id="id00045">[Footnote 4: E.g., Bloom to Mrs. Driver, "One moment into that Closet, if it be but to read the Practice of Piety" becomes "One Moment into that Closet, Dear, dear Creature; they say it's mighty prettily furnish'd," And in her aside, "I vow, I've a good mind; but Virtue—the Devil, I ne're was so put to't i' my Life," for the words "the Devil" are substituted the words "and Reputation."]

[Footnote 5: No. 50, Sept. 14; No. 61, Oct. 26.]

[Footnote 6: According to the impression I have of this "morbus" it was a skin-ailment particularly appropriated to beggars, who might contract it upon long exposure to filth and louse-bites. Even then, though there would doubtless be a certain amount "of discomfort about it, it would scarcely prove fatal.]

[Footnote 7: This and subsequent vital statistics as to Baker's university and clerical career are from the account of him in J. and J.A. Venn, Alumni Cantabrigienses, 1922 et sq.]

[Footnote 8: British Apollo, No. 49, Sept. 14, 1709.]

[Footnote 9: Ibid.]

[Footnote 10: Both Paul Bunyan Anderson, "The history and authorship of
Mrs. Crackenthorpe's Female Tatler," MP, XXVIII (1931), 354-60, and
Walter Graham, "Thomas Baker, Mrs. Manley, and The Female Tatler," MP,
XXXIV (1937), 267-72, think that some, at least, of the F.T. is from
Baker's pen, but they disagree as to what part and how much. I am
considering the matter and may have an opinion to express in future.]

[Footnote 11: Victoria History of Bedfordshire, II, 181 n.; III, 128.]

THE
Fine Lady's Airs:
OR, AN
EQUIPAGE of LOVERS.
A
COMEDY.

As it is Acted at the
THEATRE-ROYAL IN DRURY-LANE.

Written by the Author of the Yeoman of Kent.

LONDON:

Printed for BERNARD LINTOTT at the Cross-Keys, between the Two Temple Gates in Fleetstreet.

Price 1_s._ 6_d_.

TO

Sir ANDREW FONTAINE

To Address a Man of your Character, gives me greater Concern than to finish the most Elaborate Play, and support the various Conflicts which naturally attend ev'ry Author; how the Town in general will receive it.

To harangue some of the First Quality, whose Titles are the greatest Illustration we can give 'em, is a sort of Common-Place Oratory; which Poets may easily vary in copying from one another; but, when I'm speaking to the most finish'd young Gentleman any Age has produced, whose distinguish'd Merits exact the nicest Relation, I feel my inability, and want a Genius barely to touch on those extraordinary Accomplishments, which You so early, and with so much ease, have made Your self perfect Master of.

But, when I reflect on the Affability of Your Temper, the generous and obliging Reception, You always gave me, and the ingaging Sweetness of Your Conversation, I'm the more incourag'd to pay my Duty to You in this Nature, fully persuading my self, You'll lay aside the Critick, by considering, in how many Respects, Your condescending Goodness has shown You are my Friend.

The vast stock of Learning You acquir'd in Your Non-age, has manifested to the World, that a Scholar, and a fine Gentleman are not Inconsistent, and rendered You so matchless an Ornament to the University of Oxford, particularly to _Christ-Church-_College, where You imbib'd it.

'Tis a Misfortune that attends many of our English Gentlemen to set out for Travel without any Foundation; and wanting a Tast of Letters, and the Knowledge of their own Country, the Observations they make Abroad, to reflect no further, are generally useless and impertinent.

But You so plentifully were furnish'd with all this Kingdom afforded, that
Foreign Languages became Natural to You, and the unparallell'd Perfections
You accumulated Abroad, particularly Your most Judicious and Critical
Collection of Antiquities, made You so eminently Conspicuous, and justly
Admir'd at the Great Court of Hannover, and since Your Return, have so
cordially recommended You to the good Graces of the most Discerning
Nobleman in the Kingdom.

Amongst other Degrees of Knowledge, I have heard You express some value for Poetry; which, cou'd one imitate Your right Tast of those less profitable Sciences, who permit it but at some Seasons, as a familiar Companion to relieve more serious Thoughts, and prevent an Anxiety, which, the constant Application, You have always been inclin'd to give harder Studies, might probably draw on You, is an Amusement worthy the greatest Head-piece. But 'tis so deluding a Genius, Dramatick Poetry especially, that many are insensibly drawn into to it, 'till it becomes a Business. To avoid that Misfortune, I'm now almost fix'd to throw it intirely by, and wou'd fain aim at something which may prove more serviceable to the Publick, and beneficial to my self.

Cou'd I have the Vanity to hope your Approbation of this Comedy, 'twou'd be so current a Stamp to it, that none, who have the Honour to know You, wou'd pretend to dispute it's Merit; but tho' I'm satisfy'd in Your good Nature, I must be aw'd with Your Judgment; and am sensible there are Errors in it infinitely more obvious to Your Eye, than a greater Part of the Polite World; however, as it had the Fortune to be well receiv'd, and by some of the best Judges esteem'd much preferable to any of my former, and as it was highly favour'd the Third Night with as beautiful an Appearance of Nobility, and other fine Ladies, as ever yet Grac'd a Theatre. I hope, you'll in some measure Protect it, at least that you'll pardon this Presumption, since I have long pleas'd my self with the Hopes, and impatiently waited an Opportunity of publickly declaring how much I am,

SIR,

Your most Devoted, and Obedient humble Servant,

PROLOGUE.

Written by Mr. MOTTEUX.

So long the solitary Stage has mourn'd,
Sure now you're pleas'd to find our Sports return'd.
When Warriors come triumphant, all will smile,
And Love wirh Conquest crown the Toyls of Lille.
Tho from the Field of Glory you're no Starters,
Few love all Fighting, and no Winter-Quarters.
Chagrin French Generals cry, Gens temerare
Dare to take Lille! We only take the Air.
No, bravely, with the Pow'rs of Spain and France,
We will—Entrench; and stand—at a distance:
We'll starve 'em—if they please not to advance.
Long thus, in vain, were the Allies defy'd,
But 'twas ver cold by that damn'd River Side.
So as they came too late, and we were stronger,
Scorn the Poltrons, we cry'd—
March off; morbleu, _we'll stay for 'em no longer;
The little Monsieurs their Disgrace may own,
Now ev'n the Grand ones makes their Scandal known.

Mean while, without you half our Season's wasted.
Before 'tis_ Lent sufficiently we've fasted.
No matter how our Op'ra Folks did fare,
Too full a Stomach do's the Voice impair.
Nay, you your selves lost by't; for saunt'ring hither
You're safe from all but Love, four Hours together.
Some idle Sparks with dear damnd Stuff, call'd Wine,
Got drunk by Eight, and perhaps sows'd by Nine,
O'er Politicks and Smoke some rail'd some writ,
The Wiser yawn'd, or nodded o'er