THE Play-House is an Inchanted

Island, where nothing appears

in Reality what it is, nor what it

should be. 'Tis frequented by Persons

of all Degrees and Qualities

whatsoever, that have a great deal of

Idle Time lying upon their Hands,

and can't tell how to employ it worser.

Here Lords come to Laugh, and

to be Laugh'd at for being there, and

seeing their Qualities ridicul'd by every

Triobolary Poet. Knights come

hither to learn the Amorous Smirk,

the Ala mode Grin, the Antick Bow,

the Newest-Fashion'd Cringe, and how

to adjust his Phiz, to make himself as

Ridiculous by Art, as he is by Nature.

Hither come the Country Gentlemen

to shew their Shapes, and trouble

the Pit with their Impertinence

about Hawking, Hunting, and their

Handsome Wives, and their House-wifery.

There sits a Beau like a Fool in a

Frame, that dares not stir his Head,

nor move his Body, for fear of incommoding

his Wig, ruffling his Cravat,

or putting his Eyes, or Mouth

out of the Order his Maitre de Dance

had set it in, whilst a Bully Beau comes

Drunk into the Pit, Screaming out,

Dam me, Jack, 'tis a Confounded Play,

let's to a Whore and spend our time better.

Here the Ladies come to shew their

Cloaths, which are often the only

things to be admir'd in or about 'em.

Some of them having Scab'd, or Pimpled

Faces, wear a Thousand Patches

to hide them, and those that have

none, scandalize their Faces by a Foolish

imitation. Here they shew their

Courage by being unconcerned at a

Husband being Poison'd, a Hero being

Kill'd, or a Passionate Lover being

Jilted: And discover their Modesties

by standing Buff at a Baudy Song, or

a Naked Obscene Figure. By the

Signs that both Sexes hang out, you

may know their Qualities or Occupations,

and not mistake in making

your Addresses.

Men of Figure and Consideration,

are known by seldom being there,

and Men of Wisdom and Business, by

being always absent. A Beau is

known by the Decent Management of

his Sword-Knot, and Snust-Box. A

Poet by his Empty Pockets: A Citizen

by his Horns and Gold Hatband:

A Whore by a Vizor-Mask: And a

Fool by Talking to her. A Play-House

Wit is distinguish'd by wanting

Understanding; and a Iudge of Wit

by Nodding and Sleeping, till the falling

of the Curtain, and Crowding to

get out awake him.

I have told you already, that the

Play-House was the Land of Enchantment,

the Country of Metamorphosis,

and performed it with the greatest

speed imaginable. Here in the Twinkling

of an Eye, you shall see Men

transform'd into Demi-Gods: And

Goddesses made as true Flesh and

Blood, as our Common Women. Here

Fools by Slight of Hand, are converted

into Wits. Honest Women into

Errant Whores, and which is most miraculous,

Cowards into Valiant Hero's,

and Rank Coquets and Iilts into as

Chaste and Vertuous Mistresses, as a

Man would desire to put his Knife

into.

Let us now speak a Word or so, of

the Natives of this Country, and the

Stock of Wit and Manners by which

they Maintain themselves, and Ridicule

the whole World besides. The

People are all somewhat Whimsical,

and Giddy-Brain'd: When they Speak,

they Sing, when they Walk, they

Dance, and very often do both when

they have no mind to it.

The Stage has now so great a share of

Atheism, Impudence, and Prophaneness,

that it looks like an Assembly of

Demons, directing the Way Hellward;

and the more Blasphemous the Poets

are, the more are they admired, even

from Huffing Dryden, to Sing-Song

Durfey, who always Stutters at Sence,

and speaks plain when he Swears G—Dam

me. What are all their New Plays

but Damn'd Insipid Dull Farces, confounded

Toothless Satyr, or Plaguy

Rhiming Plays, with Scurvy Heroes,

worse than the Knight of the Sun, or

Amadis de Gaul. They are the errantest

Plagiaries in Nature, and like

our Common News-Writers, Steal from

one another.

When any Humour Takes in London,

they Ride it to Death before they

leave it. The Primitive Christians

were not Persecuted with half that

Variety, as the poor Unthinking

Beaux are tormented with upon the

Theatre.

Character they supply with a Smutty

Song, Humour with a Dance, and Argument

with Lightning and Thunder,

which has often reprieved many a

Scurvy Play from Damning.

A Huge great Muff, and a Gaudy

Ribbon hanging at a Bully's Back∣side,

is an Excellent Jest; and New

Invented Curses, as Stap my Vitals,

Damn my Diaphragma, Slit my Wind-Pipe;

Rig up a New Beau, tho' in

the Main 'tis but the same everlast∣ing

Coxcomb; and there's as much

difference between their Rhimes, and

Solid Verse, as between the Royal

Psalmist, and Hopkins and Sternhold,

with their Collars of Ay's and Eeke's

about them.

'Tis a hard Matter to find such

things as Reason, Sense, or Modesty,

among them; for the Mens Heads

are so full of Musick, that you can

have nothing from them but empty

Sounds; and the Women are so Light,

they may easily be blown up or down

like a Feather.

https://books.google.com.au/books?id=XMIO9oDHGjkC&pg=PA34&lpg=PA34&dq

Serious and Comical: In Prose and ..., Volume 3

By Thomas Brown

To the Right Honourable

Lord of COLERANE

FREE JULIAN ASSANGE NOW TODAY TONIGHT.....