In 1672, a tax on plays was proposed; but the court party objected to it. They said the players were the King’s servants, and administered to his pleasures. Sir John Coventry pleasantly asked, “Whether the King’s pleasures lay among the male or the female actors?” Charles, who, besides his other mistresses, entertained two actresses, Mrs. Davis and Nell Gwynne, was hurt by this sarcasm, and took an unworthy revenge. Some of his guards attacked Coventry, and slit his nose. The Commons expressed their indignation, by passing what is called the Coventry Act, by which maiming and deforming were made capital crimes, and those persons who had assaulted Coventry were rendered incapable of receiving the King’s pardon. In July, 1805, when the Prince of Wales bestowed his patronage upon the Duke Street Theatre, and first attached to it the gracious adjective, “Royal,” great improvements were effected in the house, those in his Royal Highness’s box particularly so: blue panels, with sparkling gold stars, on a dark ground, and ornamented with festoons of roses, superbly distinguished it; a crimson curtain of velvet depending from the ceiling also heightened the effect, and gave an indescribable appearance of grandeur to the whole. The box was also carpeted throughout, and handsome painted chairs with cushions in lieu of fixed seats, made part of its furniture. On the 13th of August, 1805, a piece was produced in honour of the birthday of the Prince of Wales, and was called _The Twelfth of August_. The plot of the piece was: “Sofa Hazleby,” the daughter of an opulent farmer, a resident of Brighton, who has numerous suitors, has promised to become the bride of him who can give the best solution to a question which she will submit to their consideration on the Green, on the Twelfth of August; and the reason she assigns for choosing that day for a decision so momentous to her, is because it gave birth to England’s Heir,—a Prince whose suavity of manners, benevolence of heart, and mental endowments have rendered him the pride of his country and the admiration of Europe. “That auspicious morn,” she continues, “could but appear to me as most grateful and best adapted to my purpose, in which every honest countenance I might gaze at should be brightened with exulting smiles.”—The preceding part of the drama being over, in which her eccentric suitors afforded much mirth to the audience, the final scene presents a supposed view of the South Downs, and the entrance of Brighton, the latter brilliantly illuminated, the initials P. W., the feathers, and a blazing star, being appropriately conspicuous.