Which makes us poor actors look _je ne sçai quoy_. [Footnote 1: This piece, which relates, like the former, to the avaricious demands which the Irish Secretary of State made upon the company of players, is said, in the collection called "Gulliveriana," to have been composed by Swift, and delivered by him at Gaulstown House. But it is more likely to have been written by some other among the joyous guests of the Lord Chief Baron, since it does not exhibit Swift's accuracy of numbers.--_Scott_. Perhaps so, but the note to this piece in "Gulliveriana" is "Spoken by the _Captain_, one evening, at the end of a private farce, acted by gentlemen, for their own diversion at _Gallstown_"; the "Captain" being Swift, as the leader of the "joyous guests." This is very different from "composed."--_W. E. B._] PROLOGUE[1] TO A PLAY FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE DISTRESSED WEAVERS. BY DR. SHERIDAN. SPOKEN BY MR. ELRINGTON. 1721 Great cry, and little wool--is now become The plague and proverb of the weaver's loom; No wool to work on, neither weft nor warp; Their pockets empty, and their stomachs sharp. Provoked, in loud complaints to you they cry; Ladies, relieve the weavers; or they die! Forsake your silks for stuff's; nor think it strange To shift your clothes, since you delight in change. One thing with freedom I'll presume to tell-- The men will like you every bit as well. See I am dress'd from top to toe in stuff, And, by my troth, I think I'm fine enough; My wife admires me more, and swears she never, In any dress, beheld me look so clever. And if a man be better in such ware, What great advantage must it give the fair! Our wool from lambs of innocence proceeds; Silks come from maggots, calicoes from weeds; Hence 'tis by sad experience that we find Ladies in silks to vapours much inclined-- And what are they but maggots in the mind? For which I think it reason to conclude, That clothes may change our temper like our food. Chintzes are gawdy, and engage our eyes Too much about the party-colour'd dyes; Although the lustre is from you begun, We see the rainbow, and neglect the sun. How sweet and innocent's the country maid, With small expense in native wool array'd; Who copies from the fields her homely green, While by her shepherd with delight she's seen! Should our fair ladies dress like her, in wool How much more lovely, and how beautiful, Without their Indian drapery, they'd prove! While wool would help to warm us into love! Then, like the famous Argonauts of Greece, We'll all contend to gain the Golden Fleece! [Footnote 1: In connection with this Prologue and the Epilogue by the Dean which follows, see Swift's Papers relating to the use of Irish Manufactures in "Prose Works," vol. vii.--_W. E. B._] EPILOGUE TO A BENEFIT PLAY, GIVEN IN BEHALF OF THE DISTRESSED WEAVERS. BY THE DEAN. SPOKEN BY MR. GRIFFITH