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Kings, who disband such needless aids as these,
Are safe-as long as e'er their subjects please:
And that would be till next Queen Boss's
night :*

Which thus grave penny chroniclers indite.
Sir Edmondbury first, in woful wise, [eyes.
Leads up the show, and milks their maudli
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 must never fall;
There's Antichrist behind, to pay for all.
The punk of Babylon in pomp appears,

[call,

So God begins, but still the devil ends.
What if some one, inspired with zeal, should
Come, let's go cry, God save him, at Whitehall?
His best friends would not like this over-care,
Or think him e'er the safer for this prayer.
Five praying saints are by an act allow'd;
But not the whole church-militant in crowd.
Yet, should Heaven all the true petitions drain,
Of Presbyterians, who would kings maintain,
Of forty thousand, five would scarce remain.

A lewd old gentleman of seventy years:

Whose age in vain our mercy would implore;

PROLOGUE TO THE KING AND QUEEN,

For few take pity on an old cast whore. [part; VYON THE UNION OF THE TWO COMPANIES

The devil, who brought him to the shame, takes
Sits cheek by jowl, in black, to cheer his heart;
Like thief and parson in a Tyburn cart.
The word is given, and with a loud huzza
The mitred puppet from his chair they draw:
On the slain corpse 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 save the king.
A needful cry in midst of such alarms,
When forty thousand men are up in arms.
But after he's once saved, to make amends,
In each succeeding health they damn his
friends :

• Queen Bess's night] At the King's Head Tavern, the corner of Chancery Lane, and opposite the Inner Templegate, the principal opponents to the courtmeasures and the chiefs of the Whig party as sembled, 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 subscribed a guinea apiece for a bonfire, in which the effigies of the pope was to be burnt on the 17th of November, being the anniversary of Queen Elizabeth's birth, with more than ordinary pomp; for it was heretofore an annual ceremony, usually made without any remarkable parade. The procession now consisted of one representing the dead body of Sir Edmundbury Godfrey, carried on a horse, with a person preceding it ringing a bell, to remind people of his murder: then followed a mob of fellows, dressed like carmelites, jesuits, bishops, cardinals, &c. and several boys with incense pots surrounding an image of the pope with that of the devil just behind him,

Like thief and parson in a Tyburn cart.' In this manner they marched from Bishopsgate to the corner of Chancery Lane, where they committed the inoffensive effigies to the flames; while the balconies and windows of the King's Head were filled with people of consequence, who countenanced the tu.nult; which, the Hon Roger North says, struck a terror upon people's spirits. The year of acting the play, to which we have here a prologue, great additions, alterations and expensive improvements were intended to be made in this procession, which was prevented entirely by the loya ty and vigilance of the sheriffs of the city, Sir Dudley North and Sir Peter Rich, who paraded the streets all day and the best part of the night. D.

IN 1682.

SINCE faction ebbs, and rogues grow out of

fashion, [nation, Their penny scribes take care to inform the How well men thrive in this or that plantation:

How Pennsylvania's air agrees with Quakers,
And Carolina's with Associators:
Both e'en too good for madmen and for traitors.
Truth is, our land with saints is so run o'er,
And every age produces such a store, [more.
That now there's need of two New Englands

What's this, you'll say, 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 could agree;
But aiming, as they call'd it, to be free,
Those playhouse Whigs set up for property.
Some say, they no obedience paid of late;
But would new fears and jealousies create;
Till topsy-turvy they had turn'd the state.

Plain sense, without the talent of foretelling, Might guess 't would end in downright knocks and quelling:

For seldom comes there better of rebelling.

When men will needlessly their freedom barter
For lawless power, sometimes they catch a
Tartar;
[Charter.

There's a daran'd word that rhymes to this, call'd

But, since the victory with us remains,
You shall be call'd to twelve in all our gains;
If you'll not think us saucy for our pains.
Old men shall have good old plays to delight'em,
And you, fair ladies and gallants,that slight 'em,
We'll treat with good new plays: if our new
wits can write 'em

We'll take no blundering verse, no fustian

tumour,

No dribbling love, from this or that presumer;
No dull fat fool shamm'd on the stage for humour.
For, faith, some of 'em such vile stuff have made,
As none but fools or fairies ever play'd;
But 't was, as shopmen say, to force a trade.
We've given you Tragedies, all sense defying,
And singing inen, in wofui metre dying;
This 't is when heavy lubbers will be flying.
All these disasters we well hope to weather;
We bring you none of our old lumber hither:
Whig poets and Whig sheriffs may hang to-
gether.

