But here in the middle,
From the orchestra comes the first squeak of a fiddle.
Then the bass gives a growl, and the horn makes a dash,
And the music begins with a flourish and crash,
And away to the zenith goes swelling and swaying,
While we tap on the box to keep time to the playing.
And we hear the old tunes as they follow and mingle,
Till at last from the stage comes a ting-a-ting tingle;
And the fans cease to whirr, and the House for a minute
Grows still as if naught but wax figures were in it.
Then an actor steps out, and the eyes of all glisten.
Who is it? _The Prologue._ He's sobbing. Hush! listen.

[_Thereupon enters Mr. Woodward in black, with a
handkerchief to his eyes, to speak Garrick's Prologue,
after which comes the play. In the volume for which the
foregoing additional Prologue was written the following
Envoi was added._]

L'ENVOI.

Good-bye to you, KELLY, your fetters are broken!
Good-bye to you, CUMBERLAND, GOLDSMITH has spoken!
Good-bye to sham Sentiment, moping and mumming,
For GOLDSMITH has spoken and SHERIDAN'S coming;
And the frank Muse of Comedy laughs in free air
As she laughed with the Great Ones, with SHAKESPEARE, MOLIERE!

PROLOGUE TO ABBEY'S "QUIET LIFE."

Even as one in city pent,
Dazed with the stir and din of town,
Drums on the pane in discontent,
And sees the dreary rain come down,
Yet, through the dimmed and dripping glass,
Beholds, in fancy, visions pass,
Of Spring that breaks with all her leaves,
Of birds that build in thatch and eaves,
Of woodlands where the throstle calls,
Of girls that gather cowslip balls,
Of kine that low, and lambs that cry,
Of wains that jolt and rumble by,
Of brooks that sing by brambly ways,
Of sunburned folk that stand at gaze,
Of all the dreams with which men cheat
The stony sermons of the street,
So, in its hour, the artist brain
Weary of human ills and woes,
Weary of passion, and of pain,
And vaguely craving for repose,
Deserts awhile the stage of strife
To draw the even, ordered life,
The easeful days, the dreamless nights,
The homely round of plain delights,
The calm, the unambitioned mind,
Which all men seek, and few men find.

EPILOGUE.

Let the dream pass, the fancy fade!
We c