Читать книгу The Platonick Lady - Susanna Centlivre - Страница 3
ОглавлениеAs it is Acted at the
QUEEN's THEATRE
IN THE
HAY-MARKET.
PROLOGUE. EPILOGUE I. EPILOGUE II. EPILOGUE III. Dramatis Personæ. ACT I. ACT II. ACT III. ACT IV. ACT V.
PROLOGUE.
By Captain Farquhar. Spoken by Mr. Betterton.
Rejoice, ye Fair, the British Warriors come Victorious o'er, to your soft Wars at home. Each Conqueror flies, with eager Longings fraught, To clasp the darling Fair, for which he fought. He lays his Trophies down before those Eyes, By which inspir'd, he won the glorious Prize. Prouder, when welcom'd by his generous Fair, Of dying in her Arms, than conquering there. O! cou'd our Bards of Britain's Isle but write With the same Fire with which our Heroes fight: Or cou'd our Stage but represent a Scene, To copy that on great Ramilla's Plain; Then we with Courage wou'd assert our Plays, And to your glorious Laurels join our Bays. But our poor Pegasus, a Beast of Ease, Cares not for foraging beyond the Seas: Content with London Provender, he flies, To make each Coxcomb he can find, a Prize: And after trudging long, perhaps he may Pick up a Set of Fools, to furnish out a Play, To make him eat, and you to entertain, That for his Safety fought beyond the Main. Your Courage there, but here your Mercy shew; The Brave scorn to insult a prostrate Foe.
EPILOGUE I.
Spoken by Mr. Wilks.
To you, the Tyrant Criticks of the Age, To you, who make such Havock on the Stage; Assault with Fury every coming Scene, Like Heroes arm'd at Ramillies, or Turin. Whilst vanquish'd Wit, shrunk from her native Glory, Like the cow'd Gaul, too weakly stands before ye. Since then the Poets play this Losing-game, I, a poor Suppliant in the Muses Name, Beg to avert our trembling Author's Fate; And, like the sad Bavarian Advocate, Resistance vain, we to your Mercy fly, And court you now to lay your Thunder by. Of slaughter'd Wits let the Effusion cease, We, like the humble Lewis, sue for Peace.
EPILOGUE II.
Design'd to be Spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle, but came too late. Written by the Author of Tunbridge-Walks.
What mighty Pains our scribbling Sot has shewn, To ridicule our Sex, and praise his own, As if we Women muster'd all our Charms, To tempt an odious Fellow to our Arms. One Lady proves so fond, or rather mad, She'd fain confess a Child she never had. Alas! how many Nymphs about this Town, Have pretty Moppits, that they dare not own? Then a West-country Damsel trots to Town, And talks of Paint, false Hair, and Rump-up Gown, Things which to Men shou'd never be reveal'd, But equally with Cuckoldom conceal'd. Yet, tell me, Sirs, don't you as nice appear, With your false Calves, Bardash, and Favrite's here? [Pointing to her Forehead. Nay, in Side-Boxes too, I've often known, 'Mongst Flaxen-Wigs, Complexions not their own; Who hiss good Plays, and to Camilla fly, Draw out their Pocket-glasses, squint, and cry, [Sings.] These Eyes are made so killing, &c. Young Templars too, with upstart forward Graces, When Pummice-stone has travell'd o'er their Faces, March hither, where Mobb'd-Hoods too often ply, And want a Lodging, tho' six Stories high; Where the fond Youth the modest Dame implores, And at Day-break ejects her out of Doors. Some Cheapside-Bobbs too trudge it to our Play, Faith Jack, this Hay-Market's a cursed Way, What signifies the Quality or Wits, The Money, Daniel, rises from our Cits. Who, like Cock-Sparrows, hop about the Benches, And court, with Sixpences, fat Orange-Wenches. In short, you Men have more fantastick Ways, More Follies, than can e'er be stuft in Plays: But since all Satire's for your Mirth design'd, Excuse all Errors, which to-night you find, And to this Play be generous, just, and kind.
EPILOGUE III.
By Mr. Norris as Drawer.
Your Servant, Masters, I'm sent on a Message, From some desponding Ladies in the Passage, They wait your kind Approaches to the Rose, And want—Hark'e—a Supper I suppose;[Softly. And who this Day cou'd no Affair transact, Begg'd me, to pass my Word for the last Act, Assuring me, that when the Play was done, It shou'd be worth to me full half a Crown: We Drawers are Men of Parts in our Vocation, And countenance the crying Sins o' th' Nation, That is, since Vice first grew a Recreation: We imitate the hungry Lawyer too, Take Fees on both Sides, and both Justice do, I mean, if we think proper to do so; Nay, we're in Fee with them, and on occasion, Are sent to witness some damn'd Obligation. Thus all the World by different Ways wou'd thrive, And foolish Poets think by Plays to live, They're the worst Customers that we receive; They score, and score, and brag of a third Day, And then they'll certainly—hum—never pay. Much more I have to say, but never stir—[Bell rings O lack, I'm wanted at the Bar—Coming up, Sir.[Runs off.
Dramatis Personæ.
MEN.
Sir Thomas Beamont, Uncle to Beamont and Lucinda, Mr. Betterton. Sir Charles Richley, contracted to Isabella when young, Mr. Booth. Captain Beamont, under the Name of Belvil, in Love with Lucinda, Mr. Wilks. Sharper, a Man of the Town, Mr. Cibber. Robin, Servant to Belvil, Mr. Pack. Equipage, Servant to Sharper, Mr. Norris.
WOMEN.
Lucinda, Niece to Sir Thomas, in Love with Beamont, Mrs. Bracegirdle. Isabella, an Heiress, in Love with Beamont, but contracted by her Father to Sir Charles in her Childhood, Mrs. Oldfield. Mrs. Dowdy, a Somersetshire Widow come to Town to learn Breeding, Mrs. Willis. Toylet, Woman to Isabella, Mrs. Bignal. Betty, Maid to Lucinda, Mrs. Mills. Peeper, Maid to Mrs. Dowdy, Mrs. Lee. Mrs. Brazen, Mrs. Bullock.
Mantua-Women, Milliners, Match-makers, Tire-Women, Singing-Masters, Dancing-Masters, Porters, &c. SCENE, LONDON.