Such build their poems the Lucretian way
So
many huddled atoms make a play;
They call that nature, which is ignorance.
And if they hit in order by some chance,
To such a fame let mere town-wits aspire,
And their gay nonsense their own cits admire,
Our poet, could he find forgiveness here,
Would wish it rather than a plaudit there.
He owns no crown from those Prætorian bands,
But knows that right is in the senate's hands,
Not impudent enough to hope your praise,
Low at the Muses' feet his wreath he lays,
And, where he took it up, resigns his bays. [fit,
Kings make their poets whom themselves think
But 't is your suffrage makes authentic wit.

PROLOGUE TO THE UNIVERSITY
OF OXFORD.

SPOKEN BY MR. HART, AT THE ACTING OF
THE SILENT WOMAN.

to see.

WHAT Greece, when learning flourish'd, only
Athenian judges, you this day renew. [knew,
Here too are annual rites to Pallas done,
And here poetic prizes lost or won.
Methinks I see you, crown'd with olives, sit,
And strike a sacred horror from the pit.
A day of doom is this of your decree,
Where e'en the best are but by mercy
free:
A day, which none but Jonson durst have wish'd
[stage,
Here they, who long have known the useful
Come to be taught themselves to teach the age.
As your commissioners our poets go,
To cultivate the virtue which you sow;
In your Lycæum first themselves refin'd,
And delegated thence to humankind.
But as ambassadors, when long from home,
For new instructions to their princes come;
So poets, who your precepts have forgot,
Return, and beg they may be better taught:
Follies and faults elsewhere by them are shown,
But by your manners they correct their own.
The illiterate writer, empiric-like, applies
To minds diseas'd, unsafe, chance, remedies:
The learn'd in schools, where knowledge first
Studies with care the anatomy of man; [began,
Sees virtue, vice, and passions in their cause,
And fame from science, not from fortune,
So Poetry, which is in Oxford made [draws.
An art, in London only is a trade.

There haughty dunces, whose unlearned pen
Could ne'er spell grammar, would be reading

men.

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Instead of wit, and humours, your delight
Was there to see two hobby-horses fight;
Stout Scaramoucha with rush lance rode in,
And ran a tilt at centaur Arlequin.
For love you heard how amorous asses bray'd,
And cats in gutters gave their serenade.
Nature was out of countenance, and each day
Some new-born monster shown you for a play.
But when all fail'd, to strike the stage quite
dumb,
[come.

Those wicked engines call'd machines are
Thunder and lightning now for wit are play'd,
And shortly scenes in Lapland will be laid:
Art magic is for poetry profest;

And cats and dogs, and each obscener beast,
To which Egyptian dotards once did bow,
Upon our English stage are worshipp'd now.
Witchcraft reigns there, and raises to renown
Macbeth and Simon Magus of the town,
Fletcher's despis'd,your Jonson's out of fashion,
And wit the only drug in all the nation.

In this low ebb our wares to you are shown; By you those staple authors' worth is known; For wit's a manufacture of your own. [prais'd, When you, who only can, their scenes have We'll boldly back, and say, their price is rais'd.

EPILOGUE,

SPOKEN AT OXFORD, BY MRS. MARSHALL,

OFT has our poet wish'd, this happy seat
Might prove his fading Muse's last retreat:
I wonder'd at his wish, but now I find
He sought for quiet, and content of mind;
Which noiseful towns and courts can never
know,

And only in the shades like laurels grow.
Youth, ere it sees the world, here studies rest,
And age returning thence concludes it best.
What wonder if we court that happiness
Yearly to share, which hourly you possess.
Teaching e'en you, while the vext world we
show,

Your
peace to value more, and better know?
'T is all we can return for favours past,
Whose holy memory shall ever last,
For patronage from him whose care presides
O'er every noble art, and every science guides:
Bathurst, a name the learn'd with reverence
know,

And scarcely more to his own Virgil owe ;
Whose age enjoys but what his youth deserv'd,
To rule those Muses whom before he serv'd.
His learning, and untainted manners too,
We find, Athenians, are deriv'd to you:
Such ancient hospitality there rests
In yours, as dwelt in the first Grecian breasts,
Whose kindness was religion to their guests,
Such modesty did to our sex appear,

As, had there been no laws, we need not fear,
Since each of you was our protector here.
Converse so chaste, and so strict virtue shown
As might Apollo with the Muses own.
Till our return, we must despair to find
Judges so just, so knowing, and so kind.

PROLOGUE TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD.

DISCORD and plots, which have undone our age, With the same ruin have o'erwhelm'd the stage.

