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PROLOGUE.
Spoken by a Woman.
THE JUDGE 1 remov’d, tho he’s no more My Lord, | |
| May plead at Bar, or at the Council-Board: | |
| So may cast Poets write; there’s no Pretension, | |
| To argue loss of Wit from loss of Pension. | |
| Your looks are cheerful; and in all this place | 5 |
| I see not one that wears a damning face. | |
| The British Nation is too brave to show | |
| Ignoble vengeance on a vanquish’d foe. | |
| At least be civil to the Wretch imploring; | |
| And lay your Paws upon him without roaring: | 10 |
| Suppose our Poet was your foe before, | |
| Yet now, the bus’ness of the Field is o’er; | |
| ’Tis Time to let your Civil Wars alone, | |
| When Troops are into Winter-quarters gone. | |
| Jove was alike to Latian and to Phrygian; | 15 |
| And you well know, a Play’s of no Religion. | |
| Take good advice, and please your selves this Day | |
| No matter from what hands you have the Play. | |
| Among good Fellows ev’ry health will pass, | |
| That serves to carry round another glass: | 20 |
| When with full bowls of Burgundy you dine, | |
| Tho 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. | 25 |
| You’ve seen young Ladies at the Senate door | |
| Prefer Petitions, and your grace implore; | |
| However grave the Legislators were, | |
| Their Cause went ne’re the worse for being fair. | |
| Reasons as weak as theirs, perhaps I bring; | 30 |
| But I cou’d bribe you with as good a thing, | |
| I heard him make advances of good Nature, | |
| That he for once, wou’d sheath his cutting Satyr: | |
| Sign but his Peace, he vows he’ll ne’er again | |
| The Sacred Names of Fops and Beaus 2 profane. | 35 |
| Strike up the Bargain quickly; for I swear, | |
| As Times go now, he offers very fair. | |
| Be not too hard on him with Statutes neither; | |
| Be kind; and do not set your Teeth together, | |
| To stretch the Laws, as Coblers do their Leather. | 40 |
| Horses by Papists are not to be ridden, | |
| But sure the Muses Horse was ne’re forbidden; | |
| For in no Rate-Book it was ever found | |
| That Pegasus was valued at Five-pound: | |
| Fine him to dayly Drudging and Inditing; | 45 |
| And let him pay his Taxes out in Writing. | |
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EPILOGUE
Spoken betwixt Antonio and Morayma.
Mor. I Quak’d at heart for fear the Royal Fashion | |
| Shou’d have seduc’d Us two to Seperation: | |
| To be drawn in, against our own desire, | |
| Poor I to be a Nun, poor You a Fryar. | 50 |
| Ant. I trembled when the Old Man’s hand was in, | |
| He would have prov’d we were too near of kin, | |
| Discovering old Intrigues of Love, like t’other, | |
| Betwixt my Father and thy sinful Mother; | |
| To make Us Sister Turk and Christian Brother. | 55 |
| Mor. Excuse me there; that League shou’d have been rather | |
| Betwixt your Mother and my Multi-Father; | |
| ’Tis for my own and my Relations Credit | |
| Your Friends shou’d bear the Bastard, mine shou’d get it. | |
| Ant. Suppose us two, Almeyda and Sebastian, | 60 |
With Incest prov’d upon us:———
Mor. Without Question, | |
| Their Conscience was too queazy of digestion. | |
| Ant. Thou woud’st have kept the Councell of thy Brother | |
| And sinn’d till we repented of each other. | |
| Mor. Beast as you are, on Natures Laws to trample! | 65 |
| ’Twere fitter that we follow’d their Example. | |
| And since all Marriage in Repentance ends, | |
| ’Tis good for us to part while we are Friends. | |
| To save a Maids Remorses and Confusions, | |
| E’en leave me now, before We try Conclusions. | 70 |
| Ant. To copy their Example first make certain | |
| Of one good hour, like theirs, before our parting; | |
| Make a debauch o’re Night of Love and Madness; | |
| And marry, when we wake, in sober sadness. | |
| Mor. I’le follow no new Sects of your inventing. | 75 |
| One Night might cost me nine long months repenting: | |
| First wed, and, if you find that Life a Fetter, | |
| Dye when you please, the sooner Sir the better: | |
| My wealth wou’d get me love e’re I cou’d ask it: | |
| Oh there’s a strange Temptation in the Casket: | 80 |
| All these Young Sharpers would my grace importune, | |
| And make me thundring Votes 3 of Lives 4 and Fortune. | |
