Sit silent then, that my pleas'd Soul may see | A Judging Audience once, and worthy me: My faithful Scene from true Records shall tell, How Trojan Valour did the Greek excell; Your great Forefathers shall their Fame regain, And Homers angry Ghost repine in vain. 40 EPILOGUE. Spoken by THERSITES. These cruel Critiques put me into Passion, For in their lowring Looks I reade Damnation: You expect a Satyr, and I seldom fail; When I'm first beaten, 'tis my Part to rail. You British Fools of the old Trojan Stock, That stand so thick one cannot miss the Flock, Poets have cause to dread a keeping Pit, When Womens Cullyes come to judge of Wit. As we strew Rats-bane when we Vermine fear, 'Twere worth our Cost to scatter Fool-bane here ; 10 And after all our judging Fops were serv'd, Dull Poets too shou'd have a Dose reserv'd, Such Reprobates as, past all Sence of Shaming, Write on, and here are satisfy'd with Damming, Next, those, to whom the Stage does not belong Such whose Vocation onely is to Song, Poets take in for Journeywork in Rhime. From Pen and Ink, as Madmen are from Knives : I cou'd rayl on, but 'twere a Task as vain As Preaching Truth at Rome, or Wit in Spain: Yet to huff out our Play was worth my trying; John Lilbourn scap'd his Judges by defying. If guilty, yet I'm sure oth'Churches Blessing, By suffering for the Plot, without confessing. PROLOGUE TO CESAR BORGIA, SON OF POPE TH' unhappy man who once has trail'd a| men; to please himself, but other Is always drudging, wasts his Life and Blood, Yet only eats and drinks what you think good. What praise soe're the Poetry deserve, Name but a Cuckold, all the City swarms; CÆSAR BORGIA, 1680. The play is by Lee. 12 best] Editors till Christie wrongly give times] The editors wrongly give time blest Either you come not here, or, as you grace) Some old acquaintance, drop into the place, Careless and qualmish with a yawning Face.) You sleep o're Wit, and by my troth you THE PROLOGUE AT OXFORD, 1680. Nor should we want the Sentence to Ev'n in our first Original, a Cart. II As chief Supporters of the Triple Crown. 20 This is our Comfort: none c'er cried us But who disturb'd both Bishop and a Crown. PROLOGUE TO THE LOYAL GENERAL. Remove your Benches, you apostate Pit, 16 After this line in 1684 this couplet: 18 After this line in 1684 these couplets: Scot, Swarez, Tom of Aquin, must go down. 24 thence be call'd] then be prov'd 1684. THE LOYAL GENERAL, 1680. The play is by Tate. 16 Noise, Madness, all unreasonable Things, Decoctions of a Barly-water Muse: 24 PROLOGUE TO THE SPANISH FRYAR, OR THE DISCOVERY. DOUBLE Now, Luck for us, and a kind hearty Pit, For he who pleases, never failes of Wit. Honour is yours: And you, like Kings at City Treats, bestowit; The Writer kneels, and is bid rise a l'oct. But you are fickle Sovereigns, to our Sorrow; You dubb to day, and hang amantomorrow: You cry the same Sense up, and down again, Just like brass Money once a year in Spain : Take you i' th' mood, what e'er base metal come, 10 You coin as fast as Groats at Bromingam; Though 'tis no more like Sense in ancient Plays Than Rome's religion like St. Peter's days. In short, so swift your Judgments turn and wind, You cast our fleetest Wits a mile behind. 'Twere well your Judgments but in Plays did EPILOGUE TO TAMERLANE THE GREAT. LADIES, the Beardless Author of this Day Thus Cowley blossom'd soon, yet Flourish'd long, This is as forward, and may prove as strong. Youth with the Fair should always Favour find, 9 Or we are damn'd Dissemblers of our kind. What's all this Love they put into our Parts? 'Tis but the pit-a-pat of Two Young Ilcarts. Shou'd Hag and Gray-beard make suchtender moan, Faith, you'd e'en trust 'em to themselves alone, And cry, let's go, here's nothing to be done. Since Love's our Business, as 'tis your Delight, The Young, who best can practise, best can What though he be not come to his full Pow'r? A PROLOGUE. GALLANTS, a bashful Poet bids me say He wants the suff'ring part of Resolution, Will make some Settlement upon his Wit. Their's are not the first Colours you forsook! TAMERLANE The Great, 1681. The play is by of 1693. Charles Saunders. PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE TO THE PRINCESS OF CLEVES. PROLOGUE. LADIES! (I hope there's none behind to hear,) And kisses every living thing he meets! Their Adam cozen'd our poor Grandame Eve., tear; Tis true, such Heroes in a Play go far; 20 We fear to give, because they fear to take; To choose a Husband for my Confessor. For telling Tales from out the Nuptial School. Our Play a merry Comedy had prov'd, 29 Had she confess'd as much to him she lov'd. True Presbyterian-Wives the means wou'd try: But damn'd Confessing is flat Popery. |