Our house has suffer'd in the common woe, We have been troubled with Scotch rebels too.

Our brethren are from Thames to Tweed departed,

And of our sisters all the kinder-hearted
To Edinburgh gone, or coach'd, or carted.
With bonny bluecap there they act all night
For Scotch halfcrown, in English threepence
hight.
[lean,

One nymph, to whom fat Sir John Falstaff's
There with her single person fills the scene.
Another, with long use and age decay'd,
Div'd here old woman, and rose there a maid.
Our trusty doorkeepers of former time
There strut and swagger in heroic rhyme.
Tack but a copper-lace to drugget suit,
And there's a hero made without dispute:
And that, which was a capon's tail before,
Becomes a plume for Indian emperor.
But all his subjects, to express the care
Of imitation, go, like Indians bare:
Lac'd linen there would be a dangerous thing;
It might perhaps a new rebellion bring ;
The Scot, who wore it, would be chosen king.
But why should I these renegades describe,
When you yourselves have seen a lewder tribe?
Teague has been here, and, to this learned pit,
With Irish action slander'd English wit:
You have beheld such barbarous Macs appear,
As merited a second massacre :
Such as, like Cain, were branded with dis-
And had their country stamp'd upon their face.
When strollers durst presume to pick your purse
We humbly thought our broken troop not worse.
How ill soe'er our action may deserve,
Oxford's a place where wit can never starve.

[grace,

PROLOGUE TO THE UNIVERSITY
OF OXFORD.

THOUGH actors cannot much of learning boast,
Of all who want it, we admire it most:
We love the praises of a learned pit,
As we remotely are allied to wit.
We speak our poet's wit, and trade in ore,
Like those, who touch upon the golden shore:
Betwixt our judges can distinction make,
Discern how much, and why, our poems take:
Mark if the fools, or men of sense, rejoice;
Whether the applause be only sound or voice.
When our fop gallants, or our city folly
Clap over-loud, it makes us melancholy: [raise,
We doubt that scene which does their wonder
And, for their ignorance, contemn their praise.
Judge then, if we who act, and they who write,
Should not be proud of giving you delight.
London likes grossly; but this nicer pit
Examines, fathoms all the depths of wit;

The ready finger lays on every blot; [should not.
Knows what should justly please, and what
Nature herself lies open to your view;

You judge by her, what draught of her is true,
Where outlines false, and colours seem to faint,
Where bunglers daub, and where true poets
But, by the sacred genius of this place, [paint.
By every Muse, by each domestic grace,
Be kind to wit, which but endeavours well,
And, where you judge, presumes not to excel.
Our poets hither for adoption come,

As nations sued to be made free of Rome :
Not in the suffragating tribes to stand,
But in your utmost, last, provincial band.
If his ambition may those hopes pursue,
Who with religion loves your arts and you,
Oxford to him a dearer name shall be,
Than his own mother-university.
Thebes did his green, unknowing, youth en-
He chooses Athens in his riper age.

[gage;

We bring you change, to humour your disease;
Change for the worse has ever used to please:
Then, 't is the mode of France; without whose
rules

None must presume to set up here for fools.
In France, the oldest man is always young,
Sees operas daily, learns the tunes so long,
Till foot, hand, head, keep time with eve y song
Each sings his part, echoing from pit and box,
With his hoarse voice, half harmony, half pox.
Le plus grand roi du monde is always ringing,
They show themselves good subjects by their
On that condition, set up every throat; [singing:
You wigs may sing, for you have chang'd your
Cits and citesses raise a joyful strain, [note.
'T is a good omen to begin a reign;
Voices may help your charter to restoring,
And get by singing what you lost by roaring;

PROLOGUE TO ALBION AND
ALBANIUS.

FULL twenty years and more, our labouring
Has lost on this incorrigible age: [stage
Our poets, the John Ketches of the nation,
Have seem'd to lash ye, even to excoriation:
But still no sign remains; which plainly notes,
You bore like heroes, or you bribed like Oates.
What can we do, when mimicking a fop,
Like beating nut trees, makes a larger crop?
Faith, we'll e'en spare our pains! and, to con-
tent you,
[you.
Will fairly leave you what your Maker meant
Satire was once your physic, wit your food;
One nourish'd not, and t'other drew no blood;
We now prescribe, like doctors in despair,
The diet your weak appetites can bear.
Since hearty beef and mutton will not do,
Here's julap-dance, ptisan of song and show:
Give you strong sense, the liquor is too heady;
You're come to farce,-that's asses' milk,-
already.

