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PROLOGUE. ALMIGHTY 1 critiques! whom our Indians here | |
| Worship, just as they do the Devil—for fear; | |
| In Rev’rence to your Power, I come this day, | |
| To give you timely warning of our Play. | |
| The Scenes are old, the Habits are the same | 5 |
| We wore last Year, before the Spaniards came. | |
| Our Prologue, th’ old-cast too 2 | |
| For to observe the new it should at least | |
| Be spoke 3 by some ingenious Bird or Beast. | |
| Now, if you stay, the Blood that shall be shed | 10 |
| From this poor Play be all upon your Head. | |
| We neither promise you one Dance or Show; | |
| Then Plot and Language, they are wanting too. | |
| But you, kind Wits, will those light Faults excuse, | |
| Those are the common Frailties of the Muse; | 15 |
| Which who observes, he buys his Place too dear; | |
| For ’tis your Business to be cozen’d here. | |
| These wretched Spies of Wit must then confess, | |
| They take more Pains to please themselves the less. | |
| Grant us such Judges, Phœbus, we request, | 20 |
| As still mistake themselves into a Jest; | |
| Such easy Judges that our Poet may | |
| Himself admire the Fortune of his Play; | |
| And arrogantly, as his Fellows do, | |
| Think he writes well, because he pleases you. | 25 |
| This he conceives not hard to bring about, | |
| If all of you would join to help him out: | |
| Would each Man take but what he understands, | |
| And leave the rest upon the Poet’s Hands. | |
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EPILOGUE.
Spoken by a Mercury. To all and singular in this full Meeting, | 30 |
| Ladies and Gallants, Phœbus sends me greeting. | |
| To all his Sons, by whate’er Title known, | |
| Whether of Court, of Coffee-house, or Town; | |
| From his most mighty Sons, whose Confidence | |
| Is plac’d in lofty Sound and humble Sense, | 35 |
| Even to his little Infants of the Time, | |
| Who write new Songs and trust in Tune and Rhyme; | |
| Be’t known, that Phœbus (being daily griev’d | |
| To see good Prays condemn’d and bad receiv’d) | |
| Ordains your Judgment upon every Cause | 40 |
| Henceforth be limited by wholesome Laws. | |
| He first thinks fit no Sonnetteer advance | |
| His Censure farther than the Song or Dance. | |
| Your Wit burlesque may one Step higher climb, | |
| And in his Sphere may judge all dogrel Rhyme; | 45 |
| All proves, and moves, and loves, and honours too; | |
| All that appears high Sense, and scarce is low. | |
| As for the Coffee-wits, he says not much; | |
| Their proper Business is to damn the Dutch. | |
| For the great Dons of Wit ——— | 50 |
| Phœbus gives them full Privilege alone | |
| To damn all others, and cry up their own. | |
| Last, for the Ladies, ’tis Apollo’s Will, | |
| They should have power to save, but not to kill; | |
| For Love and he long since have thought it fit, | 55 |
| Wit live by Beauty, Beauty reign by Wit. | |
