PROLOGUE TO A PLAY FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE DISTRESSED WEAVERS.* BY DR. SHERIDAN. SPOKEN BY MR. ELRINGTON. 1721. GREAT, cry and little wool-is now become See I am dress'd from top to toe in stuff, What great advantage must it give the fair! * An answer to this Prologue and Epilogue is printed in the Works of Concanen. N For For which I think it reason to conclude, That clothes may change our temper like our food. How sweet and innocent's the country maid, With small expense in native wool array'd; Who copies from the fields her homely green, While by her shepherd with delight she's seen! Should our fair ladies dress like her in wool, How much more lovely, and how beautiful, Without their Indian drapery, they'd prove! While wool would help to warm us into love! Then, like the famous Argonauts of Greece, We'll all contend to gain the Golden Fleece! EPILOGUE, BY THE DEAN. SPOKEN BY MR. GRIFFITH. WHO dares affirm this is no pious age, * * Archbishop King. F Item, Item, The actors freely give a day- But whence this wondrous charityin players ? And you, our subjects, when you here resort, O! could I see this audience clad in stuff, Though money's scarce we should have trade enough: But chints, brocades, and lace; take all away, And scarce a crown is left to see the play. Perhaps you wonder whence this friendship springs Between the weavers and us playhouse kings; But wit and weaving had the same beginning; Pallas first taught us poetry and spinning: * A street famous for woollen manufactures. F. And And, next, observe how this alliance fits, ANSWER TO DR. SHERIDAN'S PROLOGUE, BY DR. DELANY. FŒMINEO GENERI TRIBUANTUR. THE Muses, whom the richest silks array, Deplore the comb, and bid her heroes arm: May curse the belles and chintses of the age: Like yours, ye fair, her fame from censure grows, Prevails in charms, and glares above her foes: Your injured plant shall meet a loud defence, And be the emblem of your innocence. Some bard, perhaps, whose landlord was weaver, a Penn'd the low prologue, to return a favour: Some neighbour wit, that would be in the vogue, Work'd with his friend, and wove the epilogue. Who weaves the chaplet, or provides the bays, For such woolgathering sonneteers as these? Hence then, ye homespun witlings, that persuade Miss Chloe to the fashion of her maid. Shall the wide hoop, that standard of the town, Thus act subservient to a poplin gown? Who'd smell of wool all over? 'Tis enough The underpetticoat be made of stuff. Lord! to be wrapt in flannel just in May, When the fields dress'd in flowers appear so gay And shall not miss be flower'd as well as they? In what weak colours would the plaid appear, Work'd to a quilt, or studded in a chair! The skin, that vies with silk, would fret with stuff; Or who could bear in bed a thing so rough? Ye knowing fair, how eminent that bed, Where the chints diamonds with the silken thread, Where rustling curtains call the curious eye, And boast the streaks and paintings of the sky! Of flocks they'd have your milky ticking full; And all this for the benefit of wool! ! "But where," say they, "shall we bestow these weavers, That spread our streets, and are such piteous cravers ?" The |