Dr Sarah Burdett (Cambridge) tells us about her play, ‘Drama Queens of the Georgian Period: A Tragi-Comic Entertainment’. This blog post accompanies a short film, which you can watch on the BARS Youtube channel.
Drama Queens of the Georgian Period: A Tragic-Comic Entertainment.
In April 2026, I was delighted to collaborate with a group of actors to bring to life a play I had devised about women in Georgian theatre. The play, titled ‘Drama Queens of the Georgian Period: A Tragic-Comic Entertainment’, was performed at the Judith E. Wilson Drama Studio, University of Cambridge, as part of the Cambridge Festival. The idea grew out of my ongoing research into the lives and works of forgotten female theatre-makers of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (performers, dramatists, stage-managers), whose names have been all but erased from mainstream accounts of Britain’s theatrical past. The play’s action was inspired by, and revolved around, a series of verbatim female-authored / female-performed addresses and epilogues, written between 1750 and 1831, selected to offer non-specialist audiences a glimpse of the challenges faced by women who dared to venture into the male-dominated world of the Georgian playhouse, at a time when women’s proper place was considered to be in the home.
The play, and the addresses that it featured, focalised the following questions:
- How did women negotiate and justify their right to pursue a professional ambition which demanded a departure from their ‘private’ obligations?
- To what extent did their visibility in the theatre facilitate women’s capacity to expose, complicate and disrupt the period’s rigid sexual hierarchies and patriarchal biases?
- What were the public / professional responses to these women?
- How might their experiences still speak to us today?
Placing centre stage the voices of women not heard in over 200 years, the show provided amusing, surprising and often starkly troubling insight into women’s uniquely gendered experiences of Britain’s historical playhouse, while acknowledging and celebrating the female pioneers who championed women’s right to public and professional careers, paving the way for female theatre-makers of today.
A full cast list from the production (2nd April 2026) is reproduced below, along with copies of the epilogues and addresses featured in the performance, and used in the accompanying film, produced by Andrew Smith at FleetingYearFilms.
I am grateful to have been awarded a Judith E. Wilson Small Grant to fund this event.
For inquiries about the show / the women it features / its relationship to my research, I’m very happy to be contacted at scb93@cam.ac.uk.
Cast and Team
Male Theatre Manager / Male Performer: Manley Gavich
Kitty Clive: Jenny Scudamore
Frances Abington: Eliza Harrison
Sarah Siddons: Eliza Harrison
Sarah Yates: Jenny Scudamore
Eliza Macauley: Eliza Harrison
Madame Eliza Vestris / Narrator: Sarah Burdett
Director and script writer: Sarah Burdett
Lighting: Anna Gungaloo
Epilogues and Addresses
1.‘Epilogue’. From Kitty Clive’s comedy The Rehearsal, or, Bayes in Petticoats (1750), performed at the Drury Lane Theatre, London. Spoken by Kitty Clive. Written by David Garrick. Delivered in film / performance by Jenny Scudamore
David Garrick, manager of the prestigious Drury Lane Theatre, was an ostensible supporter of female playwrights. But this epilogue, spoken by actress, singer and author Kitty Clive, at the close of her comedy The Rehearsal, takes an ironic turn, suggesting that women who write are abandoning their properly feminine duties by neglecting the cares of the home.
A woman write! Hey-day! Cry one and all!
No wonder truly, Bedlam, is too small.
Should this wind circulate and grow a fashion
Each house would be a mad one thro’ the Nation –
But pray, sirs, why must we not write, nor think?
Have we not heads, and hands, and Pen and Ink?
Can you boast more, that are so wondrous wise?
Have women then no weapons but their eyes?
Were we, like you, to let our Genius loose
We’d top your wit and match you for abuse: …
Have we not proved when ladies please to write
how much tis ours to profit and Delight? …
In this age, so happy and refined,
What is there not perform’d by womankind?
