On Wednesday evening, September 18. _Will be presented the much admired new comedy of_ THE POOR GENTLEMAN, _Or the Love of Argument._ Lieut Worthington, } _Mr. Weile._ Humphrey Dobbins, } Sir Robert Bramble, } Corporal Ross, } _Mr. Deans._ Ollapod the Apothecary, } Stephen Harroby, } Sir Charles Cropland, } _Mr. Johnston._ Frederick Bramble, } Miss Lucretia Mac Tab, } Miss Emily Worthington, } _Mrs. Deans._ _After the play the following Songs, &c._ My Mary's true by Mrs. Deans. Knowing Joe among the show folks, by Mr. Johnston. Comic Songs, by Mr. Weile. Hipsley's drunken man, by Mr. Johnston. To conclude with the laughable farce of BARNABY BRITTLE, _Or, a Wife at her wits' End._ Barnaby Brittle, _Mr. Deans._ Sir Peter Pride, } _Mr. Weile._ Clodpole, } Lovemore, } _Mr. Johnston._ Jeremy, } Mrs. Brittle, } Damaras, } _Mrs. Deans._ Tickets of admission to be had at the principals inns. Front seat, 1_s_, back, 6_d_, to begin at 8 o'clock. FOOTNOTES: [H] Te teneam moriens, deficiente manu. [I] See _Josephus_ de Uxoribus--a very ancient and a very _serious_ jest. [J] Nulla Voluptas _longa_ est. Seneca. [K] Drs. Goldsmith and Young. SPORTING INTELLIGENCE. THE SOLDIER TO HIS HORSE. _Allusive to a military order for the destruction of the British cavalry horses, during the late retreat in Spain._ The word is giv'n--my officers command, Fond partner of my danger and my toil, That thou should'st die by this now trembling hand, And prostrate lie upon a foreign soil. Thy ample back in confidence I've strode, Depended on thee in the hour of flight, And oft thy wanton tricks of fondness show'd, Thy master's prowess was thy chief delight. Urg'd by my will, amidst the hostile ranks, Hast thou sustained me, in each desperate fray, And is it thus, my gratitude and thanks, Thy nobly daring service shall repay. Brute as thou art, 'tis not for thee to trace, The cause whence flows the rugged soldier's tear; And yet thou know's it flows not from disgrace, For, thou hast borne me thro' the war's career. When my bright scabbard bounded by thy side, And shouts of victory our toils repaid, The stately curvet, and the pacing stride, None of our troops so gracefully displayed. When charg'd by treble numbers we have fled, Oppress'd, and spent, the glance of thy quick eye Has cheer'd my drooping soul, as if it said, We'll live together, or together die. And once (the time to memory is dear) Plung'd from thy back in the contentious strife, No brother comrade to assist me near Thy friendship, brutal friendship, saved my life.