A SATIRICAL DIALOGUE BETWEEN A Sea Captain and his Friend in Town: HUMBLY ADDRESS'D To the Gentlemen who deform'd the PLAY of OTHELLO, On Th—rs—y, M— the 7th, 1750, at the Th-tre R-y-l, in Dr-y L-ne: TO WHICH IS ADDED, A PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE, Much more suitable to the Occasion than their Own.

Ne Sutor ultra Crepidam.

LONDON: Printed for, and Sold by J. River, under St. Dunstan's Church, Fleet-street.

[Price Sixpence.]

A more suitable, OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE

BY EBENEAZER PENTWEAZEL.
WHILE heedless Fops, affecting to be Sage,
With awkward Attitudes Disgrace the Stage;
Ours be the Task to Paint the Simple Elves,
And shew the Race of Triflers in our Selves.
For this unmindful of the Cynic Tribe,
The Wrinkled Forehead, or th' illnatur'd Gibe;
Dauntless, We Deign to face th' unruly Pit
So famed for Clamour, Petulance, and Wit.
Merits our own, —from no Peculiar Cause
Therefore be Sure we have— our own Applause;
Heedless of what the selfish Miser say's,
We venture Sense—for Poverty and Praise:
A Thousand Pound's a trifling Sum for BAYS.
Yet this you'll say is Wrong,—we answer, no
'Twas always Right, and ever will be So
But Soft! what Noise was that approach'd mine Ear.
Help! Hoa, my friends! my Friends—alas I fear,
Some Dire Event, our sad Presumption waits;
Fly from this Spot, and intercept the Fates:
For Lo! methinks. Descending from on High
The Ghost of injur'd SHAKESPEAR Draweth nigh,
With aspect Stern! behold the BARD advance,
His Eyes, Resentment's fiercer Rays elance;
Justice before him wields her flaming Sword,
and only waits the BARD'S assenting Word!
Beside Him POESY knitts her angry Brow,
And Seems to Ruminate a Dreadful Vow;
Behind, a Numerous frightful Train appear
Rending, with Dolefull Shricks, the ambient Air;
[Page 4] Furnished with whips and Stings to Scourge us hence,
And Murder Us, e're WE can murder Sense:
They come!— "Ye mystic Forms which wreck the Soul
And thou much injur'd BARD—nay do not Scowl,
Nor vent thy heighten'd Rage on me alone,
There's more Behin'd—I'm not the only One;
Illusion all—tis fled—and I'm at Rest—
'Twas but the Fancy of a guilty Breast.
"Sure 'tis the very Error of the Moon,
"Revenge grows Harsh, and Murder's out of Tune."
I cannot do't by Heaven—I cannot do't:
"Yet she must Die—Ay, that's beyond dispute.
The MUSE shall Die— "else she'll betray more Men,
Or may be, play her Tricks with us again.
So let us fairly do it Here to Night,
Put out the Light—and then, put out the Light.
Come on my Lads—nay hang me if I sham Her,
And when WE'VE kill'd Her—let the AUDIENCE damn Her.

A SATIRICAL DIALOGUE BETWEEN A Sea Captain and his Friend in Town.

