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You must have Mamamouchi, such a Fop
As would appear a Monster in a Shop;
He'll fill your Pit and Boxes to the brim,
Where, Ram'd in Crowds, you see your selves
in him.

Sure there's some spell our Poet never knew,
In hullibabilah de, and Chu, chu, chu;
But Marabarah sahem most did touch you;
That is, Oh how we love the Mamamouchi!
Grimace and habit sent you pleas'd away;
You damn'd the poet, and cried up the Play.
This Thought had made our Author more
uneasie,

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But that he hopes I'm Fool enough to please ye.

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Some Sister, Playing at Content alone. This they did hope; the other Side did fear;

And both, you see, alike are Couzen'd here. Some thought the Title of our Play to blame; They liked the thing, but yet abhorr'd the Name:

Like modest Puncks, who all you ask afford, But, for the World, they would not name that word.

Yet, if you'll credit what I heard him say,
Our Poet meant no Scandal in his Play ;
His Nuns are good which on the Stage are
shown,

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And, sure, behind our Scenes you'll look for

none.

PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE TO

AMBOYNA, OR THE CRUELTIES OF THE DUTCH TO THE ENGLISH MERCHANTS.

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What injuries soe'r upon us fall,
Yet still the same Religion answers all :
Religion wheedled you to Civil War,
Drew English Blood, and Dutchmens now
wou'd spare.

Be gull'd no longer; for you'l find it true,
They have no more Religion, faith-then
you;

EPILOGUE.

A Poet once the Spartan's led to fight, And made 'em conquer in the Muses right: So would our Poet lead you on this day, Showing your tortur'd Fathers in his Play. To one well born th' affront is worse and more, When he's abus'd and baffled by a Bore: Interest's the God they worship in their With an ill Grace the Dutch their mischiefs do, State; 19 They've both ill Nature and ill Manners too. Well may they boast themselves an antient Nation,

And you, I take it, have not much of that.
Well, Monarchys may own Religions name,
But States are Atheists in their very frame.
They share a sin, and such proportions fall
That, like a stink, 'tis nothing to 'em all.
How they love England, you shall see this
day:

No Map shows Holland truer then our Play:
Their Pictures and Inscriptions well weknow;
We may be bold one Medal sure to show.
View then their Falshoods, Rapine, Cruelty;
And think what once they were they still
would be:
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But hope not either Language, Plot, or Art;
'Twas writ in haste, but with an English
Heart :

And lest hope Wit; in Dutchmen that would be

As much improper as would Honesty.

For they were bred e're Manners were in fashion:

ΙΟ

And their new Commonwealth has set 'em free,
Onely from Honour and Civility.
Venetians do not more uncouthly ride,
Than did their Lubber-State Mankind be-
stride;

Their Sway became 'em with as ill a Meen,
As their own Paunches swell above their Chin:
Yet is their Empire no true Growth but
Humour,

And onely two Kings' touch can cure the
Tumor.

As Cato did his Affricque Fruits display,
So we before your Eies their Indies lay: 20
All loyal English will like him conclude,
Let Cæsar Live, and Carthage be subdu'd!

PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE TO THE UNIVERSITY
OF OXFORD.

PROLOGUE.

Spoken by MR. HART at the acting of the
Silent Woman,

WHAT Greece, when learning flourish'd, onely
knew,

(Athenian Judges,) you this day renew.
Here too are Annual Rites to Pallas done,
And here Poetique prizes lost or won.
Methinks I see you crown'd with Olives sit,
And strike a sacred Horrour from the Pit.
A Day of Doom is this of your Decree,
Where even the Best are but by Mercy free:
A Day which none but Johnson durst have
wish'd to see.

PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE TO THE UNIVERSITY

OF OXFORD, 1673. Printed in 1684, again in 1692.

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Th' illiterate Writer, Emperique like, applies To Minds diseas'd, unsafe, chance Remedies: The Learn'd in Schools, where Knowledge first began,

Studies with Care th' Anatomy of Man; Sees Vertue, Vice, and Passions in their Cause,

And Fame from Science, not from Fortune, draws.

So Poetry, which is in Oxford made
An Art, in London onely is a Trade.
There haughty Dunces, whose unlearned
Pen
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Could ne'er spell Grammar, would be reading
Men.

Such build their Poems the Lucretian way;
So many Huddled Atoms make a Play,
And if they hit in Order by some Chance,
They call that Nature which is Ignorance.
To such a Fame let mere Town-Wits
aspire,

And their gay Nonsense their own Citts admire.

Our Poet, could he find Forgiveness here, Would wish it rather than a Plaudit there. He owns no Crown from those Prætorian Bands,

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But knows that Right is in this Senates 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. Kings make their Poets whom themselves think fit.

But 'tis your Suffrage makes Authentique Wit.

EPILOGUE.

Spoken by MR. HART.

No poor Dutch Peasant, wing'd with all his Fear,

Flies with more haste, when the French Arms draw near,

Than we with our Poetique Train come down,

For Refuge hither from th' infected Town ; Heaven for our Sins this Summer has thought fit

To visit us with all the Plagues of Wit.

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PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE Spoken at the opening of the New House, MARCH 26, 1674.

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Is better than to be by tarnisht gawdry known.

They, who are by your Favours wealthy made,

With mighty Sums may carry on the Trade; We, broken Banquiers, half destroy'd by Fire,

With our small Stock to humble Roofs retire ;

Pity our Loss, while you their Pomp admire.

For Fame and Honour we no longer strive;
We yield in both, and only beg to live;
Unable to support their vast Expense,
Who build and treat with such Magnificence,
That, like th' Ambitious Monarchs of the
Age,

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They give the Law to our Provincial Stage. Great Neibours enviously promote Excess, While they impose their Splendor on the

less;

But only Fools, and they of vast Estate,
Th' extremity of Modes will imitate,
The dangling Knee-fringe and the Bib-

cravat.

Yet if some Pride with want may be allow'd, We in our plainness may be justly proud; Our Royal Master will'd it should be so; 30 Whate'er he's pleased to own can need no show;

PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE AT THE OPENING, 1674. First printed in 1684.

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PROLOGUE.

Spoken by MR. HART.

POETS, your Subjects, have their Parts assign'd,

T' unbend and to divert their Sov'reign's Mind:

When, tyr'd with following Nature, you think fit

To seek repose in the cool shades of Wit, And from the sweet Retreat, with Joy survey What rests, and what is conquer'd, of the

way.

Here, free your selves from Envy, Care, and Strife,

You view the various Turns of humane Life;

PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE TO THE UNIVERSITY

40

Safe in our Scene, through dangerous Courts

you go,

And undebauch'd the Vice of Cities know. 10
Your Theories are here to Practice brought,
As in Mechanick Operations wrought;
And Man, the little World, before you set,
As once the Sphere of Chrystal Shew'd the
Great.

Blest sure are you above all Mortal Kind,
If to your Fortunes you can suit your
Mind;

Content to see, and shun, those ills we show,
And Crimes, on Theatres alone, to know.
With joy we bring what our dead Authors
writ,

And beg from you the value of their Wit: 20 That Shakespear's, Fletcher's, and great Johnson's Claim

OF OXFORD, 1674. Printed twice over in the May be renew'd from those who gave them

Miscellanies of 1684.

Fame.

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