 | The Princess of Parma |  |
In the following winter of 1774 the theatricals were renewed at Kelmarsh. The following Prologue was written on the occasion by Mr. Cumberland:
“Ere dark November, with his dripping wings,
Shuts out the cheerful face of men and things,
You all can tell how soon the dreary scene
Infects your wives and daughters with the spleen.
Madam begins:—‘my dear, these odious rains,
Will bring on all my old rheumatic pains:
In fifty places it came in last night,
This vile old crazy mansion's such a fright.
What's to be done? in very truth, my love,
I think 't were better for us to remove.’
This said, if so it chance that gentle spouse
Bears but a second interest in the house,
The Bill is past; no sooner said than done;
Up springs the hen-bird, and the covey's gone.
Then hey for London; then the game begins;
Bouquets, and diamond stars, and golden pins;
A thousand freakish wants, a thousand sighs,
A thousand poutings, and ten thousand lies.
Trimm'd and new rigg'd, and launch'd for pleasure's gale,
Out Madam comes, her goslings at her tail;
Away they scamper to present their faces
At Johnston's citadel, for side-box places;
He to their joint and supplicating moan,
Presents a face of brass and heart of stone;
Or, monarch like, while their address is stating,
Sends them a veto by his Lord in waiting.
Returning thence the disappointed fleet
Anchors in Tavistock's fantastic street;
Then under Folly's colours gaily rides,
Where Humour points, or veering Fashion guides.
In vain the steward racks, the tenants rave,
Money she wants, and money she will have.
Meanwhile terrific hangs the unpaid bill,
Long as from Portman-square to Ludgate-hill.
Shuts out the cheerful face of men and things,
You all can tell how soon the dreary scene
Infects your wives and daughters with the spleen.
Madam begins:—‘my dear, these odious rains,
Will bring on all my old rheumatic pains:
In fifty places it came in last night,
This vile old crazy mansion's such a fright.
What's to be done? in very truth, my love,
I think 't were better for us to remove.’
This said, if so it chance that gentle spouse
Bears but a second interest in the house,
The Bill is past; no sooner said than done;
Up springs the hen-bird, and the covey's gone.
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Bouquets, and diamond stars, and golden pins;
A thousand freakish wants, a thousand sighs,
A thousand poutings, and ten thousand lies.
Trimm'd and new rigg'd, and launch'd for pleasure's gale,
Out Madam comes, her goslings at her tail;
Away they scamper to present their faces
At Johnston's citadel, for side-box places;
He to their joint and supplicating moan,
Presents a face of brass and heart of stone;
Or, monarch like, while their address is stating,
Sends them a veto by his Lord in waiting.
Returning thence the disappointed fleet
Anchors in Tavistock's fantastic street;
Then under Folly's colours gaily rides,
Where Humour points, or veering Fashion guides.
In vain the steward racks, the tenants rave,
Money she wants, and money she will have.
Meanwhile terrific hangs the unpaid bill,
Long as from Portman-square to Ludgate-hill.
The Squire exhausted, in desponding plight,
Creeps to his chambers to avoid the sight;
Or, at the Mount, with some old snarler chimes,
In damning wives, and railing at the times.
Creeps to his chambers to avoid the sight;
Or, at the Mount, with some old snarler chimes,
In damning wives, and railing at the times.
Such is the scene: if then we fetch you down
Amusements which endear the smoky town,
And through the peasants' poor but useful hands,
We circulate the produce of your lands,
In this voluptuous dissipated age,
Sure there's some merit in our rural stage.
Happy the call, nor wholly vain the play,
Which weds you to your acres for a day.
Amusements which endear the smoky town,
And through the peasants' poor but useful hands,
We circulate the produce of your lands,
In this voluptuous dissipated age,
Sure there's some merit in our rural stage.
Happy the call, nor wholly vain the play,
Which weds you to your acres for a day.
| The Princess of Parma | |