The Fine Ladys Airs | Page 5

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 Person?.
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 Court; but the Queen's mightily oblig'd to some People.--Has a Gentleman an impudent rakish Footman, not meaning my self, Sir, that wears his Linen, fingers his Money, and lies with his Mistress;--You Dog, you shall serve the Queen.--Has a Tradesman a Fop Prentice, that airs out his Horses, and heats his Wife, or an old Puritan a graceless Son, that runs to the Play-House instead of the Meeting, they are threathen'd with the Queen's Service; so that Her Majesty's good Subjects, drink her Health, wish success to her Arms, and send her all the Scoundrels i'the Nation.
Sir Har.