Bought a good book, that on a Chriftian plan To every fin a finner's name he tack'd, And through the parish all the vices track'd; Hardness of Heart, no mifery regarding, Was Overseer-Luxury, Churchwarden. 'Tis faid, when winds the troubled deep deform, Pour copious streams of oil, 'twill lay the ftorm: Thus here, let Mirth and frank Good-humour's balm Make cenfure mild, fcorn kind, and anger calm! Some wholesome Bitters if the Bard produces, 'Tis only Wormwood to correct the juices. In this day's conteft, where, in colours new, Three Play-Houfe Candidates are brought to view, Our little Bayes encounters fome Disgrace: Should You reject him too, I mourn his CafeHe can be chosen for no other Place. } PROLOGUE To TWO TO ONE, a COMEDY, written by G. COLMAN, Jun. Spoken by Mr. PALMER. June, 1785. 'O-NIGHT, as Heralds tell, a Virgin Muse, TO-NIGHT, An untrain❜d youth, a new advent❜rer sues ; Green in his one-and-twenty, fcarce of age, Takes his firft Flight, half-fledg'd, upon the Stage. Within this little Round, the Parent Bird Hath warbled oft; oft patiently you heard; And as he ftrove to raise his eager throat, Your kind Applaufe made Musick of his note. But now, with beating Heart, and anxious Eye, He fees his vent'rous Youngling strive to fly; Like Dædalus, a Father's fears he brings, A Father's hopes, and fain would plume his Wings. How vain, alas, his Hopes! his Fears how vain! 'Tis You must hear, and hearing judge the ftrain, Your equal Juftice finks or lifts his name, Your Frown's a Sentence, your Applaufe is Fame. If If Humour warms his scenes with genial fire, OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE, To the TRAGEDY of TANCRED and SIGISMUNDA, and the COMEDY of the GUARDIAN, revived at the THEATRE ROYAL, HAY-MARKET, July 12, 1784. Spoken by Mr. BANNISTER, Jun. F anxious for his Sigifmunda's fate, Your Tancred for awhile foregoes his ftate; If, like Prince Prettyman, he rifques your fcoff, Half-bufkin'd-one boot on, and t'other off; You, who can judge a young advent'rer's fears, You, who've oft felt a female's fighs and tears, Will hear a fuppliant, who for mercy fues, Courting your favour through the Tragick Mufe. Acrofs the vaft Atlantick fhe was led, With blank-verse, blood-bowls, daggers, in her head! Alas! Alas! no chart or compass she can boast; That coaft, where late, in fpite of ev'ry fand, Yet Britain ever hails the cloth unfurl'd, Skiffs, fnows, and frigates anchor by their fide: And oh! may now, with no unprofp'rous gale, -The Sigifmunda fpread her little fail! And while the Kemble follows faft behind, PROLOGUE |