The Connoiffeur takes out his glafs, to pry
Into each Picture with a curious eye;

Turns topsy-turvy my whole compofition,
And makes mere Portraits all my Exhibition,
From various forms Apelles Venus drew;
So from the million do I copy you.
But ftill the copy's fo exact, you say;
Alas, the fame thing happens every day!
How many a modifh well-dreft fop you meet,
Exactly fuits his fhape-in Monmouth-street!
In Yorkshire Warehouses, and Cranborn-Ally,
'Tis wonderful how fhoes and feet will tally!
As honeft Crifpin understands his trade,
On the true human scale his lafts are made,
The measure of each fex and age to hit,
And every shoe, as if bespoke, will fit.

My Warehouse thus for Nature's walks supplies Shoes for all ranks, and Lafts of every size: Sit ftill, and try them, firs; I long to please ye; How well they fit! I hope you find them eafy: If the Shoe pinches fwear you cannot bear it, But, if well made-I wish you health to wear it.

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

To the Revived Comedy of EPICANE, or the SILENT

WOMAN.

January, 1776.

APPY the foaring Bard, who boldly wooes,

HAP

And wins the favour of the Tragick Muse! He from the grave may call the mighty dead, In Bufkins and Blank Verfe the Stage to tread On Pompeys and old Cæfars rife to fame, And join the Poet's to th' Hiftorian's name. The Comick wit, alas! whofe eagle eyes Pierce nature thro' and mock the time's difguife, Whose pencil living follies brings to view, Survives thofe follies, and his portraits too; Like fbar-gazers deplores his luckless fate, For last year's Almanacks are out of date. "The Fox, the Alchymift, the Silent Woman, "Done by Ben Jonfon, are out-done by no Man." Thus fay, in rough, but panegyrick rhymes, The Wits and Criticks of our author's times.

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But

But now we bring him forth with dread and doubt,
And fear his learned focks are quite worn out.
The fubtle Alchemift grows obfolete,

And Drugger's humour scarcely keeps him fweet.

To-night if you would feaft your eyes and ears, Go back in fancy near two hundred years; A play of Ruffs and Farthingales review, Old English fashions, such as then were new! Drive not Tom Otter's Bulls and Bears away; Worfe Bulls and Bears difgrace the present day. On fair Collegiates let no Critick frown! A Ladies' Club ftill holds its rank in town. If modern cooks, who nightly treat the Pit, Do not quite cloy and furfeit you with wit, From the old kitchen please to pick a bit! If once, with hearty ftomachs to regale On old Ben Johnson's fare, tho' somewhat stale, A meal on Bobadil you deign'd to make, Take EPICANE for his and Kitely's fake!

}

EPILOGUE

Spoken by Mrs. ABINGTON in the Character of Lady TEAZLE.

June, 1777.

I

Who was late fo volatile and gay,

Like a trade-wind, must now blow all one way, Bend all my cares, my ftudies, and my vows, To one old rusty weather-cock-my spouse; So wills our virtuous Bard! the pye-ball'd Bayes Of crying Epilogues and laughing Plays.

Old bachelors, who marry fmart young wives, Learn from our play to regulate your lives! Each bring his dear to town-all faults upon herLondon will prove the very fource of honour; Plung'd fairly in, like a cold Bath, it ferves, When principles relax, to brace the nerves. Such is my cafe-and yet I muft deplore That the gay dream of Diffipation's o'er :

And

And fay, ye fair, was ever lively wife,
Born with a genius for the higheft life,
Like me, untimely blafted in her bloom,

Like me, condemn'd to fuch a difmal doom?
Save money-when I just knew how to waste it!
Leave London-just as I began to taste it!
Muft I then watch the early-crowing cock?
The melancholy ticking of a clock?

In the lone ruftick hall for ever pounded,

With dogs, cats, rats, and fqualling brats furrounded?
With humble curates can I now retire,
(While good Sir Peter boozes with the 'Squire)
And at Backgammon mortify my foul,

That pants for Lu, or flutters at a Vole?
Seven's the Main !-dear Sound !—that must expire,
Loft at Hot-Cockles round a Christmas fire!
The tranfient hour of Fashion too foon fpent,
"Farewell the tranquil mind, farewell content!
"Farewell the plumed head, the cushion'd Tête,
"That takes the cushion from its proper feat!
"The spirit-ftirring drum !-card-drums I mean-
"Spadille, Odd-trick, Pam, Basto, King and Queen!
VOL. III,

T

"And

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