With these perfections, and what else he gieans,
The spark fets up for love behind our scenes;
Hot in pursuit of princeffes and queens.
There, if they know their man, with cunning carriage,
Twenty to one but it concludes in marriage.
He hires fome homely room, love's fruits to gather,
And garret-high rebels against his father:
But he once dead-
Brings her in triumph, with her portion, down,
A toilet, dressing-box, and half a crown.
Some marry first, and then they fall to scowering,
Which is, refining marriage into whoring.
Our women batten well on their good-nature;
All they can rap and rend for the dear creature.
But while abroad fo liberal the dolt is,
Poor spoufe at home as ragged as a colt is.
Last, some there arc, who take their first degrees
Of lewdness in our middle galleries.
The doughty bullies enter bloody drunk,
Invade and grubble one another's punk :
They caterwaul, and make a dismal rout,
Call fons of whores, and strike, but ne'er lug out:
Thus while for paltry punk they roar and stickle,
They make it bawdier than a conventicle.
PROLOGUE to the KING and QUEEN, upon the Union of the Two Companies in 1686.
INCE faction ebbs, and rogues grow out of fashion,
Their penny-fcribes take care t' inform the nation,
How well men thrive in this or that plantation :
How Penfylvania's air agrees with Quakers,
And Carolina's with Associators:
Both ev'n too good for madmen and for traitors.
Truth is, our land with faints is so run o'er,
And every age produces such a store,
That now there's need of two New-Englands more.
What's this, you'll fay, to us and our vocation?
Only thus much, that we have left our station,
And made this theatre our new plantation.
The factious natives never could agree;
But aiming, as they call'd it, to be free,
Those play-house Whigs fet up for property.
Some fay, they no obedience paid of late;
But would new fears and jealoufies create;
Till topsy-turvy they had turn'd the state.
Plain sense, without the talent of foretelling,
Might guess 'twould end in downright knocks and
For feldom comes there better of rebelling.
When men will, needlessly, their freedom barter For lawless power, sometimes they catch a Tartar; 'There's, a damn'd word that rhymes to this, call'd
But, fince the victory with us remains,
You shall be call'd to twelve in all our gains;
If you'll not think us faucy for our pains.
Old men shall have good old plays to delight them :
And you, fair ladies and gallants, that flight them,
We 'll treat with good new plays; if our new wits can
We'll take no blundering verse, no fustian tumor,
No dribbling love, from this or that prefumer ;
No dull fat fool shamm'd on the stage for humour.
For, faith, fome of them fuch vile stuff have made,
As none but fools or fairies ever play'd;
But 'twas, as fhopmen say, to force a trade.
We've given you Tragedies, all sense defying,
And finging men, in woful 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 hither :
Whig poets and Whig sheriffs may hang together.
EPILOGUE on the same Occafion.
NEW minifters, when first they get in place,
Must have a care to please; and that's our cafe :
Some laws for public welfare we design,
If you, the power supreme, will please to join :
There are a fort of prattlers in the pit,
Who either have, or who pretend to wit:
These noisy firs fso loud their parts rehearse,
That oft the play is filenc'd by the farce.
Let such be dumb, this penalty to shun,
Each to be thought my lady's eldest son.
But stay: methinks some vizard mask I see,
Caft 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, sputtering, wauling, fuch a clutter,
'Tis just like puss defendant in a gutter :
Fine love, no doubt; but ere two days are o'er ye,
The furgeon will be told a woful story.
Let vizard mask her naked face expofe,
On pain of being thought to want a nose':
Then for your lacqueys, and your train befide,
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 nusance, beyond all difasters ;
We've none so great but their unpaying masters.
We beg you, firs, 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
Think on your fouls; but by your lugging forth,
It feems you know how little they are worth.
If none of these will move the warlike mind,
Think on the helpless whore you leave behind.
We beg you, last, our scene-room to forbear,
And leave our goods and chattels to our care.
Alas! cur women are but washy toys,
And wholly taken up in stage employs :
Poor willing tits they are: but yet I doubt
This double duty foon will wear them out.
Then you are watch'd besides with jealous care;
What if my lady's page should find you there?
My lady knows t' a tittle what there 's in ye;
No paffing your gilt shilling for a guinea.
Thus, gentlemen, we have fumm'd up in short
Our grievances, from country, town, and court:
Which humbly we fubmit to your good pleasure;
But first vote money, then redress at leisure.
PROLOGUE to the PRINCESS of CLEVES, [By Mr. N. LEE, 1689.]
ADIES! (I hope there's none behind to hear)
I long to whisper something in your ear:
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