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PROLOGUE. Spoken by Mr. KING. At the Revival in 1773.
Since your old taste for laughing is come back,And you have dropp'd the melancholy pack
Of tragi-comic-sentimental matter,
Resolving to laugh more, and be the fatter,
We bring a piece drawn from our antient store,
Which made old English sides with laughing sore.
Some smiles from Tony Lumkin, if you spare,
Let Trincalo of Totnam have his share.
Tho' thieves there are, JUSTICE herself will own,
No scene to hurt your morals will be shown.
Each sister muse a separate shop should keep,
Comedy to laugh, Tragedy to weep,
And sentimental laudanum to make you sleep.
I'll tell you what, good folks, if you don't jest,
But clasp the gigling goddess to your breast;
Let but the comic muse enjoy your favor,
We'll furnish stuff to make you laugh for ever!
Do laugh, pray laugh—'tis your best cure when ill,
The grand specifick, universal pill!
What would I give to set the tide a-going,
A spring-tide in your heart with joy o'erflowing!
No superficial skin-deep mirth—all from within—
Laugh till your jaws ach—'till you crack your skin;
The English laugh—the Frenchmen only grin.
Italians sneer, Dutch grunt, and German features
Smirk thus—YOU only laugh like human creatures.
Who has not laughter in his soul's a wretch,
And fit for treason, stratagems, Jack Ketch!
Your meagre hollow eye speaks spleen and vapors,
And stabs with pen and ink in daily papers.
He is no plotter, but eats, drinks, and chuckles;
When late to sentimentals you were kind,
I thought poor I was whistled down the wind,
To prey at fortune!—farewell said I to fun
So I secur'd a bed at Islington.—
To say the truth—I'm not prepar'd as yet
To dance the wire, or throw a somerset.—
In short, if at a pun you would not grumble,
When I can't make you laugh—I needs must tumble;
Shew you are fond of mirth—at once restore us,
And burst with me, in one grand laughing chorus.
True comedy reigns still—I see it plain
Huzza!—we now shall live and laugh again.
[Exit huzzaing and laughing.
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