Gent.
WELL met noble Captain, you're wellcome on Shore,
Pray when did you land?
(Capt.)
last Night,
(Gent.)
Not before?
Capt.
No by G—d; 'twas a wonder I landed so soon,
For the Wind has blown hard since the change of the Moon.
Gent.
Pray what News do you bring from the African Coast?
Capt.
Why good News I think—I had surely been lost,
If NEPTUNE the Sovereign God of the Sea▪
Had not interpos'd twixt EOLUS and ME.
But what's the most talk'd of in this famous City,
Where the PEOPLE are all so polite and so witty?
So extensive the Place, it must something afford:
Gent.
Why faith honest Captain, I know not a Word
That's worth my relating; yet list and you'l hear;
Tho' 'twill rather chagrine you, than please you I fear:
Our GENTRY of late, to their Honour be't spoke,
(Who think themselves wiser than all other Folk)
Have acted, like People bereft of their Senses,
For Gentility's lost when the Player commences.
Capt.
The Player commences! Why what do you mean?
Gent.
Have Patience good Captain, I'll open the Scene:
You must know that in London some People there are,
So fond of the Greatness, that waits on a Play'r,
That at once they turn'd ACTORS themselves to expose;
To the Pity of Friends and the Censure of Foes:
Capt.
Lord what cou'd induce them such Madmen to be;
Gent.
Oh you know the French Phrase, a la Mode de Paris,
[Page 6] Sir, the French have perform'd *
( Capt.)
oh then 'tis all well
The English must follow them THO' 'TWERE TO HELL;
Where if Cerberus did not the French Men affright,
(But would let them go visit the Regions of Night)
Each Monkey, would after them, like a Brave Fellow,
Gent.
As they've done now by playing the Fool —and OTHELLO.
There's a Fable I learn'd it at School Years ago,
I'll relate it, I think it is quite apropo:
On a Time, as (Fame says) the Apes acted a Play:
Tho I know not the Date of the Year or the Day,
Nor is it material since it was enacted.
And For Apes, 'twas done better than could be Expected?
The Asses Soon heard on't and they must Needs try.
Yet they used this Precaution that None should be by,
But Those Who Were really Asses indeed:
For (says they) they may Laugh? if we do not Succeed;
But our Gentry So Confident bold, and Conceited,
Ne'ver used this Precaution, But Fairly admitted.
An Audience of Critics, To See their Fine Play,
Capt.
Then the Asses In Fact Acted wiser than They.
Pray How Was't Receiv'd were the Hearers quite Civil?
Gent.
Ay, or else the Whole Play had Gone Souse to the Devil.
Good Manners Obliged, them Somtimes to applaud;
Tho they Little Deserv'd it:
( Capt.)
I Believe so by G-d.
And Pray What expence Might attend this Affair,
Gent.
Why FIFTEEN HUNDRED POUNDS our papers declare.
Capt.
Fifteen Hundred! D'ye Say, Why G-d Dam my Blood
So much Money Spent to do no Sort of Good,
How much more Commendable would it have been?
Since Objects of Pity So frequent are seen.
With benevolent Hands to have giv'n it to Those,
And not paid so dearly themselves to expose;
Gent.
Faith Captain you're right, my Opinion's the same,
For in every Respect they are greatly to blame:
Now if I was an Actor, this Method I'd take,
The Stage and its Drudgery both I'd forsake;
Turn GENTLEMAN now, as the GENTRY turn Players
And exhibit a Taste far genteeler than THEIRS.

EPILOGUE.

WHY what a Trick they've play'd me here egad,
Pray is'nt it enough to make one Mad:
Such idle Things these Men— Dull dronish Rogues,
To make us tender Souls speak Epilogues:
But yet I partly guess what they're about;
And faith I'll tell, for Wit and Truth will out.
You too may guess—but this I know the Case is,
The Chaps are all asham'd to shew their Faces;
But shame's th' Effect of Guilt—it is most certain
No wonder then they've sneak'd behind the Curtain.
And send me here to gild a dirty Cause,
To tickle your good-natures for Applause,
If I don't mawl 'em for't, Let them mawl me
I'll teach the scurvy Knaves Civillity.
Well but good Audience did you like the Play,
Ha! now you shake your Heads— and well you may;
For sure such Wretches never trod the Stage,
Unless it were to lull a nodding Age;
Well for my Part, it pleas'd me to the Life,
To hear Oth—llo bawl so for his Wife.
Wife! what Wife!—he had a Wife last Summer,
And has so still— He's only parted from her.
But that's a c—tly Fault—no more of That,
They both consented, so 'twas Tit for Tat,
Suppose he had lost her— why this mighty Pother,
His Monkey F—t can help him to another.
But soft methinks I hear him rave behind,
Bear witness all— he swears he'll beat me blind:
Why let the great and mighty Hero come,
And beat his Fill—he cannot beat me Dumb;
I'll have my Way in spite of Friends or Foes,
I've said no more than what the Audience knows.
FINIS.

N. B On Monday Noon next will be publish'd the third Edition, of the genuine Life of Wm. Parsons, Esqr. lately executed at Tyburn, written by himself; and con­tains (exclusive of his Head, from an original Picture) his entertaining Amour with the late celebrated Miss E—ds, both before and after her seperation from Lord—n, his Intrigue with the present Lady V— his polite way of robbing the Ladies in Newfound­land: His Scheme with a Footman to run away with his Sister, and several other re­markable and interesting Scenes, with Original Letters, Verses, &c. &c. &c. none of which (nor his Picture) a [...] to be found in any other Life yei publish'd, Likewise all his other Transactions, that are worthy the perusal of the Publick. The first Impression was so well receiv'd as to be all sold off in a few Hours after publication, and the Se­cond Edition in little more than a Week.

Sold by F. Stamper, in Pope's Head Alley, Cornhill, and J. Brooke, at the Golden Head, under St. Dunstans's Church, Fleet street, (Price 1 [...].)

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.