Some hopeful youths there are, of callow wit,
Who one day may be men, if heaven think fit;
Sound may serve such, ere they to sense are

grown

Like leading-strings, till they can walk alone. But yet, to keep our friends in countenance, know,

The wise Italians first invented show;
Thence into France the noble pageant pass'd:
'T is England's credit to be cozen'd last. [o'er:
Freedom and zeal have chous'd you o'er and
Pray give us leave to bubble you once more;
You never were so cheaply fool'd before :

EPILOGUE TO ALBION AND ALBANIUS.

AFTER Our Æsop's fable shown to-day,
I come to give the moral of the play. [pace;
Feign'd Zeal, you saw, set out the speedier
But the last heat, Plain Dealing won the race:
Plain Dealing for a jewel has been known;
But ne'er till now the jewel of a crown. [vine,
When heaven made man, to show the work di-
Truth was his image, stamp'd upon the coin:
And when a king is to a god refined,

On all he says and does he stamps his mind:
This proves a soul without alloy, and pure;
Kings, like their gold, should every touch en-
dure.

To dare in fields is valour; but how few
Dare be so thoroughly valiant,-to be true!
The name of great let other kings affect:
He's great indeed, the prince that is direct.
His subjects know him now, and trust him more
Than all their kings, and all their laws before.
What safety could their public acts afford?
Those he can break; but cannot break his
So great a trust to him alone was due; [word.
Well have they trusted whom so well they
knew.

The saint, who walk'd on waves, securely trod,
While he believed the beck'ning of his God;
But when his faith no longer bore him out,
Began to sink, as he began to doubt.
Let us our native character maintain ;
'T is of our growth, to be sincerely plain.
To excel in truth we loyally may strive,
Set privilege against prerogative:
He plights his faith, and we believe him just;
His honour is to promise, ours to trust.

Thus Britain's basis on a word is laid, As by a word the world itself was made.

PROLOGUE TO ARVIRAGUS AND

PHILICIA.

REVIVED BY LODOWICK CARLELL, ESQ. SPOKEN BY MR. HART.

WITH sickly actors and an old house too, We're match'd with glorious theatres and new,

And with our alehouse scenes, and clothes bare worn,

Can neither raise old plays, nor new adorn.
If all these ills could not undo us quite, [light;
A brisk French troop is grown your dear de-
Who with broad bloody bills call you each day,
To laugh and break your buttons at their play;
Or see some serious piece, which we presume
Is fallen from some incomparable plume;
And therefore, Messieurs, if you'll do us grace,
Send lackeys early to preserve your place.
We dare not on your privilege intrench,
Or ask you why you like them? they are
French.

Therefore some go with courtesy exceeding,
Neither to hear nor see, but show their breed-
Each lady striving to out-laugh the rest; [ing:
To make it seem they understood the jest.
Their countrymen come in, and nothing pay,
To teach us English where to clap the play:
Civil, egad! our hospitable land

Bears all the charge, for them to understand:
Meantime we languish, and neglected lie,
Like wives, while you keep better company;
And wish for your own sakes, without a satire,
You'd less good breeding, or had more good-

nature.

Suppose our poet was your foe before,
Yet now, the business of the field is o'er ;
'T is time to let your civil wars alone,
When troops are into winter quarters gone.
Jove was alike to Latian and to Phrygian;
And you well know, a play 's of no religion.
Take good advice, and please yourselves this
day:

No matter from what hands you have the play.
Among good fellows every health will pass,
That serves to carry round another glass :
When with full bowls of Burgundy you dine,
Though at the mighty monarch you repine,
You grant him still Most Christian in his wine.

Thus far the poet; but his brains grow addle, And all the rest is purely from this noddle. Prefer petitions, and your grace implore; You have seen young ladies at the senate door However grave the legislators were, Their cause went ne'er the worse for being

fair.

Reasons as weak as theirs, perhaps, I bring;
But I could bribe you with as good a thing.
I heard him make advances of good nature;
That he, for once, would sheath his cutting sa-
tire.

Sign but his peace, he vows he 'll ne'er again
The sacred names of fops and beaus profane.
Strike up the bargain quickly; for I swear,
As times go now,
Be not too hard no him with statutes neither;
he offers very fair.
Be kind; and do not set your teeth together,
To stretch the laws, as cobblers do their leather.
Horses by Papists are not to be ridden,
But sure
the Muses' horse was ne'er for-
bidden;

For in no rate book it was ever found
That Pegasus was valued at five pound;
Fine him to daily drudging and inditing:
And let him pay his taxes out in writing.

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