PROLOGUE, Spoken at WYNNSTAY. January, 1781

I Am a poor Strolling Player—and my hapless condition Obliges me to wait upon you with my Humble Petition. Thro' England, South Wales, and North Wales, I have travell'd many years since, And represented Lover and Hero, Wit and Fool, Statesman and Cuckold, Beggar and Prince; Nay more than Roscius, Betterton, Booth, or Garrick himself could say, I have acted every part—women as well as men—every part in every play. Not long ago, at Oswestry, we did the falchion wield: Now near this place we pitch our tent—very near here—even in Wrexham Field; By Metaphor I say Field, for in fact, at a very great expence, We have fitted up the Town Hall, and (for the first time) made it the Theatre of Common Sense. Our bills all honestly paid, now new dangers we essay! Rival Strollers have arisen, and are resolv'd to exhibit at Wynnstay: And what I am sure in our cause will make you very hearty, The little Manager from the Hay-market is one of the party. They call themselves Gentlemen indeed, but still I say so much the worse! For when Gentlemen act unlike Gentlemen, 'tis a private and a publick curse. Why should a Gentleman pretend to more than he understands, Take the bread out of our mouths, and our trade out of our hands? All arts are best executed by the artists themselves; Gentlemen Artists are mostly mere Dabblers and ignorant Elves. Says Sir John, his round hat on his head, a Quid in his mouth, and long Whip in his hand, I'll drive you, my Dear! at the door see the horses and Phaeton stand! From high steps to the Chaise Sir John and the Lady mount three pair of stairs, While the Mob in the street at the Cavalcade stares. Chuck, chuck!—off they go!—Jehu! oight, oight! till at some sudden pitch, Sir John and the Lady come souse in a ditch. Such are Baronet Drivers! and thus Country Squires hunt a pack, or ride matches; Thus Generals write plays, and thus Nobles sing Catches, Thus to-night a Welch Baronet and his Friends give a play, And promise Dramaticks for the whole week to come at Wynnstay. With Rule a Wife and Have a Wife they mean to make you sick, And turn Shakespeare's Great Richard to tiny King Dick. Of BonTon they'll give you much more than you desire, And when they promise entertainment no doubt they'll play the Liar! But, after all, Ladies and Gentlemen, Peace is our plan, And we wish to compromise this matter, if we can. They have given some reasons which I think will hold water— They have had a Christening it seems, and Sir Watkin has got another daughter. Besides, the Former Worthy Mistress of this place Now deigns, with her presence, their Gambols to grace. Since the Country's call'd in we're determin'd not to vex 'em, And so for this week have shut up our fine Theatre at Wrexham: But since for this week we agree to lie mum, You'll fill us, no doubt, for a fortnight to come.