As many a man, who, for a quiet life,
Breeds out his bastard, not to noise his wife;
Thus o'er their darling plot thefe Trimmers cry;
And tho' they cannot keep it in their eye,
They bind it prentice to Count Tekely.
They b'lieve not the last plot; may I be curft,
If I believe they e'er believ'd the first.
No wonder their own plot no plot they think;
The man, that makes it, never fmells the ftink.
And now it comes into my head, I'll tell
Why thefe damn'd Trimmers lov'd the Turks fo well.
Th' orig'nal Trimmer, tho' a friend to no man,
Yet in his heart ador'd a pretty woman;
He knew that Mahomet laid up for ever,
Kind black-ey'd rogues for ev'ry true believer;
And, which was more than mortal man e'er tafted,
One pleasure that for threefcore twelvemonths lafted:
To turn for this, may furely be forgiven:
Who'd not be circumcis'd for such a heav'n?
PROLOGUE to the DISAPPOINTMENT,
Or, The MOTHER in FASHION.
OW comes it gentlemen, that now-a-days,
H When all of you to threwdly judge of plays,
Our poets tax you ftill with want of fenfe?
All prologues treat you at your own expence.
Sharp citizens a wifer way can go;
They make you fools; but never call you fo.
They, in good manners, feldom make a flip,
But treat a common whore with lady ship:
But here each faucy wit at random writes,
And ufes ladies as he ufes knights.
Our author, young and grateful in his nature,
Vows, that from him no nymph deserves a fatire :
Nor will he ever draw-----I mean his rhime,
Against the sweet partaker of his crime.
Nor is he yet fo bold an undertaker,
To call men fools; 'tis railing at their Maker.
Befides, he fears to fplit upon that shelf;
He's young enough to be a fop himself :
And if his praife can bring you all a-bed,
He fwears fuch hopeful youth no nation ever bred.
Your nurses, we prefume, in fuch a cafe,
Your father chofe, because he lik'd the face;
And, often, they fupply'd your mother's place.
The dry nurse was your mother's ancient maid,
Who knew fome former flip fhe ne'er betray'd.
Betwixt 'em both, for milk and fugar-candy,
Your fucking bottles were well ftor'd with brandy.
Your father, to initiate your discourse,
Meant to have taught you first to swear and curfe;
But was prevented by each careful nurse.
For, leaving dad and mam, as names too common,
They taught you certain parts of man and woman.
I pafs your schools; for there when first you came,
You wou'd be fure to learn the Latin name.
In colleges you fcorn'd the art of thinking,
But learn'd all moods and figures of good drinking:
Thence come to town, you practife play to know
The virtues of the high dice, and the low.
Each thinks himself a fharper most profound:
He cheats by pence; is cheated by the pound.
With thefe perfections, and what clfe he gleans,
The fpark fets up for love behind out fcenes;
Hot in purfuit of princeffes and queens.
There, if they know their man, with cunning carriage,
Twenty to one but it concludes in marriage.
He hires fome homely room, love's fruits to gather, And garret-high rebels against his father:
Brings her in triumph, with her portion, down,
A toilet, dreffing-box, and half a crown.
Some marry first, and then they fall to fcowring,
Which is, refining marriage into whoring.
Our women batten well on their good-nature;
All they can rap and rend for the dear creature.
But while abroad fo liberal the dolt is,
Poor fpoufe at home as ragged as a colt is.
Laft, fome there are, who take their first degrees
Of lewdnefs in our middle galleries.
The doughty bullies enter bloody drunk,
Invade and grubble one another's punk :
They caterwaul, and make a difmal rout,
Call fons of whores, and ftrike, but ne'er lug out:
Thus while for paltry punk they roar and stickle,
They make it bawdier than a conventicle.
PROLOGUE to the King and Queen, upon the Union of the two Companies in 1686.
INCE faction ebbs, and rogues grow out of fashion, Their penny-fcribes take care t' inform the nation, How well men thrive in this or that plantation:
How Penfylvania's air agrees with Quakers,
And Carolina's with affociators:
Both e'en too good for madmen and for traitors.
Truth is, our land with faints is fo run o'er
And ev'ry age produces such a store,
That now there's need of two New-Englands more.
What's this, you'll fay, to us and our vocation?
Only thus much, that we have left our station,
And made this theatre our new plantation.
The factious natives never cou'd agree;
But aiming, as they call'd it, to be free,
Thofe play-house Whigs fet up for property.
Some fay, they no obedience paid of late;
But would new fears and jealoufies create;
Till topfy-turvy they had turn'd the state.
Plain fenfe, without the talent of foretelling, Might guefs 'twould end in downright knocks and quelling:
For feldom comes there better of rebelling.
When men will, needlessly, their freedom barter
For lawless pow'r, fometimes they catch a Tartar;
There's a damn'd word that rhimes to this, call'd
charter.
But, fince the victory with us remains,
You fhall be call'd to twelve in all our gains;
If you'll not think us faucy for our pains.
Old men fhall have good old plays to delight 'em: And you, fair ladies and gallants that flight 'em, We'll treat with good new plays; if our new wits can write 'em.
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