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THE DOG AND SHADOW.

ORE cibum porfans catulus dum fpectat in undis,,

Apparet liquido prædæ melioris imago:
Dum fpeciofa diu damną admiratur, et alte
Ad latices inhiat, cadit imo vortice præceps
Ore cibus, nec non fimulachrum corripit una..
Occupat ille avibus deceptis faucibus umbram;
Illudit fpecies, ac dentibus aëra mordet.

TOA

FRIEND,

Who had been much abused in many different LIBELS.

THE greateft Monarch may be stabb'd by night,
And fortune help the murderer in his flight;

The vileft ruffian may commit a rape,
Yet fafe from injur'd innocence escape;
And Calumny, by working under ground,
Can, unreveng'd, the greatelt merit wound.

What's to be done? Shall Wit and Learning chufe
To live obfcure, and have no fame to lose?
By Cenfure frighted out of Honour's road,
Nor dare to use the gifts by Heaven bestow'd?
Or fearless enter in through Virtue's gate,
And buy diftinction at the dearest rate ?

VOL. I

BILLET

BILLET to the COMPANY of PLAYERS.

THE

HE inclofed Prologue is formed upon the story of the Secretary's not fuffering you to act, unless you would pay him 300l. per annum; upon which you got a licence from the Lord Mayor to act as ftrollers.

The Prologue fuppofes,, that, upon your being forbidden to act, a company of country-ftrollers came and hired the Play-houfe, and your cloaths, &c. to act in.

THE

PROLOGUE.

OUR fet of strollers, wandering up and down,
Hearing the houfe was empty, came to town;
And, with a licence from our good Lord Mayor,
Went to one Griffith, formerly a player;
Him we perfuaded with a moderate bribe,
To fpeak to Elrington and all the tribe,

To let our company fupply their places,

And hire us out their fcenes, and cloaths, and faces.. Is not the truth the truth? Look full on me;

I am not Elrington, nor Griffith he.

When we perform, look fharp among our crew,,
There's not a creature here you ever knew..
The former folks were fervants to the king;
We, humble hollers, always on the wing.

Now,

Now, for my part, I think upon the whole,
Rather than starve, a better man would stroll.
Stay, let me fee-Three hundred pounds a year,
For leave to act in town? 'Tis plaguy dear.
Now, here's a warrant; Gallants, please to mark,
For three thirteens and fix pence to the clerk.
Three hundred pounds!, were I the price to fix,
The publick fhould bestow the actors fix.
A fcore of guineas, given under-hand,
For a good word or fo, we understand.
To help an honeft lad that 's out of place,
May coft a crown or fo; a common cafe :-
And, in a crew, 'tis no injuftice thought
To fhip a rogue, and pay him not a groat.
But, in the chronicles of former ages,
Who ever heard of fervants paying wages?
I pity Elrington with all my heart;

.

Would he were here this night to act my part!
I told him what it was to be a stroller:
How free we acted, and had no comptroller:
In every town we wait on Mr. Mayor,
First get a licence, then p:oduce our ware;
We found a trumpet, or we beat a drum;
Huzza (the school boys roar) the players are come !
And then we cry, to fpur the bumpkins on,
Gallants, by Tuesday next we must be gone,
I told him, in the fmootheft way I could,
All this and more, yet it would do no good.
But Elrington, tears falling from his checks,
He that has fhone with Betterton and Wilks,,

To whom our country has been always dear,
Who chofe to leave his deareft pledges here,
Owns all your favours, here intends to stay,
And, as a stroller, act in every play :
And the whole crew this refolution takes,
To live and die all strollers for your fakes :
Not frighted with an ignominious name,
For your displeasure is their only fhame.

A pox on Elrington's majestic tone!
Now to a word of business in our own.

Gallants, next Thurfday night will be our last;
Then, without fail, we pack up for Belfast.
Lofe not your time, nor our diverfions mifs,
The next we act fhall be as good as this.

EPIGRAM.

GREAT folks are of a finer mold;

Lord! how politely they can fcold!

While a coarse English tongue will itch,
For whore and rogue; and dog and bitch.

PROLOGUE to a PLAY for the Benefit of the

DISTRESSED WEAVERS. By Dr. SHERIDAN. Spoken by Mr. ELRINGTON. 1721.

REAT cry and little wool-is now become

GR

The plague and proverb of the Weaver's loom: No wool to work o, neither weft nor warp;

Their pockets empty, and their stomachs sharp.

Provok'd,

Provok'd, in loud complaints to you they cry:
Ladies, relieve the weavers; or they die!

Forfake your
filks for ftuffs; nor think it ftrange,
To fhift your cloaths, fince you delight in change.
One thing with freedom I'll prefume to tell-
The men will like you every bit as well.

See I am dress'd from top to tɔe in stuff;
And, by my troth, I think I'm fine enough
My wife admires me more, and fwears the never,
In any drefs, beheld me look fo clever.

And, if a man be better in fuch ware,
What great advantage muft it give the fair!
Our wool from lambs of innocence proceeds:
Silks come from maggots, callicoes from weeds:
Hence 'tis by fad experience that we find
Ladies in filks to vapours much inclin'd―
And what are they but maggots in the mind?
For which I think it reason to conclude

That cloaths may change our temper like our food.
Chintzes are gawdy, and engage our eyes
Too much about the party-colour'd dyes :
Although the luftre is from you begun,
We fee the rainbow, and neglect the fun.
How fweet and innocent's the country maid,
With finall expence in native wool array'd;
Who copies from the fields her homely green,
While by her shepherd with delight the 's feen!
Should our fair ladies drefs like her in wool,
How much more lovely, and how beautiful,

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