Unvapoured now, by low domestic cares
And all the plague of family affairs…
From Joy to Joy, from Drum to Drum they roam
And nothing now is unenjoyed – but home –
In wit, in pleasure, we surpass your Spirit –
In what then lies your vast superior merit –
In All our Sex’s Name, Commision’d I,
You Braggadocio Tyrant Men defye;
Name but your Arms, the time and place – we’ll meet you,
Fight us but fair, and on my life we’ll beat you
2. ‘EPILOGUE’. From Frances Sheridan’s comedy The Dupe (1763). Written and spoken by Kitty Clive, who had performed in the play. Delivered in film / performance by Jenny Scudamore
Now able to speak for herself, Clive ridicules the suggestion that women should only ever write for the stage as a last resort, and implies the effortlessness with which they can produce comic verse
Ladies, methinks I hear you all complain,
Lord! Here’s the talking creature come again!
The men seem frightened, for ’tis on record
A prating female will have the last word.
But you’re all out; for sure as you’re alive,
Not Mrs Friendly now, I’m Mrs. Clive;
No character from fiction will I borrow,
But if you please, I’ll talk again to−morrow.
Then you conclude, from custom long in vogue,
That I come here to speak an Epilogue,
With satyr, humour, spirit, quite refin’d,
Double−entendre too, with wit combin’d,
Not for the ladies, but to please the men.
All this you guess, and now you’re out again;
For to be brief, our author bid me say
She tried, but cou’dn’t get one to her play.
No Epilogue! why, Ma’am, you’ll spoil your treat,
An Epilogue’s the cordial after meat;
For when the feast is done, without all question,
They’ll want liquors to help them with digestion …
So beg your friends to write, for faith ’tis hard,
If ‘mongst them all you cannot find one bard.
She took the hint. Will you, good Sir? or you, Sir?
A sister scribbler! sure you can’t refuse her!
… A poet [was asked], but he alleged for reason
The Muses were so busy at this season,
In penning libels, politics and satyrs,
They had not leisure for such trifling matters.
What’s to be done, she cry’d? Can’t you endeavour
To say some pretty thing? I know you’re clever.
I promis’d, but, unable to succeed,
Beg you’ll accept this rambling deed.
3. ‘Epilogue’. From Elizabeth Craven’s Miniature Picture (1781). Spoken by actress Frances Abington. Written by Joseph Jekyll. Delivered in performance by Eliza Harrison
Frances Abington, actress and subsequent fashion icon, had publicly fallen out with Garrick who defined her as capable only of embodying whimsical and trivial roles becoming of farce. She opposed his ill-treatment of female dramatists and actresses and accused him of ruling with an iron rod.
The men, like tyrants of the vilest kind
Have long our sexes energy confined.
In full dress black, with bows and solemn stalk
Have long monopolised the prologue’s walk.
But still the flippant epilogue was ours,
It asked, for gay support, the female pow’rs
It asked a flirting girl, coquet and free,
And so, to master it, they fixed on me.
But they mistake my talents – I was born
To tell in sobs and sighs, some tale forlorn
to whet my handkerchief with Juliet’s woes,
Or tune to Shaw’s despair my tragic nose.
Yes, Gentlemen, in education spite,
You still shall find, that we can read, and write
Like you, can swell a Debt or a Debate,
Can quit the table to steer the state.
… Methinks even now I hear my sex’s tongues
The sweet smart melody or female lungs
The storm of Question, the Division calm,
With “hear her! Hear her! Mrs Speaker Ma’am!”
… Look to the camp! – Coxheath and Warley common[1]
supplied at least for every tent a woman
… Love was the watchword till the morning strife
Roused the tame major and his warring wife.
Look to the stage – Tonight’s example draws,
a female dramatist to grace the cause.
Too long your sex has Pegasus bestowed
A neat side saddle is an easier load …
Myself can drive a phaeton, and, let me see
There’s Mrs Astley – she can manage three!…[2]
The men invade our rights – The delicate Elves
They lisp and stutter, like creatures ourselves
Rouge more than we do, simper, flounce and fret
And they coquet. Good God! How they coquet.
They too are coy, and monstrous to relate
Theirs is the coyness in a tete a tete.
… So cease the triumphs of presumpt’ous man!
And would you ladies but complete my plan
Here should you sign some patriot petition
To mend our constitutional condition. …
This fair committee shall detail the rest.
