Sto. Well, Jack, I hope you'll forgive me; for, if I intended you any harm, may tickets fall, and all the horfes I have let to-day be drawn blanks to morrow!

J. Sto. Brother, I believe you; for, as I do not apprehend you could have got a shilling by being a rogue, it is poffible you may have been honeft.

Love. Come, my dear Chloe, don't let your luck grieve youyou are not the only perfon has been deceiv'd in a lottery.

AIR.

That the world is a lottery, what man can doubt? [out When born, we are put in; when dead, we're drawn And tho' tickets are bought by the fool and the wise, Yet 'tis plain there are more than ten blanks to a prize. Sing tantararara, fools all, fools all.

Stocks.

The court has itself a bad lottery's face,

Where ten draw a blank before one draws a place;
For a ticket in law who wou'd give you thanks!
For that wheel contains fcarce any but blanks.
Sing tantararara, keep out, keep out.

Lovemore.

'Mongft doctors and lawyers fome good ones are found;
But, alas! they are rare as the ten thousand pound.
How scarce is a prize, if with women you deal!
Take care how ye marry-for, oh! in that wheel,
Sing tantararara, blanks all, blanks all.

Stocks.

That the ftage is a lottery, by all 'tis agreed,
Where ten plays are damn'd e'er one can fucceed:
The blanks are fo many, the prizes fo few,

We all are undone unless kindly you,
Sing tantararara, clap all, clap all.

EPILOGUE

Spoke my Mifs RAFTOR.

LUD! I'm almoft afbam'd to fbew my face!
Was ever woman like my Lady Lace?
Maids have been often wives, and widows foon ;
But I'm maid, wife, and widow, all in one.
Who'd truft to Fortune, if fhe plays fuch pranks?
Ten thoufand —and a lørd! and both prove blanks ?
A pieous cafe! and what is fill more madding,
To lofe fo fine a lord before I had him.
Had all been well till honey-moon was over,
It had been then no wonder to discover,
La new mistress, he a rimal lover.
To wake fo foon from fuch delicious dreams,
Such pure, polite, exti avagant fine schemes,
Of plays, and operas, and masquerades,
Of equipage, quadrille, and powder'd blades,
And all blown up at once-Oh, borrid sentence !

Forc'd to take up at laf-with- —faugh! an old acquaintanse.
But bold- when my misfortunes I recal,
Egad, 'tis well I've any man at all.

Yet, fince difcarded once at such short warning,
This too may turn me off to-morrow morning.
If that bould happen, I were finely flurr'ds
What shall I then do? What? why, get a third.
Well, if he does as I have cause to fear,
To-morrow-night, gallants, you'll find me here,

And 'egad, it will do for any other play as well as this.

Should I have wit, the piece have none,
A flafb in pan with empty gun,
The piece is fure to be undone.
A tavern with a gaudy fign,
Whofe bufo is better than the wine,
May cheat you once- -Will that device,
Neat as imported, cheat you twice?
'Tis wrong to raise your expectations. ; _
Poets, be dull in dedications!
Dullness in it to thefe prefer
But there indeed you seldom err.
In prologues, prefaces, be flat!
A filver button Spoils your

bat.

A threadbare coat might jokes efcape,
Did not the blockheads lace the cape..
A cafe in point to this before ye,
Allow me, pray, to tell a flory.

To turn the penny, once a wit

Upon a curious fancy hit :

}

Hung out a board, on which he boafted,
Dinner for threepence, boil'd and roasted!

The hungry read, and in they trip

With eager eye, and fmacking lip:

"Here bring this boil'd and roafted, pray!”
-Enter potatoes- -dreft each way.

All far'd and rofe, the boufe forfook,
And damn'd the dinner-kick'd the cook..
My landlord found, poor Patrick Kelly,

There was no joking with the belly.

Thefe facts laid down, then thus I reafon :
Wit in a prologue's out of feafon.

Yet ftill will you for jokes fit watching,
Like Cocklane folks for Fanny's fcratching.
And here my fimile's fo fit!

For prologues are but ghofts of it ;
Which mean to fhew their art and skill,
And feratch you to their author's will.
In foort, for reafons great and small,
'Tis better to have none at all.

Prologues and ghofts

-a

paltry trade!

So let 'em both at once be laid!

Say but the word,give your commands,
We'll tie our Prologue-monger's hands.
Confine thefe culprits! bind 'em tight,
Nor girls can feratch, nor fools can write.

[Holding up

his hands.

ACT

ACT I.

SCENE, MASK's Chamber.

Enter MASK in a fhabby Dishabille, as coming from an

inner Room.

(Clock frikes eleven.)

MASK, (as counting the hour.) EIGHT,-nine,-ten,-eleven.-Past eleven by the Temple clock, and no news of Freeman yet-———And that old beldam of a laundrefs.- -I expected to have heard her great rufty key turning in the hole two hours ago.- -To go to Sophy's in this trim is impoffible; and if I break my appointment, I am out of her good graces for ever. [Knocking within.]— [Knocking within.]-Hift-Hark! fomething at the door-[Knocking within. A \fneaking fingle tap!-That can never be Freeman.A dun, ten to one!-Shall I anfwer?-[Knocking.]Again-How fhould they find me out here?-But perhaps it may be a meffage from Freeman.-I'll try. -[Going to the door, and affuming a feign'd voice.] Who's there?

Laundrefs (within.) Me, your honour!

Mafk. Me! you old hag-[Letting her in.]Where the deuce have you been all morning? Where's your key? Why did not you let yourfelf in Have you called at Nando's ?

Laun. Yes, your honour.

Mak. Any letters?

Laun. Yes, Sir-here's one, they fay, has lain in the bar these three days.

[Giving the letter. Mafk. Any meffage ? or has any body been there to inquire for me?

Laun. O yes, your honour. A world of folks, to inquire for you.There has been your taylor, and linen-draper, and fhoemaker, and the ftocking man in Broad-court, and the milliner at the Temple-gate, have all been at the coffeehoufe to ask after you.

Mafk. What have we here? More plagues?
[Reading the letter.

04

• SIR