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PROLOGUE.

SPOKEN BY MR. WESTON,

In the Character of a Printer's Devil.

I AM a devil, so please you-and must hoof
Up to the poet yonder with this proof.

I'd read it to you: but, in faith, 'tis odds
For one poor devil to face so many gods.
A ready imp I am, who kindly greets

Young authors with their first exploits in sheets;
While the press groans, in place of dry-nurse stands,
And takes the bantling from the midwife's hands.

If any author of prolific brains,

In this good company feels labour-pains;
If any gentle poet, big with rhime,

Has run his reck'ning out and gone his time ;
If any critic, pregnant with ill-nature,
Cries out to be deliver'd of his satire;
Know such, that at our hospital of Muses
He may lye in, in private, if he chuses;
We've single lodgings there for secret sinners,
With good encouragement for young beginners.

Here's one now that is free enough in reason;
This bard breeds regularly once a season ;

Three of a sort, of homely form and feature,
The plain coarse progeny of humble nature;
Home-bred and born; no strangers he displays,
Nor tortures free-born limbs in stiff French stays:
Two you have rear'd; but between you and me,
This youngest is the fav'rite of the three.
Nine tedious months he bore this babe about;
Let it in charity live nine nights out;
Stay but his month up; give some little law;
'Tis cowardly to attack him in the straw.

Dear Gentlemen Correctors, be more civil; Kind courteous sirs, take council of the devil; Stop your abuse; for while your readers see Such malice, they impute your works to me; Thus, while you gather no one sprig of fame, Your poor unhappy friend is put to shame: Faith, sirs, you should have some consideration, When ev'n the devil pleads against damnation.

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THE FASHIONABLE LOVER.

ACT I. SCENE 1.

A Hall in Lord ABBERVILLE's House with a Stair-case seen through an Arch. Several Domestics waiting in rich Liveries. Flourish of French-horns.

Enter COLIN hastily.

Colin.

HOOT! fellows, haud your honds: pack up your damned clarinets, and gang your gait for a pair of lubberly minstrels as you are. An you could hondle the bagpipes instead, I would na' say you nay: ah! 'tis an auncient instrument of great melody, and has whastled many a braw lad to his grave; but your holiday horns there are fit only to play to a drunken city barge, on a swan-hopping party up the Thames.

Enter LA JEUNESSE.

La Jeu. Fedon, Monsieur Colin, for why you have send away the horns? It is very much the ton in this

country for the fine gentlemens to have the horns: upon my vord, my lord this day give grand entertainment to very grand company; tous les maccaroni below stairs, et toutee la coterie above. Hark, who vaits dere? My lord ring his bell.-Voi la, Monsieur Colin, dere is all the company going to the tea

room.

Colin. [Looking out.] Now the de'il burst the weams of you all together, say I, for a pack of locusts; a cow in a clover-field has more moderation than the best among you; had my Lord Abberville the wealth of Glasgow, you'd swallow it all down before you gee'd it over.-Crom, crom.

La Jeu. Vat is dat crom, crom? We do not know in France, vat is dat crom, crom. But vat you say to the dinner? Upon my vord, monsieur, the cook make as fine dispositions for the table, as the Grand Condé did for the battle: ma foi, he merit to have his statue raised en crocan in the centre of his own performance.

Colin. Rais'd on a gibbet in the centre of Hounslow Heath; that's what he merits.

La Jeu. Ah, barbare! Here come my

Enter Lord ABBERVILLE.

lord.

[Exit.

Lord Abb. Colin, see that covers are laid for fourand-twenty, and a supper served at twelve in the great eating parlour.

Colin. Ecod, my lord, had you ken'd the mess of

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