Bit I will rally, and combat the ruiner :

Not a look, nor a fmile fhall my paffion discover.
She that gives all to the falfe one pursuing her,
Makes but a penitent, and lofes a lover.

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

ΤΟ

ZOBEIDE:

A TRAGEDY.

WRITTEN BY

JOSEPH CRADDOCK, Esa.

ACTED AT THE

THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN,

M DCC LXXII.

SPOKEN BY MR. QUICK.

IN these bold times, when Learning's fons explore

The diftant climates, and the favage fhore;
When wife aftronomers to India fleer,
And quit for Venus many a brighter here;

While botanists, all cold to fmiles and dimpling,
Forfake the fair, and patiently-go fimpling,
Our bard into the general fpirit enters,

And fits his little frigate for adventures,
With Scythian ftores, and trinkets deeply laden,
He this way fteers his courfe, in hopes of trading-
Yet ere he lands he's order'd me before,

To make an obfervation on the fhore,

Where are we driven? our reckoning fure is loft!
This seems a rocky and a dangerous coaft.
Lord, what a fultry climate am I under!
Yon ill foreboding cloud feems big with thunder:

[Upper gallery. There mangroves fpread, and larger than I've feen

'em

[Pit.

Here trees of stately fize-and billing turtles in 'em

Here ill-conditioned oranges. abound—

[Balconies. [Stage.

And apples, bitter apples ftrcw the ground:

[Tafting them.

The inhabitants are canibals I fear:

I heard a hifling-there are ferpents here!

O, there the people are-beft keep my distance;
Our Captain (gentle natives) craves affistance;

Our ship's well ftor'd-in yonder creek we've laid her,
His honour is no mercenary trader.

This is his firft adventure, lend him aid,

And we may chance to drive a thriving trade.

His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from

fax,

Equally fit for gallantry and war.

What, no reply to promises so ample?
I'd beft ftep back-and order up a fample.

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

SPOKEN BY

MR. LEE LEWES,

IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN, AT HIS

BENEFIT.

HOLD! Prompter, hold! a word before your

nonsense;

I'd speak a word or two, to ease my confcience.
My pride forbids it ever fhould be faid,

My heels eclips'd the honours of

my head;

That I found humour in a pyeball veft,
Or ever thought that jumping was a jeft.

[Takes off his mask.
Whence, and what art thou, vifionary birth?
Nature difowns, and reafon fcorns thy mirth,
In thy black afpect every paffion fleeps,
The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps.
How haft thou fill'd the scene with all thy brood,
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursu'd !
Whose ins and outs no ray of fense discloses,
Whofe only plot it is to break our noses;