The Poems of John Dryden

PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE TO THE SECOND PART OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA BY THE SPANIARDS.

PROLOGUE.

THEY who write Ill, and they who ne'r durst write,

Turn Critiques out of meer Revenge and Spight:

A Play-house gives 'em Fame; and up there

starts,

From a mean Fifth-rate Wit, a Man of Parts. (So Common Faces on the Stage appear; We take 'em in, and they turn Beauties here.)

Our Authour fears those Critiques as his Fate;

And those he Fears, by consequence, must Hate,

For they the Trafficque of all Wit invade, As Scriv❜ners draw away the Bankers Trade. Howe're, the Poet's safe enough to day; 11 They cannot censure an unfinish'd Play. But, as when Vizard Masque appears in Pit,

Straight every Man who thinks himself a Wit Perks up; and, managing his Comb with grace,

With his white Wigg sets off his Nut-brown Face;

That done, bears up to th' prize, and views each Limb,

To know her by her Rigging and her Trimm;

Then, the whole noise of Fops to wagers go, Pox on her, 't must be she; and Damm'ee no: Just so, I Prophecy, these Wits to-day 21 Will blindly guess at our imperfect Play: With what new Plots our Second Part is fill'd,

Who must be kept alive, and who be kill'd.
And as those Vizard Masques maintain that
Fashion,

To soothe and tickle sweet Imagination;
So, our dull Poet keeps you on with Masquing;
To make you think there's something worth
your asking:

But when 'tis shown, that which does now

delight you

Will prove a Dowdy, with a Face to fright

PROLOGUE.

Spoken on the First Day of the Kings House acting after the Fire.

So shipwrackt Passengers escape to Land, So look they, when on the bare Beach they stand,

Dropping and cold, and their first fear scarce
o'er,

Expecting Famine on a Desart Shore.
From that hard Climate we must wait for
Bread,

Whence ev'n the Natives, forc'd by hunger,
fled.

Our Stage does humane Chance present to
view,

But ne'er before was seen so sadly true:
You are chang'd too, and your Pretence to

And with our Ale-house scenes and Cloaths
bare worn

Can neither raise old Plays nor new adorn.
If all these Ills could not undo us quite,
A brisk French Troop is grown your dear
delight;

Who with broad bloudy Bills call you each
day

To laugh and break your Buttons at their
Play;

Or see some serious Piece, which we presume
Is fall'n from some incomparable plume; 10
And therefore, Messieurs, if you'll do us
Grace,

Send Lacquies early to preserve your Place.

PROLOGUE AFTER THE FIRE. Text from the Miscellanies of 1692. Variants from Covent Garden Drollery, 1672. 4 on] from 1672. 10 for] of 1672.

You cherish'd it, and now its Fall you

mourn,

Which blind unmanner'd Zelots make their
scorn,

Who think that Fire a Judgment on the
Stage,

Which spar'd not Temples in its furious
Rage.

But as our new-built City rises higher, 20
So from old Theatres may new aspire,
Since Fate contrives Magnificence by Fire.,
Our great Metropolis does far surpass
Whate'er is now, and equals all that was:
Our Wit as far does Foreign Wit excel,
And, like a King, shou'd in a Palace
dwell.

But we with Golden Hopes are vainly
fed,

Talk high, and entertain you in a shed:
Your Presence here (for which we humbly
sue)

Will grace Old Theatres, and build up
New.

PROLOGUE, for the Women,

When they Acled at the Old Theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields.

WERE none of you, Gallants, e'er driven so hard,

As when the poor kind Soul was under guard,
And could not do't at home, in some By-
street

To take a Lodging, and in private meet?
Such is our Case; We can't appoint our
House,

The Lovers old and wonted Rendezvous,
But hither to this trusty Nook remove;
The worse the Lodging is, the more the Love.
For much good Pastime, many a dear sweet
hug

Is stol'n in Garrets, on the humble Rugg, 10
Here's good Accommodation in the Pit;
The Grave demurely in the midst may sit,

And so the hot Burgundian on the Side
Ply Vizard Masque, and o'er the Benches
stride:

Here are convenient upper Boxes too,
For those that make the most triumphant
show;

All that keep Coaches must not sit below.
There, Gallants, you betwixt the Acts
retire,

And at dull Plays have something to admire :

We, who look up, can your Addresses mark,
And see the Creatures coupled in the Ark:
So we expect the Lovers, Braves, and Wits;
The gaudy House with Scenes will serve for
Cits.

PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE TO THE MAIDEN QUEEN, OR SECRET LOVE,

PROLOGUE.

When acted by the Women only.

Spoken by MRS. BOUTELL, in man's clothes.

WOMEN like us (passing for Men) you'l
cry,

Presume too much upon your Secresie.
There's not a Fop in Town but will pretend,
To know the Cheat himself, or by his
Friend.

Then make no words on't, Gallants, 'tis e'en
true,

We are condemn'd to look, and strut, like
you.

Since we thus freely our hard Fate confess,
Accept us, these bad Times, in any Dress.
You'll find the sweet on't, now old Panta-
loons

Will go as far, as formerly new Gowns; 10
And from your own cast Wigs expect no
Frowns.

PROLOGUE FOR THE WOMEN. Text from the same, except as noted.

I Were] Where 1684: a misprint.

17 Coaches] Bell wrongly printed Couches

PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE TO MARRIAGE-A-LA-MODE.

ordain ;

In Wars abroad, they grinning Honour gain, And Mistresses, for all that stay, maintain. Now they are gone, 'tis dead Vacation here, For neither Friends nor Enemies appear. 21 Poor pensive Punk now peeps ere Plays begin,

Sees the bare Bench, and dares not venture in;

But manages her last Half-crown with care, And trudges to the Mall, on foot, for Air. Our City Friends so far will hardly roam, They can take up with Pleasures nearer home;

And see gay Shows with gaudy Scenes else

where:

For we presume they seldom come to hear.

16 Playhouse] Play house 1673.
26 roam] 1672: come 1673.
28 with] 1672: and 1673.

But they have now ta'n up a glorious Trade, And cutting Moorcraft struts in Masquerade. There's all our hope, for we shall show to day A Masquing Ball, to recommend our Play; Nay, to endear 'em more, and let 'em see We scorn to come behind in Courtesie, We'll follow the new Mode which they begin, And treat 'em with a Room, and Couch within :

For that's one way, how e're the Play fall short,

T'oblige the Town, the City, and the Court.

EPILOGUE.

Thus have my Spouse and I inform'd the Nation,

And led you all the way to Reformation;
Not with dull Morals, gravely writ, like those
Which men of easy Phlegme with care com-
pose,

Your Poets, of stiff Words and limber sense,
Born on the confines of indifference:
But by Examples drawn, I dare to say,
From most of you who hear, and see the Play
There are more Rhodophils in this Theatre,
More Palamedes, and some few Wives, I fear:
But yet too far our Poet would not run; II
Though 'twas well offer'd, there was nothing
done,

PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE TO THE ASSIGNATION, OR LOVE IN A NUNNERY.

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