PROLOGUE, On the opening of the THEATRE ROYAL, HAY-MARKET, June, 1781. Spoken by MR. PALMER

With broken Funds our Monarch meets the House; His Board of Works have left him scarce a souse! Poets, and only Poets, durst rehearse In ancient times the mighty pow'rs of Verse; The Bards of old, who built the lofty rhyme, Could build whole cities, at the self same time. Amphion struck his lyre—and at his call, Stone leap'd on stone, and form'd of Thebes the wall. Oh for a Muse of fire! in flames to smother Our crazy Playhouse, and create another! Our Poet Manager has no such skill— In comes the Carpenter's and Bricklayer's bill! Ev'n Opera now the power of Song has lost, And, plung'd in Brick and Mortar, feels their cost. By Italy betray'd, she flies to France; And what she lost in Song, makes up in Dance. No more from voice, or ear, her profits flow; The soul of Opera fixes in Goose Toe!

Since then St. Vitus' Dance despotick reigns, The surest Succedaneum for the brains, Genius of Nonsense! fill our empty places; Let us too dance ourselves into your graces; O'er the whole Hay-market in state preside, Nor let a Palsy seize our hapless side! To court thy smiles, Farce shall learn entrechat, And Tragedy shall caper en grand pas. Crook'd Richard now shall frisk, his passions mute, " To the lascivious pleasings of a Lute." And in a cut of eight, to make you stare, Macbeth shall catch the Dagger in the air. Tobine for life in minuet step shall beg, And Bowkitt scrape, and—stand upon one leg!

While Dancing shall remain the fav'rite rage, On these, and arts like these, must stand our Stage; But if some Whim shou'd "bid the reign commence, " Of rescu'd Nature, and reviving Sense," Again to Humour shall we bend our cares, And draw on Wit—to pay for our Repairs.