*p1773 12 23 cg The Jealous Wife. Oakly-Smith; Major Oakly-Shuter; Charles-Bensley; Trinket-Dyer; Russet-Dunstall; Sit Harry-Quick; O'Cutter-Fox; Tom-R. Smith; Paris-Holtom; William-Cushing; Harriet-Mrs Mattocks; Lady Freelove-Mrs Green; Toilette-Miss Helme; Maid-Miss Pearce; Mrs Oakly-Miss Barsanti; Wit a New <i>Occasional Epilogue</i>-Hull, Mrs Mattocks.*a1773 12 23 cg Thom^as^and Sally. ^As17731120^, but <i>Hornpipe</i>-Miss Twist; Sally-Mrs Mattocks.*d1773 12 23 cg <i>The Highland Reel</i>, ^as17731112^, after the <i>Epilogue</i>.*c1773 12 23 cg Receipts: #86 (Account Book). Charges #81 15s. Profit to Society #4 5s., plus #106 17s. from tickets (Box 242; Pit 309) (Account Book). Benefit for Use of the Society at the <i>Thatched-House Tavern</i> For the release and discharge of persons imprisoned for small debts. [The <i>Epilogue</i> was written by $Cumberland=. (See <i>Folger Library Theatrical Clippings</i>). The Curtain rises and discovers a prison; at some distance a woman, poorly habited, and in a disconsolate attitude; after standing some time montionless, in a posture of fixed attention she speaks]: @Woman: Thou loathsome dungeon in whose dreary womb@The pining Debtor finds a living tomb;@Where 'midst the Clank of Chains and Dismal yells@Of shakled felons my sad husband dwells;@From his dark cell, oh give him to my view!@Let him look forth and take a last adieu.@ [As she advances towards the prison, a person in Gentleman's apparel accosts her.] @Man: Stay, Child of Sorrow, thou whose piercing groans@Might move to pity e'en these senseless stones.@Why dost thou bend thy melancholy way@To that Drear Dungeon? Child of Sorrow stay.@Woman: Why should I stay, or my sad Griefs impart?@Can there be pity in a Human heart?@Away and let me die.@ [...The Man suggests a Human heart can have pity] @Woman: If there be such, O lead me to their sight,@And let me plead a wretched sufferer's right:@Can there be Truth, Humanity or Sense@In laws that make Misfortune an offence?@ [Her husband was a $God=-fearing weaver who fell ill for 10 weeks, lost his job and was seized upon by a relentless creditor.] @Steel'd to their trade, and deaf to all our cries,@Relentless ruffians seize their legal prize;@From my fond arms a dying Husband tear@And plunge their victims in a dungeon there!@Man: Enough! go speak the healing words of peace@To thy sad mate, and bear him this release;@Tell him the Muse, which on these Scenes attend@That balsam to his wounded spirit sends.@And Know this Truth thyself, 'tis not alone@The Preacher's pulpit and the Monarch's throne@That Charity frequents; but in this age,@She guides the Theatre and treads the stage;@Lo! She is present, cast your eyes around,@And here in each Spectator's heart she's found.@