Sir Har. Come, come, I'll reimburse you, and send you back into the Country; you are not sharp enough for the Profession design'd you; where you may boast among your ignorant Acquaintance, that you have a perfect Knowledge o' the Town, for you have met with two very great Rogues, got drunk at a Tavern, been at a common Brothel, and have had your Pocket pickt of a Hundred Pounds. [To Knapsack.] For you, Friend, the Collonel will take care of you; [To Shrimp.] and for you, Rascal——
Bram. I profess, Sir Harry, a Couple of promising Youths; a Boy shou'd n't be trusted with so much Money; these Persons have seen the World, and know how to employ it——Gentlemen, if your Masters discard you, I'll entertain you. [Aside.] I find by their Phis'nomies they'll be rising Men; and tho' they came sneaking into the World, like other People, and paid a Tax for their Births, they'll go out of it a more sublime way, and cheat the Church of their Burials.
Col. Punish'd they shall be, but 'tis now unseasonable; this Day I'd wish an universal Jubilee——What say you to a Dance, good People, my Lady's Servants are all musical.
A DANCE.
Col. The Wav'ring Nymph, with Pride and Envy sir'd,
Ranges the World, to be by all admir'd;
Thro' distant Courts, and Climes, she bears her way,
And like the Sun, wou'd course 'em in a Day;
At length Fatigu'd, she finds those Trifles vain,
Meer empty Joys, repeated o'er again:
But when by Nature urg'd, weak Fancy fails,
And Reason dictating, sound Sense prevails;
Wisely she takes the Lover to her Arms,
And owns her self subdu'd by Love's more potent Charms.
The EPILOGUE,
Spoken by Mrs. Bradshaw.
Poets of late so scurrilous are grown,
Instead of Courting, they abuse the Town:
And when an Epilogue entirely pleases,
In thundering Jests, it takes the House to pieces;
The Pit smiles when the Gallery_'s misus'd,
The_ Gallery sniggers when the Pit_'s abus'd_;
Side-Boxes wou'd with Ladies Foibles play, }
But they themselves stand Buff to all we say, }
For nothing strikes them Dead, but—Please to pay: }
The Upper Regions angry if pass'd by;
But when some wond'rous Joke shall thither fly.
Faith, Jack, here's Sense and Learning in this Play,
We'll make our Ladies come the Poet's Day.
This Author wou'd by gentler Means persuade you,
And rather sooth your Follies than degrade you.
Parties may rail, and bully Courtiers Graces,
But fawning, well-tim'd Ballads, shou'd get Poets Places.
Your Absence lately, how we all have mourn'd;
Some pray'd, some fasted too, till you return'd:
But now those melancholly Days retire,
And eager Wit restrain'd, darts fiercer Fire:
Favours unlimited we hope you'll grant us,
And not let dear-bought Foreigners supplant us.
This PLAY, our Author hopes, may please the Town, }
Not that He claims a Merit of his own, }
But half our_ Comick Bards are dead and gone. }
Things scarce attainable more nice appear;
Coffee was scarce a Treat, till very dear.
To raise his Genius, with some pains he strove,
As we in Acting shou'd each Day improve.
But as Whims only seem to please this Age, }
If Wit and Humour won't your Hearts engage, }
We'll have a Moving-Picture on the Stage. }
F I N I S.
(final leaf, recto)