PROLOGUE

TO THE

*MISTAKES.

ENTER MR. BRIGHT.

GENTLEMEN, we must beg your pardon ; here's no Prologue to be had to-day; our new play is like to come on, without a frontispiece; as bald as one of you young beaux, without your periwig. I left our young poet, fnivelling and fobbing behind the fcenes, and curfing fomebody that has deceived him.

ENTER MR. BOWEN.

HOLD your prating to the audience: here's honeft Mr. Williams, juft come in, half mellow, from the Rofe-Tavern. He fwears he is infpired with claret, and will come on, and that extempore too, either with a prologue of his own or fomething like one: O here he comes

*The Mistakes, or Falfe Reports, was not written, but, according to G. Jacob, fpoiled by Jofeph Harris, a comedian, who dedicated it to Mr. afterwards Sir Godfrey Kneller. It was acted in 1690. DERRICK.

to his tryal, at all adventures; for my part Į with him a good deliverance.

[Exeunt Mr. Bright and Mr. Bowen.

ENTER MR. WILLIAMS.

SAVE ye, firs, fave ye! I am in a hopeful

way.

I fhould fpeak fomething, in rhyme, now, for the play:

But the deuce take me, if I know what to say. I'll stick to my friend the author, that I can tell ye,

To the laft drop of claret, in

5

my belly. So far I'm fure 'tis rhyme-that needs no

granting:

And, if my verfes' feet ftumble-you

own are wanting.

fee my

Our young poet has brought a piece of work, In which, though much of art there does not

lurk,

It may hold out three days-and that's as long as Cork.

10

But, for this play-(which till I have done, we fhow not)

What may be its fortune-by the Lord-I know not.

This I dare fwear, no malice here is writ:

'Tis innocent of all things; even of wit.

He's no high-flyer; he makes no sky-rockets, His fquibs are only levell'd at your pockets. 16 And if his crackers light among your pelf,

You are blown up; if not, then he's blown up himself.

By this time, I'm fomething recover'd of my flufter'd madness:

And now a word or two in fober fadness.

Ours is a common play; and you pay down A common harlot's price; just half a crown. You'll fay, I play the pimp, on my friend's' fcore;

But fince 'tis for a friend, your gibes give o'er:

20

For many a mother has done that before. 25 How's this, you cry? an actor write? we know it ;

30

But Shakspeare was an actor, and a poet.
Has not great Jonfon's learning often fail'd?'
But Shakspeare's greater genius ftill prevail'd.
Have not fome writing actors, in this age,
Deferv'd and found fuccefs upon the stage?
To tell the truth, when our old wits are tir'd,
Not one of us but means to be infpir'd.
Let your kind prefence grace our homely-
cheer;

Peace and the butt is all our business here: 35
So much for that; and the devil take fmall

beer.

PROLOGUE

то

KING ARTHUR,

SPOKEN BY MR. BETTERTON.

SURE there's a dearth of wit in this dull

town,

When filly plays fo favourily go down;
As, when clipt money paffes, 'tis a fign
A nation is not oyer-ftock'd with coin.
Happy is he, who, in his own defence,
Can write juft level to your humble sense;
Who higher than your pitch can never go;
And, doubtless, he muft creep, who writes be-
low.

10

So have I feen, in hall of knight, or lord,
A weak arm throw on a long shovel-board;
He barely lays his piece, bar rubs and knocks,
Secur'd by weakness not to reach the box.
A feeble poet will his bufinefs do,
Who, ftraining all he can, comes up to you:
For, if you like yourfelves, you like him too.

An ape his own dear image will embrace ; 16 An ugly beau adores a hatchet face:

So, fome of

you, on pure inftinct of nature, Are led, by kind, to admire your fellow crea

ture.

In fear of which, our house has sent this day, To insure our new-built veffel, call'd a play; 21 No fooner nam'd, than one cries out,-Thefe ftagers

Come in good time, to make more work for wagers.

The town divides, if it will take or no;

The courtiers bet, the cits, the merchants too;
A fign they have but little elfe to do.
Bets, at the firft, were fool-traps; where the

wife,

26

Like fpiders, lay in ambush for the flies:
But now they're grown a common trade for

all,

29

And actions by the new-book rife and fall;
Wits, cheats, and fops, are free of wager-hall.
One policy as far as Lyons carries ;
Another, nearer home, fets up for Paris.

Our bets, at laft, would even to Rome extend,
But that the pope has prov'd our trusty friend.
Indeed, it were a bargain worth our money, 36
Could we infure another Ottoboni.
Among the reft there are a sharping fet,
.That pray for us, and yet against us bet.