A PROLOGUE, Spoke at the opening an elegant little Theatre at Whitby

From Shakespear,—Johnson,—Congreve,— Rowe,—and others— The lawrel'd list—the true Parnassian brothers! Hither we're sent,—by their supreme direction, To court your favour, and to claim protection.

Our hopes are flatter'd with the Fair's compliance; Beauty and Wit were always in alliance! Their mutual sway reforms the rude creation, And TASTE'S determin'd by their approbation.

The tragic muse presents a stately mirrour, Where Vice surveys her ugly form, with terror: And as the fiend departs—abash'd!—discarded— Imperial Virtue's with the palm rewarded.

The comic glass—from modern groupes collected, Shews fops and fools of every class—dissected: It marks the fair coquet's unfaithful dealings, And proves that haughty prudes may have their failings. For faults that flow from habit more than nature, We'll blend, with honest mirth, some wholesome satire.

Now for our bark—the vessel's tight—and able! New built!—new rigg'd!—[Pointing to the scenes] with canvass—mast—and cable! Let her not sink,—or be unkindly stranded, Before the moral freight be fairly landed! For tho' with heart and hand we heave together, 'Tis your kind plaudit must command the weather: Nor halcion seas,—nor gentle gale attend us, Till this fair circle with their smiles befriend us.