Prologue

Long has been serv'd from this our motley Stage, Repasts for various tastes—from youth to age— To lively Miss, escap'd from Sshool and toil, Our sports have oft bestow'd the infant smile, While the rude boy, from Westminster or Eton, Who "spies," and "quizzes" one, where'er they meet one. For them, our brilliant Ballets drawn from Greece, Restore their Greek—without a rod a piece. While tricks and tumbling honest John employ, Who drinks his punch aloft, and screams with joy. The wife is all for music, shakes and thrilling, Old maids, from soft humanity, love killing: Each has his taste: for married life may say, Not oft' two persons think in the same way. Our Bard, long known to you, this night makes up, Of various beverage—a kind of cup; Of Music, Pantomime, and graver scenes, Perhaps a dash of terror intervenes; Should not all these sufficient change supply, If you condemn—there will be—Tragedy. But, Britons, while a neighbouring nation's crimes, Have spread war wide, and made these—"Iron Times." Greet you, the moral virtues of the STAGE, Which haply may amend an erring age: That Arts and Sciences may take their place, That the domestic ties may have their grace, The rights of sweet humanity be known, And freedom fixed by law, reign like your own?