Volume Iii Part 114 (1/2)
So Spark in an Intrigue of Quality, Grows weary of his splendid Drudgery; Hates the Fatigue, and cries a Pox upon her, What a d.a.m.n'd Bustle's here with Love and Honour?
In humbler Comedy we next appear, No Fop or Cuckold, but slap-dash we had him here; We showed you all, but you malicious grown,
Friends Vices to expose, and hide your own;
Cry, d.a.m.n it--This is such, or such a one.
Yet nettled, Plague, what does the Scribler mean?
With his d.a.m.n'd Characters, and Plot obscene.
No Woman without Vizard in the Nation Can see it twice, and keep her reputation-- That's certain, Forgetting-- That he himself, in every gross Lampoon, Her leuder Secrets spread about the Town; Whilst their feign'd Niceness is but cautious Fear, Their own Intrigues should be unravel'd here.
Our next Recourse was dwindling down to Farce, Then--Zounds, what Stuff's here? 'tis all o'er my-- Well, Gentlemen, since none of these has sped, Gad, we have bought a Share i'th' speaking Head.
So there you'll save a Sice,
You love good Husbandry in all but Vice;
Whoring and drinking only bears a Price.
_
[The Head rises upon a twisted Post, on a Bench from under the Stage. After _Jevern_ speaks to its Mouth.
_Oh!--Oh!--Oh_!
Stentor. _Oh!--Oh!--Oh_!
[After this it sings _Sawny_, laughs, crys G.o.d bless the King in order.
Stentor answers.
_Speak louder_, Jevern, _if you'd have me repeat; Plague of this Rogue, he will betray the Cheat_.
[He speaks louder, it answers indirectly.
_--Hum--There 'tis again, Pox of your Eccho with a Northern Strain.
Well--This will be but a nine days Wonder too; There's nothing lasting but the Puppets Show.
What Ladies Heart's so hard, but it would move, To hear_ Philander _and_ Irene's _Love?
Those Sisters too the scandalous Wits do say, Two nameless keeping Beaux have made so gay; But those Amours are perfect Sympathy, Their Gallants being as mere Machines as they.
Oh! how the City Wife, with her nown Ninny, Is charm'd with, Come into my Coach,--Miss_ Jenny, _Miss_ Jenny.
_But overturning_--Frible _crys--Adznigs, The jogling Rogue has murder'd all his Kids.
The Men of War cry, Pox on't, this is dull, We are for rough Sports,--Dog Hector, and the Bull.
Thus each in his degree, Diversion finds, Your Sports are suited to your mighty Minds; Whilst so much Judgment in your Choice you show, The Puppets have more Sense than some of you_.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MEN.
_Doctor_ Baliardo, Mr. _Underhill_.
Scaramouch, _his Man_, Mr. _Lee_.
Pedro, _his Boy_.
Don Cinthio, Don Charmante, _both Nephews_ Young Mr. _Powel_.
_to the Vice-Roy, and Lovers of_ Elaria _and_ Mr. _Mumford_.