Chapter XXI: Prologue: ,

BY DAVID GARRICK, ESQ.

_Enter_ MR. WOODWARD,

Dressed in black, and holding a handkerchief to his eyes.

Excuse me, sirs, I pray—I can't yet speak—
I'm crying now—and have been all the week!
_'Tis not alone this mourning suit_, good masters;
_I've that within_—for which there are no plasters!
Pray, would you know the reason why I'm crying?
The Comic Muse, long sick, is now a-dying!
And if she goes, my tears will never stop;
for as a play'r, I can't squeeze out one drop:
I am undone, that's all—shall lose my bread—I'd
rather—but that's nothing—lose my head
When the sweet maid is laid upon the bier,
_Shuter_ and _I_ shall be chief mourners here.
To her a mawkish drab of spurious breed,
Who deals in _sentimentals_ will succeed!
Poor _Ned_ and _I_ are dead to all intents,
We can as soon speak _Greek_ as _sentiments_!
Both nervous grown, to keep our spirits up,
We now and then take down a hearty cup.
What shall we do?—If Comedy forsake us!
_They'll turn us out, and no one else will take us._
But why can't I be moral?—Let me try—
My heart thus pressing—fixed my face and eye—
With a sententious look, that nothing means,
(Faces are blocks, in sentimental scenes)
Thus I begin—_All is not gold that glitters,
Pleasure seems sweet, but proves a glass of bitters.
When ignorance enters, folly is at hand;
Learning is better far than house and land.
Let not your virtue trip, who trips may stumble,
And virtue is not virtue, if she tumble._

I give it up—morals won't do for me;
To make you laugh I must play tragedy.
One hope remains: hearing the maid was ill,
A _doctor_ comes this night to show his skill.
To cheer her heart, and give your muscles motion,
He in _five draughts_ prepared, presents a potion:
A kind of magic charm—for be assured,
If you will _swallow it_, the maid is cured:
But desperate the doctor, and her case is,
If you reject the dose, and make wry faces!
This truth he boasts, will boast it while he lives,
No _poisonous drugs_ are mixed with what he gives;
Should he succeed, you'll give him his degree;
If not, within he will receive no fee!
The college _you_, must his pretensions back,
Pronounce him _regular_, or dub him _quack_.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

MEN.

SIR CHARLES MARLOW. YOUNG MARLOW (HIS SON). HARDCASTLE. HASTINGS. TONY LUMPKIN. DIGGORY.

WOMEN.

MRS. HARDCASTLE. MISS HARDCASTLE. MISS NEVILLE. MAID.

LANDLORD, SERVANTS, &c. &c.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.—_"You shan't go."—p. 326_.
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