Youth, ere it fees the world, here studies rest,
And age returning thence concludes it beft.
What wonder if we court that happiness
Yearly to fhare, which hourly you poffefs,
Teaching ev'n you, while the vext world we show,
Your peace to value more, and better know?
'Tis all we can return for favours past,
Whofe holy memory fhall ever laft,
For patronage from him whofe care prefides
O'er every noble art, and every science guides:
Bathurst, a name the learn'd with reverence know,
And scarcely more to his own Virgil owe;
Whofe age enjoys but what his youth deferv'd,
To rule thofe Mufes whom before he ferv'd.
His learning, and untainted manners too,
We find, Athenians, are deriv'd to you:
Such antient hospitality there rests
In yours, as dwelt in the first Grecian breafts,
Whofe kindness was religion to their guests.
Such modefty did to our sex appear,
As, had there been no laws, we need not fear,
Since each of you was our protector here.
Converse so chaste, and so strict virtue shown,
As might Apollo with the Mufes own.
Till our return, we must despair to find
Judges fo juft, fo knowing, and fo kind.
PROLOGUE to the University of OXFORD.
DIfcord, and plots, which have undone our age,
With the fame ruin have o'erwhelm'd the ftage.
Our houfe has fuffer'd in the common woe,
We have been troubled with Scotch rebels too.
Our brethren are from Thames to Tweed departed,
And of our fifters, all the kinder-hearted,
To Edinburgh gone, or coach'd, or carted.
With bonny bluecap there they act all night
For Scotch half-crown, in English three-pence hight.
One nymph, to whom fat Sir John Falstaff's lean,
There with her fingle perfon fills the scene.
Another, with long ufe and age decay'd,
Div'd here old woman, and rofe there a maid.
Our trusty door-keepers of former time
There ftrut and fwagger in heroic rhyme.
Tack but a copper-lace to drugget fuit,
And there's a hero made without difpute:
And that, which was a capon's tail before,
Becomes a plume for Indian emperor.
But all his fubjects, to exprefs the care
Of imitation, go, like Indians, bare:
Lac'd linen there would be a dangerous thing;
It might perhaps a new rebellion bring;
The Scot, who wore it, would be chofen king.
But why fhould I thefe renegades defcribe,
When you yourfelves have feen a lewder tribe?
VOL. II.
Teague has been here, and, to this learned pit,
With Irish action flander'd English wit :
You have beheld fuch barbarous Macs appear,
As merited a fecond maffacre:
Such as, like Cain, were branded with difgrace,
And had their country ftamp'd upon their face.
When ftrolers durft presume to pick your purse,
We humbly thought our broken troop not worse.
How ill foe'er our action may deserve,
Oxford's a place where wit can never starve,
PROLOGUE to the Univerfity of OXFORD.
HOUGH actors cannot much of learning boast,
Of all who want it, we admire it most :
We love the praises of a learned pit,
As we remotely are ally'd to wit.
We speak our poets' wit; and trade in ore,
Like thofe, who touch upon the golden fhore:
Betwixt our judges can diftinction make,
Difcern how much, and why, our poems take:
Mark if the fools, or men of sense, rejoice;
Whether th' applause be only found or voice.
When our fop gallants, or our city folly,
Clap over-loud, it makes us melancholy :
We doubt that scene which does their wonder raise,
And, for their ignorance, contemn their praise.
Judge then, if we who act, and they who write,
Should not be proud of giving you delight.
London likes grofsly; but this nicer pit
Examines, fathoms all the depths of wit;
The ready finger lays on every blot;
Knows what thould justly pleafe, and what should not,
Nature herfelf lies open to your view;
You judge by her, what draught of her is true,
Where outlines falfe, and colours feem too faint,
Where bunglers dawb, and where true poets paint.
But, by the facred genius of this place,
By every Mufe, by each domeftic grace,
Be kind to wit, which but endeavours well,
And, where you judge, prefumes not to excel.
Our poets hither for adoption come,
As nations fued to be made free of Rome :
Not in the fuffragating tribes to stand,
But in your utmoft, laft, provincial band.
If his ambition may thofe hopes pursue,
Who with religion loves your arts and you,
Oxford to him a dearer name fhall be,
Than his own mother univerfity.
Thebes did his green, unknowing, youth engage;
He chooses Athens in his riper age.
EPILOGUE to CONSTANTINE the GREAT. [By Mr. N. LE E, 1684.]
UR hero's happy in the play's conclufion ;
The holy rogue at laft has met confufion :
Though Arius all along appear'd a faint,
The last act fhew'd him a true Proteftant.
Eufebius, for you know I read Greek authors,
Reports, that, after all thefe plots and flaughters,
The court of Conftantine was full of glory,
And every Trimmer turn'd addreffing Tory.
They follow'd him in herds as they were mad :
When Claufe was king, then all the world was glad.
Whigs kept the places they pofitft before,
And most were in a way of getting more;
Which was as much as faying, Gentlemen,
Here's power and money to be rogues again.
Indeed, there were a fort of peaking tools,
Some call them modeft, but I call them fools,
Men much more loyal, though not half fo loud;
But thefe poor devils were caft behind the croud.
For bold knaves thrive without one grain of fenfe,
But good men ftarve for want of impudence.
Befides all thefe, there were a fort of wights,
I think my author calls them Tekelites,
Such hearty rogues against the king and laws,
They favour'd ev`n a foreign rebel's cause.
When their own damn'd defign was quafh'd and aw'd,
At least, they gave it their good word abroad.
As many a man, who, for a quiet life,
Breeds out his bastard, not to noise his wife;
Thus o'er their darling plot these Trimmers cry;
And though they cannot keep it in their eye,
They bind it prentice to Count Tekely.
They believe not the last plot; may I be curst,
If I believe they e'er believ'd the first.
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