Selected quad for the lemma: lord_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A41024
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Feign'd friendship, or, The mad reformer as it was acted at the theatre in Little Lincolns-Inn-Fields.
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1699
(1699)
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Wing F601; ESTC R17867
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50,219
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56
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Feign'd Friendship OR THE MAD REFORMER As it was ACTED at the THEATRE in Little Lincolns-Inn-Fields Satius est sic otiari quam turpius occupari LONDON Printed for Daniel Brown at the Bible without Temple-Bar F. Coggan in the Inner-Temple-Lane E. Rumballd in Russel-Street Covent-Garden and Rob-Gibson at the Crown in Middle-Row in Holborn To the Illustrious Prince JAMES Duke Marquiss and Earl of Ormond c. My Lord THE Author of this Comedy having left it to my disposal I was glad of the opportunity to make a publick acknowledgment of those favours which your Grace's Bounty has confer'd upon me in the view of the World All that know me know that the little Stock of Reputation I have in the Town is intirely owing to the Honour your Lordship do's me to own me for yours There are few but will envy me the Ambition of that word yet to be in a condition to deserve their envy is a satisfastion so great as cannot be conceal'd To depend upon a person of your Grace's Merit and Figure is advantageous in all respects for as it adds to a Man's Character it also effectually recommends him to the esteem of all People whose Quality or Vnderstanding makes their Favours desirable So that Interest as well as Gratitude obliges me to value my self upon it What I here present your Grace was some time since given into my hands and from that moment design'd for your Protection but by the dilatory practices of some whose design I am a Stranger to has been kept till now from waiting upon your Lordship for whose protection I always intended it I am not a sufficient Judge of its worth for tho Musick and Poetry are generally counted Twins my acquaintance is but with one of ' em Nay I must own to your Grace that I am so little a Poet as not to make bold with your Character I have more Modesty than to attempt what I dare not hope to succeed in Nor would I be so much wanting to my Duty as to draw your Grace to disadvantage The design of this Epistle is only to beg your Patronage for a Play which may want it among so many Criticks as the Town swarms with and to let all mankind know what just reason I have to be with all Zeal and Humility My Lord Your Grace's most obedient and humble Servant PROLOGUE OF old in England's Golden Age of Wit When Godlike Ben and Lofty Shakespear Writ Hard was the Poets Task and great their Toil Who strove to Cultivate the Muses Soil Our Poesie not then expos'd to Scorn In perfect Strength and in Due Time was Born Nine Months at least the Teeming Parents went And labour'd hard nor was their Time mispent Who in each Manly Page without Controal Could gall the inmost Thoughts and pierce the Guilty Soul Now if Concern in any Face appears 'T is at the Poet's Folly not your Fears Nor does the Audience Blush thro' Conscious Shame But at the Sawey Author's Fulsom Flame Each Wretch whose Drunken Days and Bawdy Nights Have doom'd deservedly to Starve or Write Complains he 's Poor and under that Pretence Trumps up his Inbred Impudence for Sense Once in a Month a Still-born Brat we see And the Crais'd Issue speaks its Pedigreee For Births of Poetry like Births of Men. In their Diseases shew their Parents Sin 'T is thus the Muse becomes each Buffoon's Choice And Pegasus a Hobby-horse for Boys Whilst Tavern Jests fill up each Smutty Line And Rakes belch out in Print the Fumes of Wine Then if you seem displeas'd at what they say They damn your Judgment while you damn their Play But to your Censure who as Judges sit Our Author does with Modesty submit Nay is the first t' Arraign what he has Writ So far from Huffing that he will not Plead And owns himself in the Law 's strictness Dead Swears not the drolling of a Mungril Fool Not Irish-English farce is half so dull Not Witlings troubled with Romantick Whims Can tire you more who to enhance their Crimes And not content to Write must act their Rhimes Yet when he ought in Justice to Despair He flies for aid and refuge to the Fair To you a due Respect his Muse has paid And tho' she 's Dull she 's still a Modest Jade The EPILOGUE POets at best but Cooks Dress out a Feast And to his Cost invite each Welcom Guest Prologue and Epilogue like Grace to what you Eat Serve but to usher in and out the Meat What shall we do then for to feed a Glutton We must have something more than Beef and Mutton Of late your Stomachs are so squeamish grown You are not pleas'd with Dainties of our own And 't is meer folly now to think to win ye Without Balon or Seignior Clementine Thus we God knows to furnish out the Treat Pay more for Sawces than you do for Meat And further then expects your Indignation And dares not think of ought but his Damnation He plainly owns that he to gain his Cause Wants as well English as Outlandish Sawce Humour to give an Edge to your Delight To smooth your Brows and whet your Appetite Is what he durst not or he could not write Yet pray consider e're you pass his Doom Will it look well to Damn you know not whom He 's Fool enough yet wants the Poet's Face To own his Name and Print himself an Ass You see the Orphan Brat's laid at our Door And we in justice must protect the Poor We beg you use it not as good Church-warden Would do a lump of Sin from Covent Garden Each Witling may adopt it for his own And then with them be sure it will go down Nor is it in this Age so strange a Blot To Father Children whom you ne're begot ACT I. Scene the Park Enter Truelove and Townley Tru. MAY I believe my eyes or is it illusion I charge thee in the name of pleasure speak art thou the natural substance of Jack Townley or some evil Spirit in his fleshly cloathing Town The very He true Flesh and Blood but such another conjuring Speech would strip me of my mortality What d' ye stare at Where is the wonder Tru. To see you abroad at this unseasonable hour when Hypocrâ—tes and Women walk bare-fac'd May I presume to guess Town Yes and be mistaken To deal fairly with you I have business of concern business that implies no less than Tru. Your own dear self Business I know suits you as Religion do's a Statesman 't is always a cloak for something worse Town Fy fy you talk wildly I must reprove you come come be wise take up in time and live sober as I do Tru. As you do very good that to me who have known thee thus long a true Son of Bacchus a notorious Friend of the Bottle and consequently no Enemy to the Pettycoat Town I own the Indictment all this may have been but times and resolutions are alter'd You shall see me shortly