---By whom?---by all those learned Lords---fashionable Ladies---wealthy Citizens-penetrating Lawyers and eminent Literati, who some twelve years ago publicly declared that one boy was the genuine SHAKESPEARE, and who some three years aga as publicly declared that another boy was the genuine GARRICK--by all those who at different periods have equally idolized PITT and the CONSTITUTION--FOX and the REVOLUTION---SHERIDAN and the PHANTASMAGORIA---GIBBON and the LEARNED PIG---KOTZBUE and MOTHER GOOSE!--And yet, spite of this weathercock mania, authors have lived, and still live, who write for what they call FAME!---For my part I write for more substantial food:---beef and mutton are the objects of my ambition, and perhaps I would as soon gain them by bad jokes, as by good jokes; because, if by accident, I were to write one sterling comedy, I know to a certainty I could never write another, and therefore I should be damned by comparison.

But the constant cry is-" Why don't you write a "sterling comedy? Why don't you give us the good "old legitimate drama-such as flourished in the days of Shakespeare-Jonson-Vanburgh-and Congreve?" Kind, liberal READERS! why only select, for comparison, the best authors, and their best plays! Why not bring into competition the ephemeral productions of Etherege, Shadwell, Taverner, and Durfey? -and at the same time fairly consider the numerous advantages possessed by these ancient writers-they found a well-stocked dramatic garden:-Love-Jealousy Avarice-Cowardice-Hypocrisy-Curiosity --were then flowers unhandled and unseen-these

they culled-and left only weeds. They likewise were not checked in their satirical and original flights, by Act of Parliament-and if they had thought of dramatizing a baby general, or a foppish clergyman, they had no LICENSER to prevent them. They likewise were allowed the free use of that easy and inexhaustible source of creating mirth, called "double entendre."-They likewise, from the smallness of their theatres, had the gratification of knowing that their attempts at wit were heard even in the galleries-whilst ours, alas !—often stick in the ceiling! and yet with all these superior advantages, they had their good-natured READERS-for Voltaire calls Shakespeare" Un grand Fumier."-Decker calls Jonson-" Dull and vulgar."-Collier calls Vanburgh and Congreve-"Unnatural and blasphemous”—And had there been reviews in the days of Terence and Aristophanes, they would probably have been called "The pity of the wise-the buffoons of the vulgar-and (as the ne plus ultra of disgrace) writers of MODERN COMEDY !"

Barristers, physicians, and other professional characters, increase in reputation as they increase in age-and at the moment dotage empties their heads, credulity often fills their pockets-but when time impairs or dries up the vivid juices of an author's brain, can he exist on his former reputation?-No, -his past efforts recoil-and yet there are people who would still recommend the Horatian maxim of "Nonum prematur in annum”—by which maxim, in thirty-six years, a man might compose four classical dramas and allowing two of these to be DAMNED

(and their being classical, don't in the least mend

their chance) why he will have to cover himself, and perhaps a wife, who, Nonum parturit in mensem"-not only LAUREL in abuandance, but a clear terminable income of about TWENTY POUNDS!

That a very large majority of critical writers are always ready to take the good-natured side of the question, and to aid "their fellow labourer in the vineyard," I have every reason to acknowledge, and I am happy---most happy, in this opportunity of confessing that no author that ever did live, or possibly ever will live, can be under greater obligations to them than I am.---But since the few may at last lead and convert the many, ---and play-writing is my chief source of income, I trust there is no impropriety in my vindicating my vocation to the utmost of my power.I beg it to be understood, that I bear no malice even to those critics who call modern comedy, modern trash; because if the sale of their publications depend on their severity, who knows but they are writing against their opinions, and are all the time secretly thinking me a wonderfully fine dramatist!---To the reviewers I can bear no malice, because when they state that my new comedy is worth nothing, they actually state the fact---for by that time I have expended all its profits. To the public at large, who have for more than twenty years bestowed on me such uniform and unceasing indulgence, what can I say for not better meriting that indulgence? Why briefly, in the words of many of my own sentimental heroes--

"The fault is in my HEAD, and not my HEART." March 5th, 1808.

ง

PROLOGUE.

WRITTEN BY A FRIEND.

IN every Prologue for these thousand years,

You've heard of nothing but the Author's fears;
His pains of labour have rung thro' the house,
And, like the mountain, oft produc'd a mouse,
For once, you'll hear no melancholy story,
Before the Play, the Author will not bore ye;
And why should he, a trembling culprit, sue,
Whose only crime-his wish to pleasure you?
They talk of parties form'd, of critics' spite,
Of Newspapers condemning, wrong, or right,
Mere bugbears, rais'd poor Authors to affright.
Should he with mirth a tedious hour beguile,
He'll gain his wish'd-for recompense, a smile;
Should his plain tale some interest impart,
Your hands will speak the feelings of your heart.
More would I talk, but since I well discover,
You'll not be sorry when the Prologue's over,
I'm gone-yet no-allow me just to say,
If any come to see a foreign Play,
We wish the Gentleman had staid away.
But, be there any, who will freely scan us,
And wait to know us, ere they try to damn us,
Like patient jurors, faithfully attend,

Nor give their verdict, till they hear the end

Such are most welcome, and we've little fear,

}

(Boxes.)

That such are to be found, there! (Galleries) there! (Pit) and here!

DRAMATIS