Transcribed from the [1828] John Cumberland edition by DavidPrice, Many thanks to John Hentgesfor finding this, providing a copy for the transcription, anddoing the background research.
AMBROSE GWINETT;
OR, A SEA-SIDE STORY:
A MELO-DRAMA,
In Three Acts,
BY D. W. JERROLD,
Author of The Mutiny at theNore, John Overy, The Devil’s Ducat,Golden Calf,
Bride of Ludgate, &c.
PRINTED FROMTHE ACTING COPY, WITH REMARKS,
BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL, BYD—G.
To which are added,
ADESCRIPTION OF THE COSTUME,—CAST OF THECHARACTERS,
ENTRANCES AND EXITS,—RELATIVEPOSITIONS OF THE
PERFORMERS ON THE STAGE,—AND THEWHOLE OF
THE STAGE BUSINESS,
As now performed at the
METROPOLITAN MINORTHEATRES.
EMBELLISHED WITH A FINEENGRAVING.
LONDON:
JOHN CUMBERLAND, 2, CUMBERLANDTERRACE,
CAMDEN NEW TOWN.
p.5REMARKS.
Ambrose Gwinett.
Hypercriticism has presumed to findfault with this drama, which a better taste has denominated“the serious domestic historical,” because,forsooth, it smacks of the Old Bailey!—and, whenjustification has been pleaded by citing George Barnwell,we have received the retort courteous, in the story of thewitling who affected to wear glasses because Pope wasnear-sighted. But a much better plea may be urged than theexample of a bard so moderately gifted as Lillo! “TheRavens of Orleans,” “Dog of Montargis,”“Family of Anglade,” and numerous other publicfavourites, speak daggers to such hypercriticism.—AmbroseGwinett is a strange tale and a true one; and a tale both strangeand true what playwright can afford to let slip through hisfingers? A murder or so may be prudently relinquished, forthe season will come round again; but he cannot expect to see aman hanged and resuscitated for his especial accommodation everyday in the week.
Ambrose Gwinett favoured the world with his autobiography at aperiod when autobiography was a rarity. He isunquestionably the only historian who has written his life afterbeing gibbetted—drawn and quartered we leave to theautobiographers and dramatists of another generation! Egotism under such extraordinary circumstances may surely bepardoned; and if honest Ambrose dwell somewhat complacently oncertain events of deep interest and wonder, he may plead a muchbetter excuse than our modern autobiographers, who invent muchand reveal little but a tedious catalogue of fictions andvanities; a charge that applies not to the startling narrative ofthe poor sweeper of the once insignificant