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"Tis not our want of wit that keeps us poor;
For then the printer's prefs would fuffer more.
Their pamphleteers each day their venom fpit;
They thrive by treafon, and we ftarve by wit.
Confefs the truth, which of you has not laid
Four farthings out to buy the Hatfield maid?
Or, which is duller yet, and more would spite us,
Democritus his wars with Heraclitus?

Such are the authors, who have run us down,
And exercis'd you critics of the town.

Yet these are pearls to your lampooning rhimes,
Y' abuse yourselves more dully than the times.
Scandal, the glory of the English nation,
Is worn to rags, and fcribbled out of fashion.
Such harmless thrufts, as if, like fencers wife,
They had agreed their play before their prize.
Faith, they may hang their harps upon the willows;
'Tis juft like children when they box with pillows.
Then put an end to civil wars for fhame;

Let each knight-errant, who has wrong'd a dame,
Throw down his pen, and give her, as he can,
The fatisfaction of a gentleman.

PRO

PROLOGUE

To the LOYAL BROTHER:

Or, The PERSIAN PRINCE'.

[By Mr. SOUTHERN E, 1682.]

OETS, like lawful monarchs, rul'd the ftage, Till critics, like damn'd Whigs, debauch'd our age. Mark how they jump: critics would regulate Our theatres, and Whigs reform our state: Both pretend love, and both (plague rot them!) hate. The critic humbly feems advice to bring; The fawning Whig petitions to the king: But one's advice into a fatire slides ; T'other's petition a remonftrance hides. These will no taxes give, and those no pence; Critics would ftarve the poet, Whigs the prince. The critic all our troops of friends discards; Juft fo the Whig would fain pull down the guards. Guards are illegal, that drive foes away, As watchful fhepherds, that fright beafts of prey.

I The Loyal Brother; or, the Perfian Prince, Mr. Southern's first play, was acted at Drury-lane in 1682. The character of the Loyal Brother was a compliment intended for the duke of York. This prologue is a continued invective against the Whigs. Dryden also wrote the epilogue. He was at this time famous for prologue and epilogue writing; for which reafon Southern here begged his affiftance at the ufual price, which was either five or fix guincas. Dryden refused it under ten: the young bard answered, it was more than he had ever heard he demanded before. Ay, (replied the Laureat) "but it is not more than the thing's worth: the players have hitherto had my work too cheap; and I am refolved hereafter to be paid 4 for it.'

Kings, who difband fuch needlefs aids as these,
Are fafe as long as e'er their fubjects pleafe:.
And that would be till next queen 2 Befs's night:
Which thus grave penny chroniclers indite.
Sir Edmondbury frit, in woful wife,

Leads up the fhow, and milks their maudlin eyes.
There's not a butcher's wife but dribs her part,
And pities the poor pageant from her heart;
Who, to provoke revenge, rides round the fire,
And, with a civil congé, does retire :

But guiltless blood to ground muft never fall;
There's Antichrift behind, to pay for all.
The punk of Babylon in pomp appears,
A lewd old gentleman of feventy years:
Whofe age in vain our mercy would implore;
For few take pity on an old-caft whore.

The devil, who brought him to the fhame, takes part;
Sits cheek by jowl, in black, to cheer his heart;
Like thief and parfon in a Tyburn-cart.

The word is given, and with a loud huzza
The mitred poppet from his chair they draw:

2

Queen Befs's night. At the King's-head tavern, the corner of Chancery-lane, and oppofite the inner-Temple-gate, the principal opponents to the court-meafures and the chiefs of the Whig-party aflembled, under the name of the King's-head Club, and afterwards the Green-ribbon Club, from ribbons of that colour which they wore in their hats. Here they fubfcribed a guinea a-piece for a bonfire, in which the effigies of the pope was to be burnt on the 17th of November, being the anniverfary of Queen Elizabeth's birth, with more than ordinary pemp; for it was heretofore an annual ceremony, ufually made without any remarkable parade. The proceffion now confifled of one representing the dead body of Sir Edmondbury Godfrey, carried on a horfe, with a perfon preceding it ringing a bell, to remind people of his murder: then followed a mob of fellows, dressed like carmelites, jefuits, bishops, cardinals, &c. and feveral boys with incenfe pots furrounding an image of the pope, with that of the devil juft behind him. In this manner they marched from Bishopfgate to the corner of Chancery-lane, where they committed the inoffenfive effigies to the flames; while the balconies and windows of the King's head were filled with people of confequence, who countenanced the tumult.

On

On the flain corps contending nations fall:
Alas! what's one poor pope among them all!.
He burns; now all true hearts your triumphs ring:
And next, for fashion, cry, God fave the king,
A needful cry in midst of fuch alarms,
When forty thousand men are up in arms.
But after he's once fav'd, to make amends,
In each fucceeding health they damn his friends:
So God begins, but ftill the devil ends.

What if fome one, infpir'd with zeal, should call,
Come, let's go cry, God fave him at Whitehall?
His best friends would not like this over-care,
Or think him ere the fafer for this prayer.
Five praying faints are by an 3 act allow'd;
But not the whole church-militant in croud.
Yet, fhould heaven all the true petitions drain
Of Prefbyterians, who would king's maintain,
Of forty thousand, five would scarce remain.

}

}

EPILOGUE to the fame.

A

Virgin poet was ferv'd up to-day,

Who, till this hour, ne'er cackled for a play,
He's neither yet a Whig nor Tory-boy;

But, like a girl, whom feveral would enjoy,
Begs leave to make the best of his own nat'ral toy.
Were I to play my callow author's game,
The king's house would inftru&t me by the name.
There's loyalty to one; I wish no more:

A commonwealth founds like a common whore.
Let husband or gallant be what they will,
One part of woman is true Tory ftill.

3 By the Bartholomew act, not more than five diffenters were allowed to commune together at one time,

VOL. II.

S

If

If any factious fpirit fhould rebel,

Our fex with eafe can every rifing quell.
Then, as you hope we fhould your failings hide,
An honeft jury for our play provide.

Whigs at their poets never take offence;

They fave dull culprits, who have murder'd fenfe.
Tho' nonfenfe is a naufeous heavy mass,

The vehicle call'd Faction makes it pass.
Faction in play's the commonwealth-man's bribe;
The leaden farthing of the canting tribe:
Tho' void in payment laws and ftatutes make it,
The neighbourhood, that knows the man, will take it.
'Tis faction buys the votes of half the pit;
Their's is the penfion-parliament of wit.
In city-clubs their venom let them vent;
For there 'tis fafe, in its own element.

Here, where their madness can have no pretence,
Let them forget themselves an hour of sense.
In one poor ifle, why fhould two factions be
Small diff'rence in your vices I can see:
In drink and drabs both fides too well agree.
Would there were more preferments in the land:
If places fell, the party could not stand:

Of this damn'd grievance ev'ry Whig complains ;
They grunt like hogs till they have got their grains,
Mean time you see what trade our plots advance;
We fend each year good money into France;
And they that know what merchandize we need,
Send o'er true Proteftants to mend our breed.

PRO

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