 | The City-Ramble : or, A Play-house Wedding |  |
THE PROLOGUE. Spoken by a Person representing an Alderman in a Gold Chain, &c.
T'appear Right Worshipful in Garb of Cit.
Let me look round—unless my Eye-sight fails
I see some flutt'ring Sparks that tell strange Tales
Of wond'rous Feats perform'd by their sweet Faces
To catch our City Yoke-mates Smiles and Graces.
Away of Talking when you Beaus grow pert,
Much more your Vanity than our Desert.
With our fair Spouses Names you're free for Toasters;
But give us leave to play the true proud Boasters.
What Glory think you must our Fame record,
To bear a Grocer call a Grandson Lord!
Or what's more strange to see Triumphant Beauty
With Coronet, Coach and Six, in Filial Duty,
Squeeze through a Croud of City-Cars, and all
To ask a Daddy Blessing at Guildhall.
This we can boast, nor are you Dons so squeamish
To think this Condescension any Blemish.
No, with our Golden Girls you'll make hard shift,
Our Scores of Thousands at one lumping Gift,
Lend Equipage and Train a strange kind Lift.
Well, the whole World 'tis Union must support,
Then let's shake Hands the City and the Court,
We gild your Honour, and you mend our Breed.
C. C. Man.
Hark you, you, Fellow there.
Prol.
To me, Sir?
C. C. Man.
Yes, you, Mr. Tattler; you think you have made a fine
Speech to rally upon the Honourable City.
Prol.
I hope, Sir, you don't come to our Play to pick a Quarrel with us.
C. C. Man.
Ay, for what else. Don't you think that I and my Spouse
and Daughter here are come to your House of Vanities for mere Vanity-sake.
No, Friend, I am a Common Council-man, and had the Honour
to pass my Religious Vote for the downfall of the wicked Drollery
in Bartholomew-Fair; and though we can't have the Happiness of
rooting up those Nurseries of Debauchery the two lewd Play-Houses,
however let me tell you, since my Wife has dragg'd me hither amongst
you, I am resolv'd to make a little Reformation-work with you.
Prol.
Ay, worthy Sir, we shall be proud of that Favour.
C. C. Man.
But come, my Dear, this Box is not altogether so convenient,
we'll go down and sit upon the Stage.
Prol.
Ay, Sir, and welcome.
Jenny.
Oh, dear Mother, shan't I go along with you?
C. Wife.
What, behind the Scenes! Not, for the World! Thou art a
young innocent Creature, and trust thy self amongst a pack of wicked
Players! I am an old Woman, Chicken, and there's no danger of me.
Jenny.
And are they such paw Creatures, say you? Nay, then I'll
keep out of harm's way, I warrant them. They shan't so much as see
my Face, I'll wear my Mask all the Play.
C. Wife.
Ay, That's my best Girl.
[Exeunt from above the Common Council-man and Wife. Enter to Jenny an Actress.
Actress.
Come, dear Madam, your Scarf and your Mask immediately,
and whip down to your Lover behind the Scenes, whilst I supply
your place.
Ay, ay, take 'em.
[The Actress puts on her Scarf.
Actress.
Well, if we can but put the Sham upon your old Daddy.
Jenny.
Oh never fear his weak Eyes. Besides you know my Mother's
in the Plot; and under her Management of the old Gentleman,
all will do well ne'er doubt it.
[Exit from above, leaving the Actress mask'd.
Enter Common Council-man and Wife below.
C. C. Man.
Nay, Friend; not too much of your Curt'sies and Compliments,
for I am afraid I shan't deserve it of you. For, look you, I
am a Spy upon you: Ay, and not only upon the Profaness and Immorality
of your Plays, but upon the Wickedness of you Players too. Here's
such a Nest of Rakes of you. Nay here's one Rascal amongst you sets
up for a Fortune-hunter.
Prol.
One of our Actors?
C. C. Man.
Ay, Friend, and so impudent a Varlet as to attack my
Daughter yonder, a Girl that has Ten thousand Pounds left her, besides
what I can give her my self.
C. Wife.
Alas, Friend, I hope you'll pardon my poor Husband's Weakness
in this mad Talk of his. There is indeed a worthy Gentleman that
does us the Honour to love our Daughter. But because he once play'd
a Frolick, and acted a part upon your Publick Stage for his own Diversion,
as they say, several Gentlemen had often done before him, my
Husband has conceived so utter an Aversion to him.—Not but the
Gentleman's a Man of Honour and Fortune, born to a Thousand a
year.
C. C. Man.
What had a Thousand a year to do upon the Stage!
C. Wife.
Ay, Friend, do you hear him! This is the constant Rally
he gives us, if we do but name him. Stroller, Scoundrel, Vagrant,
and what not, are the best Titles he can afford him, and will no-more
bear the Thought of him for a Husband to his Daughter—
C. C. Man.
My Daughter! No, Friend, my House has no Roost for
Stage-birds.
C. Wife.
Nay, if I or any other Friend speak but a word in his behalf,
he looks not only on every Thing that has trod the Stage to wear a Cloven
Foot, but almost every Thing that defends it too.—And to tell
you the Truth, I had never drawn him into your profane Play-house
Walls, as he calls 'em, but that I had been told, (though I find now I
have been mis-inform'd) that this very Gentleman play'd a Part again
teaze the poor Girl there for her Choice of a Player (for such he'll
have him) he has prevail'd upon himself with a little of my Invitation,
to be a Spectator of your Performances to night.
C. C. Man.
Look you, Friend, nothing but a special Entertainment
cou'd have brought me amongst you; to see this Feather-headed Spark
that plays with you for his Diversion, as my Wife calls it. But since I
have lost my Expectation, it shan't be said I come to your Follies to take
pleasure in 'em, but to correct 'em. Expect my due Reproof and Chastisement,
wherever I find you faulty, and so begin your Play.
Prol.
if you please to accept of that Box.
[Hands 'em into the Stage-Box below.
| The City-Ramble : or, A Play-house Wedding | |