Ralph Moulsey's Description of Richmond Playhouse

Where Hodge, ye great oaf, have you been, That you ha'not yet been to the play? The playhouse at Richmond I mean, Which i'faith is most gallant and gay.

We shew-folk have seen afore now Enact kings and queens in a barn; But this is a palace, I vow, And a costly one too, as I learn.

I star'd, as you'll think, all about, To see such a wonderful thing; But I found, when the secret came out, 'Twas design'd to be fit for the king.

God bless'n, had he but been there, And the queen, I'd ha' gi'n half a crown; For they come not to wake nor to fair; And 'tis miles up to London fine town.

Tho else there were smart folks enow: No wonder, entic'd by such skill; For they play'd so—I cannot tell how, But I doat on that Maid i'the Mill.

So sweetly she sings, without doubt I could like, and I'm sure so could you— Could a body but bring it about; But, pize on it, the maid's married too.

Yet, acting apart, there's the scenes, All fresh as the barley-mow sign; Shifting backwards and forwards like skreens, And painted most desperate fine.

Then, simple tho I as a sheep, The man of the shew was so kind, As to let me just have a bo-peep At the fine actor-people behind.

There I thought to have found out a flam; For of tinsel and stuff I've been told; But their dresses, ecod, were no sham; But velvet and silver and gold.

In the green-room, which I took for blue, Gay ladies I saw richly dress'd; And some of them handsome ones too; But their manners were none of the best.

For a lass, with one leg in the air, The other knee-high to be seen, With her head leaning back on her chair, Look'd like a carv'd ivory queen.

Her red pouting nib lay so fair For a kiss, had I fear'd no denial; But her eyes sparkled, " Do if you date," So Ralph was afraid to stand trial.

On the stage did you see her but dance, And skip here and there like a vapour, She'd fling you soon into a trance, To see what you'd see ev'ry caper.

For, whisking and frisking about, As nimble and light as a feather, Her petticoat makes such a rout, That one's heart and her heels go together.

So, Hodge, if so be you're inclin'd, To the play we will go, lad, together: Next week, if I hold in the mind, And God sends the farmers good weather.