Jul. You join me, Sir, to an unfortunate bard; but, to procure your peace Sir Tho. You oblige me for ever. Now the fecret dies with us four. My fault. I owe him much. Be it your care to fhew it; And blefs the man tho' I have damn'd the poet, BUCKS, HAVE AT YE ALL: O R, THE PICTURE OF A PLAY-HOUSE. By DAVID GARRICK, Efq. Spoken by Mr WARD, At the THEATRE-ROYAL, EDINBURGH, 1783. E focial friends of claret and of wit, YE Where'er difpers'd in merry groups ye fit; If Or urg'd with fury tear the benches down; For For inftance now-to please the ear and charm th' admiring crowd, Your bucks o' the boxes fneer and talk aloud: To the green box next with joyous speed you run, For to seem sensible of real merit, O damme, 'tis low, 'tis vulgar-beneath us lads of spirit. Flush'd from the tavern, reeling, ripe for sport, Oh there's a youth, and one o' the sprightly fort- (While players follow their vocation). Whistle off off off? Nofee roaft-beef-there's education. END OF VOLUME FOURTH. al. |