He strove to clothe his agony in smiles,
    Which he would force up in his poor pale cheeks,
    Like ill-timed guests that had no proper dwelling there;
    And, when they asked him his complaint, he laid
    His hand upon his heart to shew the place,
    Where Susan came to him a-nights, he said,
    And prick’d him with a pin.—­
    And thereupon Sir Francis called to mind
    The beggar-witch that stood by the gateway
    And begged an alms.

    STRANGER
    But did the witch confess?

    SERVANT
    All this and more at her death.

    STRANGER
    I do not love to credit tales of magic. 
    Heaven’s music, which is Order, seems unstrung,
    And this brave world
    (The mystery of God) unbeautified,
    Disorder’d, marr’d, where such strange things are acted.

* * * * *

Mr. H——­

A FARCE IN TWO ACTS

As it was performed at Drury Lane Theatre, December, 1806

“Mr. H——­, thou wert DAMNED. Bright shone the morning on the play-bills that announced thy appearance, and the streets were filled with the buzz of persons asking one another if they would go to see Mr. H——­, and answering that they would certainly; but before night the gaiety, not of the author, but of his friends and the town, was eclipsed, for thou wert DAMNED!  Hadst thou been anonymous, thou haply mightst have lived.  But thou didst come to an untimely end for thy tricks, and for want of a better name to pass them off——.”

—­Theatrical Examiner.

* * * * *

      CHARACTERS

      Mr. H——­ Mr. Elliston. 
      BELVIL Mr. Bartley. 
      LANDLORD PRY Mr. Wewitzer. 
      MELESINDA Miss Mellon. 
      Maid to Melesinda. Mrs. Harlowe. 
      Gentlemen, Ladies, Waiters, Servants, &c.

SCENE.—­Bath

* * * * *

PROLOGUE

Spoken by Mr. Elliston

    If we have sinn’d in paring down a name,
    All civil well-bred authors do the same. 
    Survey the columns of our daily writers—­
    You’ll find that some Initials are great fighters. 
    How fierce the shock, how fatal is the jar,
    When Ensign W. meets Lieutenant R.
    With two stout seconds, just of their own gizard,
    Cross Captain X. and rough old General Izzard! 
    Letter to Letter spreads the dire alarms,
    Till half the Alphabet is up in arms. 
    Nor with less lustre have Initials shone,
    To grace the gentler annals of Crim.  Con. 
    Where the dispensers of the public lash
    Soft penance give; a letter and a dash—­
    Where vice reduced in size shrinks to a failing,