Old men shall have good old Plays to delight 'em:

And you, fair Ladies and Galants, that slight 'em,

We'll treat with good new Plays, if our new Wits can write 'em. 30

We'll take no blundering Verse, no fustian Tumour,

No dribling Love from this or that Presumer, No dull fat Fooll shamm'd on the Stage for humour.

For, faith, some of 'em such vile stuff have made,

As none but Fools or Fairies ever Play'd; But 'twas, as Shop-men say, to force a Trade. We've giv'n you Tragedies all sense defying ; | And singing men in woeful Metre dying; This 'tis when heavy Lubbers will be flying. All these disasters we well hope to weather; We bring you none of our old Lumber hether;

41

Whigg Poets and Whigg Sheriffs may hang together.

EPILOGUE.

New Ministers, when first they get in place, Must have a care to please; and that's our Case:

Some Laws for public Welfare we design, If you, the Power supream, will please to join.

There are a sort of Pratlers in the Pit, Who either have, or who pretend to Wit; These noisy Sirs so loud their Parts rehearse, That oft the Play is silenc'd by the Farce: Let such be dumb, this penalty to shun, Each to be thought my Lady's eldest Son. 10 But stay; methinks some Vizard Mask I see Cast out her Lure from the mid Gallery : About her all the fluttering Sparks are rang'd;

The Noise continues, though the Scene is chang'd:

Now growling, sputt'ring, wauling, such a clutter,

'Tis just like Puss defendant in a Gutter;

Fine Love, no doubt; but ere two days are o'er ye,

The Surgeon will be told a woful story.
Let Vizard Mask her naked Face expose,
On pain of being thought to want a Nose: 20
Then for your laqueys, and your Train
beside,

(By whate'er Name or Title dignify'd,) They roar so loud, you'd think behind the Stairs

Tom Dove, and all the Brotherhood of Bears: They're grown a Nuisance, beyond all Disasters;

We've none so great but their unpaying Masters.

We beg you, Sirs, to beg your Men that they Would please to give you leave to hear the Play.

Next, in the Play-house, spare your precious Lives;

Think, like good Christians, on your bearns and wives;

30

Think on your Souls; but by your lugging forth,

It seems you know how little they are worth.

EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Mrs. COOKE.

Would any of you Sparks, if Nan or Mally Tipp'dyou th' inviting Wink, stand, shall I, shall I ?

A Trimmer cry'd (that heard me tell this Story),

Fie, Mistress Cooke! Faith, you're too rank a Tory!

Wish not Whiggs hang'd, but pity their hard Cases;

You Women love to see Men make wry Faces.

Pray, Sir, said I, don't think me such a Jew;

I say no more, but give the Dev'l his due.— Lenitives, says he, best suit with our Condition.

Jack Ketch, says I, 's an excellent Physi

cian.

cost;

And faith, I doubted once the Cause was lost. Yet no one Man was meant, nor Great nor Small;

Our Poets, like frank Gamesters, threw at All.

They took no single Aim :

But, like bold Boys, true to their Prince and hearty,

Iluzza'd, and fired Broad-sides at the whole Party.

Duels are Crimes; but, when the Cause is right,

In Battel every Man is bound to fight.
For what should hinder Me to sell my)
Skin,

Dear as I cou'd, if once my Hand were in?
Se defendendo never was a Sin.

ΙΟ

'Tis a fine World, my Masters, right or wrong,

The Whiggs must talk, and Tories hold their Tongue.

They must do all they can

We Trimmers are for holding all things

even.

Yes-just like him that hung 'twixt Hell and Heaven.

Have we not had Men's Lives enow already?'

Yes sure-but you're for holding all things steddy.

Now since the Weight hangs all on one side, Brother,

You Trimmers shou'd, to poize it, hang on

t' other.

Damn'd Neuters, in their middle way of steering,

Are neither Fish nor Flesh nor good RedHerring : 40

Not Whiggs, nor Tories they nor this, nor that;

Not Birds, nor Beasts; but just a kind of Bat:

A Twilight Animal; true to neither Cause, With Tory Wings, but Whiggish Teeth and Claws.

ANOTHER EPILOGUE.

Intended to have been spoken to the Play

before it was forbidden last summer.

