Ralph Moulsey's Description of Richmond Playhouse

Where Hodge, ye great oaf, have you been,
That you ha'not yet been to the play?
The playhouse at Richmond I mean,
Which i'faith is most gallant and gay.

We shew-folk have seen afore now
Enact kings and queens in a barn;
But this is a palace, I vow,
And a costly one too, as I learn.

I star'd, as you'll think, all about,
To see such a wonderful thing;
But I found, when the secret came out,
'Twas design'd to be fit for the king.

God bless'n, had he but been there,
And the queen, I'd ha' gi'n half a crown;
For they come not to wake nor to fair;
And 'tis miles up to London fine town.

Tho else there were smart folks enow:
No wonder, entic'd by such skill;
For they play'd so—I cannot tell how,
But I doat on that Maid i'the Mill.

So sweetly she sings, without doubt
I could like, and I'm sure so could you—
Could a body but bring it about;
But, pize on it, the maid's married too.

Yet, acting apart, there's the scenes,
All fresh as the barley-mow sign;
Shifting backwards and forwards like skreens,
And painted most desperate fine.

Then, simple tho I as a sheep,
The man of the shew was so kind,
As to let me just have a bo-peep
At the fine actor-people behind.

There I thought to have found out a flam;
For of tinsel and stuff I've been told;
But their dresses, ecod, were no sham;
But velvet and silver and gold.

In the green-room, which I took for blue,
Gay ladies I saw richly dress'd;
And some of them handsome ones too;
But their manners were none of the best.

For a lass, with one leg in the air,
The other knee-high to be seen,
With her head leaning back on her chair,
Look'd like a carv'd ivory queen.

Her red pouting nib lay so fair
For a kiss, had I fear'd no denial;
But her eyes sparkled, " Do if you date,"
So Ralph was afraid to stand trial.

On the stage did you see her but dance,
And skip here and there like a vapour,
She'd fling you soon into a trance,
To see what you'd see ev'ry caper.

For, whisking and frisking about,
As nimble and light as a feather,
Her petticoat makes such a rout,
That one's heart and her heels go together.

So, Hodge, if so be you're inclin'd,
To the play we will go, lad, together:
Next week, if I hold in the mind,
And God sends the farmers good weather.