140 ANNUAL REGISTER, 1790. 
Box’d fnug at firft, completely to his mind, 
With only one giave auditor behind; 
Ere the third aét had ftruggled to its end, 
In reel’d three critics, each the author’s friend— 
On praife determin’d—wit confirm’d by wine; 
Each And! and If! was chafte—corrett—damn’d fine. 
To tafte fo mark’d, my friend, of courfe, gave way; 
But {queez’d, thump’d, kick’d—ftill liften’d to the play 5 
Till by repeated plaudits grown {fo fore, 
Nor flefh nor blood could bear one comment more. 
Such boift’rous friends they furely cannot need, 
Who with by merit only to fucceed. 
To-night we offer to the public view, 
A charaéter, you'll own, perhaps, is new ; 
From Doétor’s Commons we the model draw ; 
A promifing eleve of Civil Law; 
And Civil ture that Law which can provide 
Or (fhou’d need be) releafe you from a bride. 
Thrice blefs’d the manfion where, in fpite of ills, 
Alive or dead, you fill can have your wills. 
Much could I offer in our Author’s caufe ; 
Nay, prove his firft great object—your applaufe ; 
But, left dull Friendfhip fhould his genius wrong, 
Vl ftop—before the Prologue grows too long, ~ 
And Better late than never hold my tongue. 
PROLOGUE, Spoken in. 1781, at ‘the. Theatre in WINCHESTER, 
which adjoins to, or is over the Shambles, 
By the late THomas Warton. 
V HOE’ER our houfe examines, mutt excufe 
The wond’rous fhifts of the Dramatic Mufe; 
Then kindly liften, while the Prologue rambles 
From wit to beef; from Shakefpeare to the Shambles, 
Divided’only by a flight of ftairs, 
The Monarch fwaggers, or the Butcher fwears. 
Quick the tranfition when the curtain drops, 
From meek Monimia’s moans to mutton chops, 
While for Lothario’s lofs Califta cries, 
Old women {fcold, and dealers d—n your eyes. 
Here Juliet liltens to the gentle lark; 
There, in harfh chorus, hungry bull-dogs bark. 
Cleavers and icymitars give blow for blow, 
And heroes bleed above, and fheep below. 
While tragic tounders fhake the pit and box, 
Rebellows to the roar the ftlagg’ring ox: > | ; 
Cow- 
