PROLOGUE To the COMEDY of The EAST-INDIAN. Spoken by Mr. PALMER. July, 1782

When the East-Indian gives our Play a name, With what a glow the Writer's breast should flame! What brilliant strokes thro' every Scene should run Bright as ripe fruit, the side that's next the Sun! Moguls and Nabobs should in judgement sit, O'er Crores of Humour, and a Lack of Wit.

In our cold climate, we but vainly strive To keep by hot-houses such fire alive; And force by Art, when Nature's at a stand, Dramatick Pine Apples at second hand.

Methinks I hear some Alderman, all hurry, Cry, where's the Pellow? Bring me out the Curry! Be quiet, says his lady; silence, man! Where's the Old China? Show me the Japan! Psha! cries a Wit; the Plot's an Indian Screen— The Muse shall enter in a Palanquin; And lovers, after many a foolish fray, In Love's Pagoda shall conclude the play.

Our Poetess, scarce blest with one Rupee, Invites the Criticks to a Dish of Tea. On India business she attempts to call Voters and Orators from Leadenhall, And many a lady shrouded in a Shawl; Who, rang'd in rows, may bribe the Critick's eye, With a new Blanket Warehouse in July!

Her Indian host, or guest, of this night's feast, Is just imported, neat as from the East; His temper hot as Kayan, taste uncouth, But full of Honour, Honesty, and Truth! Let the Committee on his Acts who sit, No fault, that is not fairly prov'd, admit! Take him for what he is, humanely greet him, And like a stranger, as you like him, treat him!