A Prologue, Spoke by Mrs G—, on Reviving the Merchant of Venice

'Twixt the sons of the stage, without pensions or places,
And the vagabond Jews, are some similar cases;
Since time out of mind, or they're wrong'd much by slander,
Both lawless, alike, have been sentenc'd to wander;
Then faith 'tis full time we appeal to the nation,
To be join'd in this bill for na-tu-ra-li-za-ti-on;
Lard, that word's so uncouth!—'tis so irksome to speak it!
But 'tis Hebrew, I believe, and that's taste, as I take it.

Well—now to the point—I'm sent here with commission,
To present this fair circle our humble petition:
But conscious what hopes we should have of succeeding,
Without (as they phrase it) sufficiently bleeding;
And convinc'd we've no funds, nor old gold we can rake up,
Like our good brothers—Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob;
We must frankly confess we have nought to present ye,
But Shakespear's old sterling—pray let it content ye.

Old Shylock, the Jew, whom we mean to restore ye,
Was naturaliz'd oft by your fathers before ye;
Then take him to-night to your kindest compassion,
For to countenance Jews is the pink of the fashion.