O fay, this comedy pleas'd long ago,
Tis not enough to make it pals you now:
Yet, gentlemen, your ancestors had wit;
When few men cenfur'd, and when fewer writ.
And Johníon, of thofe few the best, chofe this,
As the best model of his mafter-piece :
Subtle was got by our Albumazar,
That alchymift by this aftrologer;
Here he was fafhion'd, and we may fuppofe
He lik'd the fashion well, who wore the cloathes.
But Ben made nobly his what he did mould;
What was another's lead becomes his gold:
Like an unrighteous conqueror he reigns,
Yet rules that well, which he unjustly gains.
But this our age fuch authors does afford,
As make whole plays, and yet fcarce writ one word:
Who, in this anarchy of wit, rob all,
And what's their plunder, their poffeffion call:
Who, like bold padders, fcorn by night to prey,-
But rob by fun-fhine, in the face of day:
Nay fcarce the common ceremony ufe
Of, Stand, Sir, and deliver up your Mufe;
But knock the poet down, and, with a grace,
Mount Pegafus before the owner's face.
Faith, if you have fuch country Toms abroad,
"Tis time for all true men to leave that road.
Yet it were modeft, could it but be faid,
They strip the living, but these rob the dead;
Dare with the mummies of the Muses play,
And make love to them the Egyptian way;
Or, as a rhiming author would have faid,
Join the dead living to the living dead.
Such men in poetry may claim fome part:
They have the licence, though they want the art; And might, where theft was prais'd, for laureats stand, Poets, not of the head, but of the hand.
They make the benefits of other studying,
Much like the meals of politic jack-pudding,
Whofe difh to challenge no man has the courage; 'Tis all his own when once h' has fpit i' th' porridge But, gentlemen, you're all concern'd in this;
You are in fault for what they do amifs :
For they the thefts till undiscover'd think,
And durft not steal, unless you pleas'd to wink.
Perhaps, you may award by your decree,
They fhou'd refund; but that can never be;
For fhould you letters of reprifal feal,
These men writ that which no man elfe would steal..
PROLOGUE TO ARVIRAGUS and PHILICIA revived.
(By LODOWIC CARLELL, Efq;)
WITH fickly actors and an old house too,
We're match with glorious theatres and new.
And with our ale-houfe fcenes, and cloathes bare worn, Can neither raise old plays, nor new adorn.
If all thefe ills could not undo us quite,
A brisk French troop is grown your dear delight;
Who with broad bloody bills call you each day,
To laugh and break your buttons at their play;
Or fee fome serious piece, which we prefume
Is fall'n from fome incomparable plume;
And therefore, Meffieurs, if you'll do us grace,
Send lacquies early to preferve your place.
We dare not on your privilege intrench,
Or ask you why you like 'em? they are French.
Therefore fome go with courtefy exceeding,
Neither to hear nor fee, but fhow their breeding:
Each lady ftriving to out-laugh the reft;
To make it feem they understood the jest.
Their countrymen come in, and nothing pay,
To teach us English where to clap the play:
Civil Igad! Our hofpitable land
Bears all the charge, for them to understand:
Mean time we languish, and neglected lie,
Like wives, while you keep better company;
And with for your own fakes, without a fatire,
You'd lefs good breeding, or had more good nature.
PROLOGUE fpoken the first day of the King's House acting after the Fire.
O fhipwreck'd paflengers escape to land,
S so look they, when on the bare beach they stand
Dropping and cold, and their first fear scarce o'er,
Expecting famine on a defart shore.
From that hard climate we must wait for bread,
Whence e'en the natives, forc'd by hunger, fled.
Our stage does human chance prefent to view,
But ne'er before was feen fo fadly true:
You are chang'd too, and your pretence to fee
Is but a nobler name for charity.
Your own provisions furnish out our feasts,
While you the founders make yourselves the guests.
Of all mankind befides Fate had fome care,
But for poor wit no portion did prepare,
"Tis left a rent-charge to the brave and fair.
You cherish'd it, and now its fall you mourn,
Which blind unmanner'd zealous make their fcorn;
Who think that fire a judgment on the stage,
Which fpar'd not temples in its furious rage.
But as our new built city rifes higher,
So from old theatres may new afpire,
Since Fate contrives magnificence by fire.
Our great metropolis does far furpafs
Whate'er is now, and equals all that was:
Our wit as far does foreign wit excel,
And, like a king, hou'd in a palace dwell.
But we with golden hopes are vainly fed,
Talk high, and entertain you in a shed:
Your prefence here (for which we humbly fue}
Will
grace old theatres, and build up new.
PROLOGUE for the Women, when they acted at the old Theatre in Lincoln'sInn-Fields.
ERE none of you, gallants, e'er driven fo hard,
As when the poor kind foul was under guard,
And could not do't at home, in fome by-street
To take a lodging, and in private meet?
Such is our cafe, we can't appoint our house,
'The lover's old and wonted rendezvouz;
But hither to this trusty nook remove;
The worse the lodging is, the more the love.
For much good pastime, many a dear fweet hug,
Is ftol'n in garrets on the humble rug.
Here's good accommodation in the pit,
The grave demurely in the midft may fit;
And fo the hot Burgundian on the fide
Ply vizard mask, and o'er the benches ftride:
Here are convenient upper-boxes too,
For those that make the most triumphant show;
All that keep coaches muft not fit below.
|