 | The Grecian Daughter |  |
3
PROLOGUE.
Spoken by Mr. Weston.He peeps in at the Stage Door.
Hip! music! music!—Have you more to play?
Somewhat I'd offer—Stop your cat-gut, pray.
Somewhat I'd offer—Stop your cat-gut, pray.
Will you permit, and not pronounce me rude,
A bookseller one moment to intrude?
My name is Fools-cap:—Since you saw me last,
Fortune hath given me a rare helping cast.
To all my toils a wife hath put a stop—
A devil then; but now I keep a shop.
My master died, poor man!—He's out of print!
His widow,—she had eyes and took my hint.
A prey to grief, she could not bear to be,
And so turn'd over a new leaf with me.
A bookseller one moment to intrude?
My name is Fools-cap:—Since you saw me last,
Fortune hath given me a rare helping cast.
To all my toils a wife hath put a stop—
A devil then; but now I keep a shop.
My master died, poor man!—He's out of print!
His widow,—she had eyes and took my hint.
A prey to grief, she could not bear to be,
And so turn'd over a new leaf with me.
I drive a trade; have authors in my pay,
Men of all work, per week, per sheet, per day.
Trav'llers—who not one foreign country know:
And Past'ral Poets—in the sound of Bow.
Translators—From the Greek they never read
Cantabs and Sophs—in Covent Garden bred.
Historians, who can't write;—who only take
Scissars and paste;—cut, vamp; a book they make.
Men of all work, per week, per sheet, per day.
Trav'llers—who not one foreign country know:
And Past'ral Poets—in the sound of Bow.
Translators—From the Greek they never read
Cantabs and Sophs—in Covent Garden bred.
Historians, who can't write;—who only take
Scissars and paste;—cut, vamp; a book they make.
I've treated for this play; can buy it too,
If I could learn what you intend to do.
If for nine nights you'll bear this tragic stuff;
I have a news-paper, and there can puff.
If I could learn what you intend to do.
If for nine nights you'll bear this tragic stuff;
I have a news-paper, and there can puff.
A news-paper does wonders!—None can be
In debt, in love, dependant or quite free,
Ugly or handsome, well, or ill in bed,
Single or married, or alive or dead,
But we give life, death, virtue, vice with ease;
In short a news-paper does what we please.
There jealous authors at each other bark;
Till truth leaves not one glimpse, no, not one spark;
But lies meet lies and justle in the dark.
Our bard within has often felt the dart
Sent from our quiver, levell'd at his heart.
I've press'd him, ere he plays this desp'rate game,
To answer all, and vindicate his name.
But he, convinc'd that all but truth must die,
Leaves to its own mortality the lie.
Would any know,—while parties fight pellmell,
How he employs his pen?—his play will tell,
To that he trusts; that he submits to you,
Aim'd at your tend'rest feelings,—moral,—new.
The scenes, he hopes, will draw the heart-felt tear;
Scenes that come home to ev'ry bosom here.
In debt, in love, dependant or quite free,
Ugly or handsome, well, or ill in bed,
Single or married, or alive or dead,
But we give life, death, virtue, vice with ease;
In short a news-paper does what we please.
4
Till truth leaves not one glimpse, no, not one spark;
But lies meet lies and justle in the dark.
Our bard within has often felt the dart
Sent from our quiver, levell'd at his heart.
I've press'd him, ere he plays this desp'rate game,
To answer all, and vindicate his name.
But he, convinc'd that all but truth must die,
Leaves to its own mortality the lie.
Would any know,—while parties fight pellmell,
How he employs his pen?—his play will tell,
To that he trusts; that he submits to you,
Aim'd at your tend'rest feelings,—moral,—new.
The scenes, he hopes, will draw the heart-felt tear;
Scenes that come home to ev'ry bosom here.
If this will do, I'll run and buy it straight;
Stay—Let me see;—I think I'd better wait—
Yes; I'll lie snug, till you have fix'd it's fate.
Stay—Let me see;—I think I'd better wait—
Yes; I'll lie snug, till you have fix'd it's fate.
| The Grecian Daughter | |