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An occasional Prologue spoken by Miss Younge at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane for the Benefit of the City of London lying in Hospital ________ In Rome the Civic crown adorn'd the brave Whose sword a single citizen could save; What wreaths then Ladies shall your temples bind Whose Charity takes in all human kind; Who to the child unborn extend your care, And snatch the pregnant matron from despair; Wipe the big drop that trembles in her eye, And all her complicated wants supply! Such are your pleasures! your cælestial task! More prompt to give, than misery to ask! Go on - the sacred ministry pursue Angels in Form - Angels in Office too.

    Think when the mothers pangs to joy give place

And the sweet babe he's smiling in four face, When all her anguish, all her fears are o'er, And sickness, pain, and famine threat no more, What prayers for you will wing their way to Heaven, What frailties if you have them, be forgiven!

    Each hardy son, whom your kind hand shall raise

Will to great Britain consecrate his days; Her Arts her Commerce, her domain extend Or force her haughty enemies to bend: