The Fine Ladys Airs | Page 5

But 'tis so deluding a Genius, Dramatick
Poetry especially, that many are insensibly drawn into to it, 'till it
becomes a Business. To avoid that Misfortune, I'm now almost fix'd to
throw it intirely by, and wou'd fain aim at something which may prove
more serviceable to the Publick, and beneficial to my self.
Cou'd I have the Vanity to hope your Approbation of this Comedy,
'twou'd be so current a Stamp to it, that none, who have the Honour to
know You, wou'd pretend to dispute it's Merit; but tho' I'm satisfy'd in
Your good Nature, I must be aw'd with Your Judgment; and am
sensible there are Errors in it infinitely more obvious to Your Eye, than
a greater Part of the Polite World; however, as it had the Fortune to be
well receiv'd, and by some of the best Judges esteem'd much preferable
to any of my former, and as it was highly favour'd the Third Night with
as beautiful an Appearance of Nobility, and other fine Ladies, as ever
yet Grac'd a Theatre. I hope, you'll in some measure Protect it, at least
that you'll pardon this Presumption, since I have long pleas'd my self
with the Hopes, and impatiently waited an Opportunity of publickly
declaring how much I am,
SIR,
_Your most Devoted, and Obedient humble Servant_,

PROLOGUE.
Written by Mr. MOTTEUX.

_So long the solitary Stage has mourn'd, Sure now you're pleas'd to find
our Sports return'd. When Warriors come triumphant, all will smile,
And Love wirh Conquest crown the Toyls of_ Lille. _Tho from the
Field of Glory you're no Starters, Few love all Fighting, and no
Winter-Quarters. Chagrin French Generals cry_, Gens temerare Dare to
take Lille! _We only take the Air. No, bravely, with the Pow'rs of_
Spain and France, _We will--Entrench; and stand--at a distance: We'll
starve 'em--if they please not to advance. Long thus, in vain, were the
Allies defy'd, But 'twas ver cold by that damn'd River Side. So as they
came too late, and we were stronger, Scorn the Poltrons, we cry'd--
March off;_ morbleu, _we'll stay for 'em no longer; The little
Monsieurs their Disgrace may own, Now ev'n the Grand ones makes
their Scandal known.
Mean while, without you half our Season's wasted. Before 'tis_ Lent
_sufficiently we've fasted. No matter how our Op'ra Folks did fare, Too
full a Stomach do's the Voice impair._ Nay, you your selves lost by't;
for saunt'ring hither You're safe from all but Love, four Hours together.
Some idle Sparks with dear damnd Stuff, call'd Wine, Got drunk by
Eight, and perhaps sows'd by Nine, O'er Politicks and Smoke some
rail'd some writ, The Wiser yawn'd, or nodded o'er their Wit. O'er
Scandal, Tea, Cards, or dull am'rous Papers, The Ladies had the Spleen,
the Beaux the Vapors. Some went among the Saints without Devotion;
Nay more, 'tis fear'd went thro' a wicked Motion. But the kind Female
Traders well may boast, When we're shut up, their Doors are open'd
most.
I dare engage, they, by the Vint'ners back'd, Wou'd raise a Fund, so
they alone might act. With them 'tis ne'er Vacation, tho' we lose, The
Courts shut up, they Chamber Practice use.
Since therefore without Plays, tho' call'd a Curse, The Good grow bad,
the Bad grow worse and worse, Show misled Zeal what Ills infest the
Age, And truly to reform, support the_ British Stage.

Dramatis Personæ.

MEN.
Sir Harry Sprightly. Mr.Mills.
Brigadier Blenheim, just return'd from the Army. Mr.Wilks Mr.
Nicknack, a Beau-Merchant. Mr.Cibber.
Major Bramble, a factious old Fellow. Mr._Johnson._
Master Totty, a great Boy. Mr.Bullock.
Knapsack, an Attendant on the Collonel. Mr.Pinkethman.
Shrimp, Sir Harry's Valet. Mr.Norris.
WOMEN.
Lady Rodomont. Mrs.Oldfield.
Lady _Toss-up_. Mrs.Porter.
Mrs. Lovejoy, Cousin to Lady Rodomont. Mrs.Bradshaw.
Mrs. Flimsy, Lady _Toss-up's_ Woman. Mrs.Saunders.
_Orange-Woman._ Mr. Pack.
_Mercer, Manto-Maker, Sempstress, Toyman, India-Woman,_ and
other Attendants.
SCENE LONDON.
In the Month of December.

THE Fine Lady's Airs: OR, AN EQUIPAGE of LOVERS.

ACT I. SCENE I.
Sir Harry _discover'd dressing; and_ Shrimp attending.
Sir Har. Where had you been last Night, you drunken Dog, that you
cou'dn't take care of me when I was drunk.
Shr. I happen'd, Sir, to meet with some very honest Gentlemen, that
have the Honour to wait upon other Gentlemen, where Wit and
Humour brighten'd to that degree, we pass'd about the Glass, 'till we
lost our Senses.
Sir Har. Wit, you Rascal! Have you Scoundrels the impudence to
suppose your selves reasonable Creatures?
Shr. Sir, we are as much below Learning, indeed, as our Masters are
above it; but why mayn't a Servant have as good natural Parts?
Sir Har. Mend your Manners, Sirrah; or you shall serve the Queen.
Shr. Ev'ry Man ought to mend his Manners, Sir, that pretends to a Place
at