account, Bluntly
WILLORDWILLFORD
Still an object I adore; but I now perceive your are one to my ruin devoted.Still an object I adore; but I now perceive you are one to my ruin devoted.
Lucre, my dear Lucre, are not you amazed at at what you see?Lucre, my dear Lucre, are not you amazed at what you see?
(…) being insured from any future emand by some certain proofs.(…) being insured from any future demand by some certain proofs.