Two Houses join'd, two Poets to a Play? You noisy Whigs will sure be pleas'd to-day; It looks so like two Shrieves the City Way. But since our Discords and Divisions cease, You, Bilboa-gallants, learn to keep the

Peace;

Make here no Tilts; let our poor Stage) alone;

Or if a decent Murder must be done, Pray take a civil Turn to Marybone. If not, I swear we'll pull up all our Benches; Not for your Sakes, but for our Orangewenches : 10

For you thrust wide sometimes, and many a Spark,

That misses one, can hit the other Mark. This makes our Boxes full; for men of Sense

Pay their four Shillings in their own Defence: That safe behind the Ladies they may stay,

Peep_o'er the Fan, and judge the bloody Fray.

But other Foes give Beauty worse Alarms; The posse-poetarum's up in Arms:

No Woman's Fame their libels has escap'd; Their Ink runs Venom, and their Pens are clapp'd.

20

We charm in vain, and dress, and keep a Pother,

While those false Rogues are ogling one another.

All Sins besides admit some Expiation; But this against our Sex is plain Damnation. They join for Libels too, these Womenhaters;

And as they club for Love, they club for Satyres: 30 The best on't is they hurt not: for they wear Stings in their Tails; their only Venom's there.

'Tis true, some shot at first the Ladies hit, Which able Marksmen made and Menof Wit: But now the Fools give Fire, whose Bounce is louder ;

And yet, like mere Train-bands, they shoot but Powder.

Libels, like Plots, sweep all in their first Fury;

Then dwindle like an ignoramus Jury: Thus Age begins with towzing and with tumbling,

But grunts, and groans, and ends at last in fumbling.

40

And most were in a way of getting more; Which was as much as saying, Gentlemen, Here's Power and Money to be Rogues again.

Indeed, there were a sort of peaking Tools, Some call 'em Modest, but I call 'em Fools; Men much more Loyal, tho' not half so loud; But these poor Devils were cast behind the Croud.

For bold Knaves thrive without one grain of Sense,

But good Men starve for want of Impudence.

CONSTANTINE THE GREAT, 1684. The play is by Lee.

No wonder their own Plot no Plot they think, The Man that makes it never smells the Stink. And now it comes into my Head, I'll tell Why these damn'd Trimmers lov'd the Turks so well.

The Original Trimmer, though a Friend to no Man,

Yet in his Heart ador'd a pretty Woman; He knew that Mahomet laid up for ever 40 Kind Black-eyed Rogues for every true Believer;

And, which was more than mortal Man c'er tasted,

One Pleasure that for threescore Twelvemonths lasted.

To turn for this, may surely be forgiven: Who'd not be circumcis'd for such a Heaven?

Plays,

Our Poets tax you still with want of Sence? All Prologues treat you at your own Ex

pence.

Sharp Citizens a wiser way can go;
They make you Fools, but never call you so.
They, in good Manners, seldom make a slip,
But treat a Common Whore with Ladyship:
But here each sawcy Wit at Random writes,
And uses Ladies as he uses Knights.

ΙΟ

Our Author, Young and Grateful in his Nature,

Vows that from him no Nymph deserves a Satyr.

Nor will he ever Draw-I mean his Rhime Against the sweet Partaker of his Crime. Nor is he yet so bold an Undertaker

To call MEN Fools, 'tis railing at their MAKER.

Besides, he fears to split upon that Shelf; He's young enough to be a FOP himself:

CONSTANTINE THE GREAT, 1684. 28 nose] noise 1702 and edd. till Christie.

DISAPPOINTMENT, 1684. Text from the original of 1684. The play is by Southern. The Epilogue is printed in some editions as Dryden's. It was rightly rejected by Christie on the ground of its

Your Nurses, we presume, in such a Case, Your Father, chose, because he lik'd the Face;

And often they supply'd your Mother's place.

20

The Dry Nurse was your Mother's ancient Maid,

Who knew some former Slip she ne'er betray'd.

Betwixt 'em both, for Milk and Sugar-Candy, Your sucking Bottles were well stor'd with Brandy.

Your Father, to initiate your discourse, Meant to have taught you first to swear and curse,

29

But was prevented by each careful Nurse. For, leaving Dad and Mam, as names too common,

They taught you certain parts of Man and Woman.

ascription in the collected edition of Southern's plays to the Hon. John Stafford. It has escaped the notice of editors that the same ascription is made in the original edition of the play. The statement that the Prologue was spoken by Betterton is omitted by the editors.