ROLOGUE

TO THE

ate of CAPUA

Honourable Charles Boyle, Efq;

R Bard refolv'd to quit this wicked Town,

Poetick Offices lay down;

weak Brother was drawn in again, aft Mistress tempted him to Sin. ny a Cautious Gallant in this Throng, ed when Old, whom they Debauch'd

Young.

Thus

Thus the repenting Fair Ones vow in vain, From Cards,from Love, from Scandal to refrain;) For Eafter over, they relapse again.

To Write well's hard, but I appeal to y'all,
Is't not much harder not to Write at all.

Some Men must Write,for Writing's their Disease,
And every Poet's fure one Man to please.
Some medling Coxcombs, rather than fit still,
And perfectly do nothing, must do ill.
Some are with busy Dulness so o're run,
They feem defign'd by Heav'n to teaze the Town,
Yet when thefe Fools have (pawn'd fome fickly
Play,

We have fo many greater Fools than they,.
They'l pack a crowded Audience the Third Day.
This Poet has no fly Inveigling Arts;

He'l try to gain,but he'l not steal your Hearts. His Mufe is Ruftick, and perhaps too plain, The Men of fqueamish Taftes to entertain:

Who

Who none but Dutcheffes will daign to toast, And Favours only from Front Boxes boaft. That's all Grimace, when Appetites are good, Be the Dress course, the Air and Manners rude,

You can take up with wholfom Flesh and
Blood.

But he despairs of pleasing all the Nation,
Tis fo debauch'd with Whims of Reformation.
H'as done his beft; here is no Wanton Scene
To give the Wicked Joy, the Godly Spleen :
Not one poor Bawdy Jeft shall dare appear;
For now the batter'd Veteran Strumpets here,
Pretend at least to bring a modest Ear.

Here is fome Love,'tis true,fome Noife,fome War,
Enough to please the Belles, the Beaus to scare.
Some bustling Patriots too,

fome Rabble-rout,

And Senators of the Weak-fide thrown out.

But in all this, here's nothing can Offend;
Nothing to lose an ancient midnight Friend;
He hopes then, when his Cause comes on,they'l
all attend.

Let Critick Foes remember 'tis past Lent,
And all Good Christians Curses then were spent.

EPILOGUE,

PS

By Collonel Codrington.

Oets fine Titles for Themselves may find I think'm the Fool-mongers of Mankind. The Charitabie Quacks indeed pretend They Trade in Fools only thofe Fools to mend: Yet they would scarcethe nauseoustask endure, But that, like Bedlam-Doctors, they are fure

Το

get by fhewing Fools they cannot Cure.
Equal in this, all Plays must be confest;
Fool is the Fav'rite Dish of the whole Feast.
In Farce the Wit's a Fool, or Fool's a Wit;
In Comedy, the Beau pretends a Right.
But Tragick Writers ftill agree to Plot,
The greatest Hero, for the greatest Sot.