Theatre Royal in Covent-Garden..

Regulated from the Prompt-Book,

Printed for JOHN BELL, near Exeter-Exchange, in the Strand; and C. ETHERINGTON, at York.

MDCCLXXVII,

PROLOGU E.
O LO

Wonder not our author doubts fuccefs,
One in his circumftance can do no lefs.
The dancer on the rope that tries at all,
In each unpractis'd caper rifques a fall:
I own I dread his ticklish fituation,
Critics deteft poetic innovation.

Had Ic'rus been content with folid ground,
The giddy, vent'rous youth had ne'er been drown'd.
The Pegafus of old had fire and force,

But your true modern is a carrier's horfe,
Drawn by the foremost bell, afraid to ftray,
Bard following bard, jogs on the beaten way.
Why is this man fo obftinate an elf?
Will be, alone, not imitate himself?
His Scene now fhews the beroes of old Greece;
But how? 'Tis monftrous! in a comic piece.
To bufkins, plumes and helmets what pretence,
If mighty chiefs must speak but common seuse?
Shall no bold diction, no poetic rage,

Foam at our mouths, and thunder on the fage
Notis Achilles, as he came from Chiron,
Just taught to fing, as well as wield cold iron;
And whatfoever critics may fuppofe,

Our author holds, that what be spoke was profe.

A CHILLE S..

The lines diftinguished by inverted comas, thus,' are omitted in the Reprefentation, and thofe printed in Italics are the additions of the Theatre.

EFORE I leave you, child, I must infift upon your

BEFORE, tear you will never difcover yourself

without my leave. Don't look upon it as capricious fondness, nor think (because 'tis a mother's advice) that, in duty to yourself, you are obliged not to fol'low it.

Ach. But my character, my honour-Would you bave your fon live with infamy? On the first step of a young fellow, depends his character for life. I beg you, goddefs, to difpenfe with your commands.

Thet. Have you, then, no regard to my prefentiment? I can't bear the thoughts of your going; for I • know that odious fiege of Troy would be the death • of thee.

Ach. Becaufe you have the natural fears of a mother, • would you have me infenfible that I have the heart of a man? The world, Madam, muft look upon my abfconding in this manner, and at this particular juncture, as infamous cowardice.

• AIR I. A clown in Flanders once there was.

What's life? No curfe is more fevere,

Than bearing life with fhame.

Is this your fondnefs, this your care?
Oh, give me death with fame!

A 3

Thet.