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PROLOGUE TO THE OPERA
Spoken by Mr. BETTERTON.
SURE 1 there’s a dearth of Wit in this dull Town, | |
| When silly Plays so savourly 2 go down; | |
| As, when Clipp’d Money passes, ’tis a sign | |
| A Nation is not over-stock’d with Coin. | |
| Happy is he, who in his own Defence, | 5 |
| Can write just level to your humble Sence; | |
| Who higher than your Pitch can never go; | |
| And doubtless, he must creep, who Writes below. | |
| So have I seen, in Hall of Knight, or Lord, | |
| A weak Arm throw on a long Shovel-Board; | 10 |
| He barely lays his Piece, bar Rubs and Knocks, | |
| Secur’d by Weakness not to reach the Box. | |
| A feeble Poet will his Bus’ness do, | |
| Who, straining all he can, comes up to you: | |
| For, if you like your Selves, you like him too. | 15 |
| An Ape his own Dear Image will embrace; | |
| An ugly Beau adores a Hatchet Face: | |
| So, some of you, on pure instinct of Nature, | |
| Are led, by Kind, t’ admire your fellow Creature. | |
| In fear of which, our House has sent this Day, | 20 |
| T’ insure our New-Built-Vessel, call’d a Play; | |
| No sooner Nam’d, than one crys out, These Stagers | |
| Come in good time, to make more Work for Wagers. | |
| The Town divides, if it will take or no; | |
| The Courtiers Bet, the Cits, the Merchants too; | 25 |
| A sign they have but little else to do. | |
| Betts at the first were Fool-Traps; where the Wise | |
| Like Spiders, lay in Ambush for the Flies; | |
| But now they’re grown a common Trade for all, | |
| And Actions by the News-Book Rise and Fall; | 30 |
| Wits, Cheats, and Fops are free of Wager-Hall. | |
| One Policy as far as Lyons carries; | |
| Another, nearer home sets up for Paris. | |
| Our Betts, at last, wou’d ev’n to Rome extend, | |
| But that the Pope has proved our Trusty Friend. | 35 |
| Indeed, it were a Bargain, worth our Money, | |
| Cou’d we insure another Ottobuoni. | |
| Among the rest there are a sharping Sett, | |
| That Pray for us, and yet against us Bett: | |
| Sure Heav’n it self is at a loss to know | 40 |
| If these wou’d have their Pray’rs be heard, or no: | |
| For, in great Stakes, we piously suppose, | |
| Men Pray but very faintly they may lose. | |
| Leave off these Wagers; for, in Conscience Speaking, | |
| The City needs not your new Tricks for Breaking: | 45 |
| And if you Gallants lose, to all appearing | |
| You’ll want an Equipage for Volunteering; | |
| While thus, no Spark of Honour left within ye, | |
| When you shou’d draw the Sword, you draw the Guinea. | |
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THE EPILOGUE
Spoke by Mrs. BRACEGIRDLE.
I’ve had to-day a Dozen Billet-Doux | 50 |
| From Fops, and Wits, and Cits, and Bow-street Beaux: | |
| Some from Whitehal, but from the Temple more: | |
| A Covent-Garden Porter brought me four. | |
| I have not yet read all: But, without feigning, | |
| We Maids can make shrewd Ghesses at your Meaning. | 55 |
| What if, to shew your Styles, I read ’em here? | |
| Me thinks I hear one cry, Oh Lord, forbear: | |
| No, Madam, no; by Heav’n, that’s too severe. | |
| Well then, be safe—— | |
| But swear henceforwards to renounce all Writing, | 60 |
| And take this Solemn Oath of my inditing,— | |
| As you love Ease and hate Campaigns and Fighting. | |
| Yet, Faith, ’tis just to make some few Examples: | |
| What if I shew’d you one or two for Samples? | |
| Pulls one out.] Heres, one desires my Ladyship to meet | 65 |
| At the kind Couch above in Bridges-Street. | |
| Oh Sharping Knave! That wou’d have you know what, | |
| For a Poor Sneaking Treat of Chocolat. | |
| Pulls out another.] Now, in the Name of Luck, I’ll break this open, | |
| Because I Dreamt last Night I had a Token; | 70 |
| The Superscription is exceeding pretty, | |
| To the Desire of all the Town and City. | |
| Now, Gallants, you must know, this precious Fop | |
| Is Foreman of a Haberdashers-Shop: | |
| One who devoutly cheats, demure in Carriage, | 75 |
| And courts me to the Holy Bands of Marriage; | |
| But, with a Civil Inuendo too, | |
| My Overplus of Love shall be for you. | |
| Reads.] Madam, I swear your Looks are so Divine, | |
| When I set up, your Face shall be my Sign; | 80 |
| Tho Times are hard—to show how I Adore you, | |
| Here’s my whole Heart, and half a Guinea for you. | |
| But, have a Care of Beaux; They’re false, my Honey; | |
| And, which is worse, have not one Rag of Money. | |
| See how Maliciously the Rogue would wrong ye! | 85 |
| But I know better Things of some among ye. | |
| My wisest way will be to keep the Stage, | |
| And trust to the Good Nature of the Age: | |
| And he that likes the Musick and the Play | |
| Shall be my Favourite Gallant to-day. | 90 |