Then let the monsters (if they dare) Protest!
4: ‘Farewell Address’ (1782). Written and spoken by Sarah Siddons. Delivered following her performance in The Distrest Mother. Recited in film / performance by Eliza Harrison
This now famous address was spoken by revered tragedienne Sarah Siddons following her 1782 performance of the eponymous heroine in Ambrose Philip’s The Distrest Mother. The play constituted Siddons’s farewell performance at the Theatre Royal, Bath, ahead of her lucrative move to London’s Drury Lane. Directly contesting the implications of the opening epilogue (from The Rehearsal), Siddons re-models the actress as a devoted mother, showing her professional ambition and her duties to her children to go entirely hand in hand.
Have I not raised some expectation here?
Wrote by herself? What! Authoress and player?
True, we have heard her, thus I guess’d you’d say,
With decency recite another’s lay;
But never heard, nor ever could we dream
Herself had sipp’d the Heliconian stream.
… What will she treat of in this same address,
Is it to shew her learning? – Can you guess?
Here let me answer. No; far different views
Possess’d my soul, and fir’d my virgin Muse;
‘Twas honest gratitude, at whose request
Shamed be the heart that will not do its best.
The time draws nigh when I must bid adieu
To this delightful spot, nay, ev’n to you
To you, whose fost’ring kindness rear’d my name,
O’erlooked my faults, but magnified my fame. …
Oh! could kind Fortune, where I next am thrown,
Bestow but half the candour you have shewn.
Envy o’ercome, will hurl her pointless dart,
And critic gall be shed without its smart,
The numerous doubts and fears I entertain,
Be idle all as all possess’d in vain.
But to my promise. If I thus am blessed,
In friendship link’d, beyond my worth caress’d,
Why don’t I here, you’ll say, content remain,
Nor seek uncertainties for certain gain?
What can compensate for the risks you run;
And what your reasons? Surely you have none.
To argue here would but your time abuse:
I keep my word; my reason I produce.
Her three children enter
These are the moles that bear me from your side;
Where I was rooted, where I could have died.
Stand forth, ye elves, and plead your mother’s cause;
Ye little magnets, whose soft influence draws
Me from a point where every gentle breeze,
Wafted my bark to happiness and ease
Sends me adventurous on a larger main,
In hopes that you may profit by my gain.
Have I been hasty? am I then to blame;
Answer, all ye who own a parent’s name.
Thus have I tried you with an untaught Muse,
Who for your favour still most humbly sues,
That you, for classic learning, will receive
My soul’s best wishes, which I freely give
For polished periods round, and touched with art,
The fervent offering of my grateful heart.
4. ‘Occasional Address’. Spoken by Mrs (Sarah) Yates in 1797 at the Haymarket Theatre, London, following her performance in Thomas Francklin’s tragedy The Earl of Warwick, in which she played the heroine, Margaret of Anjou. Delivered in film / performance by Jenny Scudamore
Sarah Yates, aunt-through-marriage of the acclaimed tragic actress, Mary Anne Yates, was unknown in London prior to this performance. The play was staged for her benefit to help provide the finances needed for her to care for her children following her husband’s shocking murder at his home in Pimlico: an event widely reported in the press.
The transient scene of mimic passions past
The far more arduous task’s reserv’d at last –
Oppress’d with gratitude, permit me here
To breathe the dictates of a heart sincere;
Cheer’d by your kindness, e’en amidst my woes
My soul with renovated transport blows!
Amid these tears, the rays of joy illume
The abyss of grief, and dissipate its gloom.
Each low’ring cloud, with dire Misfortune shed,
And veil’d in Grief, this once devoted head,
By your benignant breath is chac’d away
Like noxious vapours at return of day. –
Fain would I speak:—alas! these rising tears
Must plead the Orphan’s cause, the Widow’s fears.
To you, the little Innocents appeal,
And lift their trembling hands with grateful zeal:
Robb’d of a parent, ere they knew his worth,
Each pleasing prospect clouded in its birth;
Oh, may their hard and hapless lot attain
Your kind protection: – shall they sue in vain?
