PROLOGUE, POKEN BY MR. WOODS, ON HIS BENEFIT NIGHT, MON DAY, APRIL 16, 1787. WHEN, by a gen'rous public's kind acclaim, Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng, Here holds her search by heav'n-taught reason's beam * The Man of Feeling, written by Mr. M'Kenzie. When well-forin'd taste and sparkling wit unite, O Thou, dread Power! whose empire-giving hand Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honor'd land! Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire; May ev'ry son be worthy of his sire; Firm may she rise, with generous disdain, At Tyranny's or direr Pieasure's chain; Still self-dependent in her native shore, Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar, Till Fate the curtain droo on worlds to be no mora THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN, AN OCCASIONAL ADDRESS, spoken by MISS FONTENELLE ON HER BENEFIT NIGHT. WHILE Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, First, in the sexes' intermix'd connection, Our second Right - but needless here is caution To keep that right inviolate's the fashion; Each man of sense has it so full before him, He'd die before he'd wrong it 'tis decorum. There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days, A time when rough, rude man had naughty ways, Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet! Now, thank our stars! those Gothic times are fled Now, well-bred men and you are all well-bred Most justly think (and we are much the gainers` Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners. For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest, That right to flutt'ring female hearts the nearest, Which ev'n the Rights of Kings, in low prostration, Most humbly own- 'tis dear, dear admiration! In that blest sphere alone we live and move, There taste that life of life, immortal love! Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs, 'Gainst such a host what flinty savage dares ? When awful beauty joins with all her charms, Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms? But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions, With bloody armaments and revolutions; Let majesty your first attention summon, Ah ca Ira! the Majesty of Woman! ADDRESS, SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE, ON HER BENEFIT NIGHT DECEMBER 4, 1795, AT THE THEATRE, Dumfries. STILL anxious to secure your partial favor, And not less anxious sure this night than ever, A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, "Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better; So, sought a Poet, roosted near the skies, Told him I came to feast my curious eyes; Said, nothing like his works was ever printed; And last my Prologue business slily hinted. “Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymes, "I know your bent these are no laughing times Can you but, Miss, I own I have my fears, Dissolve in pause and sentimental tears With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence, Rouse from his sluggish slumbers, fell Repentance? Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand Waving on high the desolating brand, Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land?” I could no more - askance the creature eyeing, "D'ye think," said I, "this face was made for crying? I'll laugh, that's poz; nay more, the world shall know it And so, your servant! gloomy master Poet!" Firm as my creed, sir, 'tis my fix'd belief, That so much laughter's so much life enjoy'd. Thou man of crazy care, and ceaseless sigh, Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye; Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — To make three guineas do the work of five; Laugh in Misfortune's face the beldam witch: Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be rich. Thou other man of care, the wretch in love, Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, Measur❜st, in desp'rate thought, a rope thy neck Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf? |