Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team A Trip to Scarborough and The Critic by Richard Brinsley Sheridan Contents A Trip to Scarborough The Critic A Trip to Scarborough _A COMEDY_ DRAMATIS PERSONÆ AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE IN 1777 LORD FOPPINGTON _Mr. Dodd._ SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY _Mr. Moody._ COLONEL TOWNLY _Mr. Brereton._ LOVELESS _Mr. Smith._ TOM FASHION _Mr. J. Palmer._ LA VAROLE _Mr. Burton._ LORY _Mr. Baddeley._ PROBE _Mr. Parsons._ MENDLEGS _Mr. Norris._ JEWELLER _Mr. Lamash_ SHOEMAKER _Mr. Carpenter._ TAILOR _Mr. Parker._ AMANDA _Mrs. Robinson._ BERINTHIA _Miss Farren._ MISS HOYDEN _Mrs. Abington._ MRS. COUPLER _Mrs. Booth._ NURSE _Mrs. Bradshaw._ Sempstress, Postilion, Maid, _and_ Servants. SCENE—SCARBOROUGH AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD. PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. KING What various transformations we remark, From east Whitechapel to the west Hyde Park! Men, women, children, houses, signs, and fashions, State, stage, trade, taste, the humours and the passions; The Exchange, ’Change Alley, wheresoe’er you’re ranging, Court, city, country, all are changed or changing The streets, some time ago, were paved with stones, Which, aided by a hackney-coach, half broke your bones. The purest lovers then indulged in bliss; They ran great hazard if they stole a kiss. One chaste salute!—the damsel cried—Oh, fie! As they approach’d—slap went the coach awry— Poor Sylvia got a bump, and Damon a black eye. But now weak nerves in hackney-coaches roam, And the cramm’d glutton snores, unjolted, home; Of former times, that polish’d thing a beau, Is metamorphosed now from top to toe; Then the full flaxen wig, spread o’er the shoulders, Conceal’d the shallow head from the beholders. But now the whole’s reversed—each fop appears, Cropp’d and trimm’d up, exposing head and ears: The buckle then its modest limits knew, Now, like the ocean, dreadful to the view, Hath broke its bounds, and swallowed up the shoe: The wearer’s foot like his once fine estate, Is almost lost, the encumbrance is so great. Ladies may smile—are they not in the plot? The bounds of nature have not they forgot? Were they design’d to be, when put together, Made up, like shuttlecocks, of cork and feather? Their pale-faced grandmammas appeared with grace When dawning blushes rose upon the face; No blushes now their once-loved station seek; The foe is in possession of the cheek! No heads of old, too high in feather’d state, Hinder’d the fair to pass the lowest gate; A church to enter now, they must be bent, If ever they should try the experiment.