Ah no: – for Britons, generous as brave
With rapture fly to succour and to save –
My grateful heart expands with new delight
Grief and Despair shall wing their devious flight:
Fair Hope, serenely smiling, fills my breast,
And lulls each anxious thought to balmy rest.
’Tis yours, you liberal patrons, yours the praise,
To you, the hymn of Gratitude I raise:
Your genial kindness swells this throbbing heart
With extacy, and blunts Misfortune’s dart.
Blessed with your smiles, I breathe, I live again,
With such protectors, how can I complain?
5: ‘Epilogue’. Written and spoken by Elizabeth Wright Macauley following her one-woman-show, The Regalio, performed at the Town and Anchor Tavern, London, 1818. Delivered in film / performance by Eliza Harrison
Eliza Macauley was ostracised from Britain’s patent theatres after publishing a series of scathing attacks on the exploitative treatment of financially vulnerable actresses (of which she was one) by oppressive male theatre managers. Rather than accepting defeat and relinquishing her professional ambition, Macauley took matters into her hands, writing a series of one-woman-shows which she performed in taverns and minor playhouses across the country. Preceding the solo performances of the actress Fanny Kelly, this was a bold move for a woman, and Macauley’s anxieties around how well audiences would respond to her new initiative is signalled in her epilogue.
Custom exacts, and who denies her sway
An epilogue to every five Act play.
So Coleman writes, but you perhaps may say
Why epilogue for me – mine is no play?
Why that’s most true – not by dramatic rule;
Mine is a mixture we’ll call it the New School. …
But truce to arguments of vain resort
Let’s fall to something of more serious sort:
To me the awful moment is at hand
To prove if in your favour I can stand –
Alone – unfriended – no protector near
To raise my hopes to dissipate my fear.
Sometime a wanderer on the earth’s wide stage
To gentle gales or to the Tempest’s rage
By turns alas exposed; now raised on high
By partial praises, vaulting to the sky;
Or now again, by envious foes beset;
For foes will rise when envy spreads the net.
… Such are the tempests of theatric life
The Envenom’d Tongue of Discord Breeding strife…
Oh may my Tempest driven bark find here
A peaceful haven safe from every fear!
Let me from you obtain a prosperous name
And be the heralds of my growing fame …
My humble efforts, then, with kindness view –
My highest pleasure rests in pleasing you.
6. ‘Address’. Spoken by Madame Eliza Vestris in 1831 at the Olympic Theatre following her performance of Penelope in Robert Planche’s Prometheus and Pandora. Written by John Hamilton Reynolds. Delivered in film by Jenny Scudamore
This address was delivered to mark Madame Vestris’s newfound role as manager of the Olympic Theatre, London. Vestris had achieved success as an actress, singer, and stage designer. But, exasperated by her reliance on erratic male theatre managers for the procurement of work and income, she boldly took control of her own playhouse and company.
Noble and gentle – Matrons – patrons – Friends!
Before you here a venturous woman bends!
A warrior woman – that in strife embarks
The first of all dramatic Joan of Arcs.
Cheer on the enterprise, thus dared by me!
The first that ever led a company!
What though, until this very hour and age,
A Lessee-lady never owned a stage!
I’m that Belle Sauvage – only rather quieter,
Like Mrs Nelson, turned a stage proprietor! …
Humour and wit encourage my intent
And music means to help me pay my rent.
’Tis not mere promise, I appeal to the facts;
Henceforward judge me only by my acts!
In this, my purpose, stand I not alone –
All women sigh for houses of their own;
And I was weary of perpetual dodging
from house to house in search of board and lodging!
… Oh, my kind friends! Befriend me still as you
have in the bygone times been wont to do;
…Cheer on my comrades, too, in their career
some of your favourites are around me here …
Still aid the petticoat on old kind principles
and make me yet a Captain of Invincibles.
[1] Play was staged amidst the backdrop of the American war, at which point military camps were established across Britain, the most famous being Coxheath and Warley. Women accompanied men to the camps to offer support as wives.
[2] Mrs Patty Astley was a circus performer at Astley’s Amphitheatre (run by her husband), renowned for her physical prowess and bodily strength.