Mrs. Q. O, bravo, Colonel! Music is my flame.
Ld. Min. And mine, by Jupiter !-We've won the game.
Col. T. What, do you love all music?

Mrs. Q. No, not Handel's.

And nasty plays

Ld. Min. Are fit for Goths and Vandals.

[Rise from the Table, and pay

From the Piquette Table.

Sir Pat. Well, faith and troth! that Shakspeare was no fool!

Col. T.

I'm glad you like him, sir !-So ends the pool!

[Pay, and rise from the Table.

SONG by the COLONEL.

I hate all their nonsense,

Their Shakspeares and Jonsons,

Their plays, and their playhouse, and bards:

'Tis singing, not saying;

A fig for all playing,
But playing as we do, at cards!

I love to see Jonas,

Am pleas'd too with Comus;
Each well the spectator rewards.

So clever, so neat in

Their tricks, and their cheating!

Like them we would fain deal our cards!

Sir Pat. King Lare is touching!-And how fine to see
Ould Hamlet's Ghost!-"To be, or not to be."
What are your op'ras to Othello's roar?
Oh, he's an angel of a blackamoor!

Ld. Min. What, when he choaks his wife!
Col. T. And calls her whore?

Sir Pat.

King Richard calls his horse-and then Mac-
beth,

Whene'er he murders-takes away the breath.
My blood runs cold at every syllable,

To see the dagger that's invisible. [All laugh.
Laugh if you please-a pretty play-

Ld. Min. Is pretty.

Sir Pat.

Col. T.

Sir Pat.

And when there's wit in't-
To be sure 'tis witty.

I love the playhouse now-so light and gay,
With all those candles-they have ta'en away!
[All laugh.
For all your game, what makes it so much
brighter?

Col. T.

Put out the lights, and then

Ld. Min. 'Tis so much lighter.

Sir Pat. Pray do you mean, sirs, more than you express?
Col. T. Just as it happens-

Ld. Min. Either more or less.
Mrs. Qu. An't you asham'd, sir?

Sir Pat, Me !-I seldom blush :

[TO SIR PAT.

For little Shakspeare, faith! I'd take a push.

Ld. Min. News, news!-here comes Miss Crotchet from the play.

Enter MISS CROTCHET.

Mrs. Qu. Well, Crotchet, what's the news?

Miss Cro. We've lost the day.

Col. T. Tell us, dear miss, all you have heard and seen. Miss Cro. I'm tir'd-a chair-here, take my capuchin. Ld. Min. And isn't it damn'd, miss?

Miss Cro. No, my lord, not quite.

Miss Cro. To-morrow night?

Col. T.

There is a party of us, all of fashion,

Resolv'd to exterminate this vulgar passion :
A play-house, what a place! I must forswear
it;

A little mischief only makes one bear it.
Such crowds of city folks!-so rude and press-
ing!

And their horse-laughs, so hideously distress-
ing!

Whene'er we hiss'd, they frown'd, and fell a swearing,

Like their own Guildhall giants-fierce and staring!

What said the folks of fashion; were they cross?

Ld. Min. The rest have no more judgment than my horse. Miss Cro. Lord Grimly said 'twas execrable stuff.

Says one- -Why so, my lord ?-My lord took
snuff.

In the first act Lord George began to doze,
And criticis'd the author thro' his nose;
So loud indeed, that as his lordship snor'd,
The pit turn'd round, and all the brutes encor❜d.
Some lords, indeed, approv'd the author's jokes.

Ld. Min. We have among us, miss, some foolish folks.

Miss Cro. Says poor Lord Simper-Well, now to my

mind,

The piece is good;-but he's both deaf and
blind.

Sir Pat. Upon my soul, a very pretty story!
And quality appears in all its glory.

There was some merit in the piece, no doubt
Miss Cro. O, to be sure !-if one could find it out.
Col. T.
But tell us, miss, the subject of the play.
Miss Cro. Why, 'twas a marriage-yes, a marriage-
stay!

Col. T.

A lord, an aunt, two sisters, and a merchant-
A baronet-ten lawyers-a fat sergeant-
Are all produc'd to talk with one another;
And about something make a mighty pother:
They all go in, and out; and to, and fro;
And talk, and quarrel as they come and go-
Then go to bed, and then get up-and then-
Scream, faint, scold, kiss-and go to bed again.
[All laugh.

Such is the play-your judgment-never sham

itOh, damn it! Mrs. Qu. Damn it! 1st Lady. Damn it! Miss Cro. Damn it! Ld. Min. Damn it! Sir Pat.

Col. T.

Well, faith, you speak your minds, and I'll be free

Good night! this company's too good for me.

[Going.

Your judgment, dear Sir Patrick, makes us proud.

[All laugh. Sir Pat. Laugh if you please, but pray don't laugh

Col. T.

too loud.

RECITATIVE.

[Exit.

Now the barbarian's gone, miss, tune your tongue;

And let us raise our spirits high with song.

RECITATIVE.

Miss Cro. Colonel, de tout mon cœur-I've one in petto, Which you shall join, and make it a duetto.

RECITATIVE.

Ld. Min. Bella Signora, et amico mio,

I too will join, and then we'll make a trio.

Col. T.

Come all and join the full mouth'd chorus ;
And drive all tragedy and comedy before us.

All the Company rise, and advance to the front of the

Stage.

Tweedle-dum, and tweedle-dee !

Col. T. Ld. Min. and Miss Cro. Live for ever!
Tweedle-dum, and tweedle-dee !

CHORUS.

Would you ever go to see, &c.

Printed and Published by T. DOLBY, Britannia Press,

17, Catherine-Street, Strand, London.