class="spaced">PROLOGUE

DRAMATIS PERSONAE for the Prologue

• RATTLE
• SMART
• DULLMAN
• IRISHMAN
• SNARLEWIT

(The Curtain rises and discovers the Stage disposed in the Form of a Pit and crowded with Actors who make a great Noise by Whistling and Knocking for the Farce to begin)

Rattle. Consume them, why don't they begin?

Smart. I suppose some of them that were in the Play are dressing for the Farce.

Rattle. Psha! damn the Farce! They have had time enough to dress since the Play has been over.

Smart. Dick Rattle, were you at the Boxing Match yesterday?

Rattle. No, my Dear, I was at the breakfasting at Ranelagh.—Curse catch me, Jack[2], if that is not a fine Woman in the upper Box there, ha!

Smart. So she is, by all that's charming,—but the poor Creature's married; it's all over with her.

Rattle. Smart, do you go to Newmarket this meeting,—upon my Soul that's a lovely Woman on the right hand. But what the Devil can this Prologue be about, I can't imagine. It has puzzled the whole Town.

Smart. Depend upon it, Dick, it is as I said.

Rattle. What's that?

Smart. Why one of the Fransique's, the French Harlequin's Jokes; you will find that one of the Players come upon the Stage presently, and make a[n] Apologie that they are disappointed of the Prologue, upon which Macklin, or some other Actor is to start up in the Pit, as one of the Audience, and bawl out that rather than so much good Company should be disappointed, he will speak a Prologue himself.

Rattle. No, no, no, Smart. That's not it. I thought of that and have been looking carefully all over the Pit, and there is not an Actor in it. Now I fancy it is to be done like the Wall or the Man in the Moon in Pyramus and Thisbe; Macklin will come in dressed like the Pit and say:

Omnes. Ha! ha! ha!

Smart. By Gad, Rattle, I fancy you have hit it. What do you think, Mr. Dullman?

Omnes. Ay, let us have Mr. Dullman's Opinion of it.

Dull. Why really, Gentlemen, I have been thinking of it ever since I first read it in the Papers—and I fancy—though to be sure, it was very difficult to find out—but at last, I think I have hit upon it.

Smart. Well, well, my dear Dullman, communicate.

Dull. I suppose there is some Person here among us whose name is Pit, and that he will get up presently and speak a Prologue.

Omnes. O, O, O, O, O, Shocking! Shocking! Well conjectured, Dullman.

Rattle. Harkee, Jack, [let's] bam the Irishman. Ask him if he knows anything of it.

Smart. Don't you laugh then; he'll smoak us if you do; keep your Countenance, and I'll engage I'll pitch-kettle him. Pray Sir, do you know anything of this Prologue?

Irish. Who, me? Not upon my Honour. I know no more of it than he that made it.

Smart. A Gentleman was saying just before the Play was over that you were to be the Pit and to speak the Prologue; is there any truth in it, Sir?

Irish. No indeed, Sir, it is as false as the Gospel. I do assure you, Sir, I never spoke a Pit or Prologue in my Life—but once when I was at School, you must know, Sir,—we acted one of Terence's Tragedies there, so when the Play was over I spoke the Prologue to it.

Omnes. Ha! ha! ha! ha!

Smart. I remember your Face very well. Pray Sir, don't you belong to the Law?

Irish. Yes, at your Service, Sir—and so did my Father and Grandfather before me, and all my Posterity. I myself solicit Cause at the old Bailey and Hick's Hall, so I am come to see this BONE FOR THE LAWYERS, because they say it is a Pun upon us Gentlemen of the long Robe.

Omnes. Ha! ha! ha!

Rattle. He is a poor ridiculous Fellow, Jack (aside); he is as great a Teague as Barrington himself.

Smart. Hush! Hush! Pray Sir, may I crave your name?

Irish. Yes you may indeed and welcome, Sir. My name is Laughlinbullruderrymackshoughlinbulldowny, at your Service. And if you have any Friend who is indicted for Robbery or Murder at any time or has any other Law Suits upon his Hands at the old Bailey or Hick's Hall, I should be proud to serve you and to be concerned in the Cause likewise.

Smart. Whenever I have a Friend in such Circumstances, you may depend upon being retained.

Irish. Sir, I'll assure you no megrim. England understands the Practice of those Courts better than myself. I know my Croaker upon all the In res and for an Evidence, the Devil a Man in Westminster Hall can tell an Evidence what to say better than I that shits here; or hark you, if you should happen to want a Witness upon Occasion, I believe, Sir, I could serve you.

Smart. I am infinitely obliged to you. (Bowing)

Irish. Sir, I am your most obsequious. (Bowing)

Rattle. But pray Sir, what kind of Prologue do you think we shall have tonight?

Irish. Why I believe it will be a kind of Prologue that will be spoken by the Pit.

Rattle. Ay, that we suppose but in what Manner?

Irish. Why I am come here on purpose to know that, but I suppose it will be in the manner of—a—a—by my Shoul I don't know how it will be.

Smart. Upon my word, Sir, I think you give a very clear Account of it.

Rattle. Jack, yonder's Snarlewit, the Poet and intimate Friend of Macklin's; you are acquainted with him. Prithee call him; ten to one but he can give us the History both of the Prologue and the Farce.

Smart. Hiss, Mr. Snarlewit, we have Room for you here, if you will come and set by us; do you know Snarlewit, Dick?

Rattle. He is a devilish odd Fellow; he is one that never speaks well of any Man behind his back nor ill of him to his Face and is a most terrible Critick.

(SNARLEWIT steps over the Benches and sits down between RATTLE and SMART)

Snarle. Mr. Smart, your Servant. How do you do, Mr. Rattle? What, you are come to hear the Pit speak the Prologue, I suppose. Ha! Macklin's fine Conceit.

Smart. Ay, we are so; do you know anything of it?

Snarle. Psha! psha! a parcel of Stuff! a ridiculous Conceit of the Blockhead's in imitation of a French writer who stole it from one of the Greek Comic Poets.

Smart. But in what manner is it to be done? Is it in Prose or in Verse, or upon the Stage, or really in the Pit?

Snarle. Lord, Sir, the Blockhead brings the Pit upon the Stage; and the supposed Conversation there between the Play and the Farce is to be the Prologue,—a French Conceit calculated merely to raise Curiosity and fill the House, that's all.

Smart. Ay, and enough too, if it answers his purpose.

Irish. But pray, Sir, with humble Submission, if he brings the Pit up on the Stage, how shall we be able to see the Farce unless we go up into the Gallery?

Omnes. Ha! ha! ha!

Rattle. Very well observed, Sir.

Snarle. Why this Fellow's an Idiot.

Smart. No, no, he is only a Teague. But Mr. Snarlewit, do you think this Prologue will be liked?

Snarle. Psha! psha! liked, impossible! So it is for his Wife's Benefit and meant as a Puff to fill her House, why perhaps the Town may be so indulgent as to let it pass—but it is damned Trash! I