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Arive,

True English hate your Monsieurs' paltry arts; The younger sparks, who hither do rcfort,
For you are all filk-weavers * in your hearts. Cry.com
Bold Britons, at a brave bear-garden fray, Poxo' your gentle things I give us more spart;
Ak rous'd; and, clatt'ring sticks, cry, Play,play, Dammc! I'm surc 'twill never please the court
play!

Such fops are never picas'd, unless the play
Mkean time, your fribbling foreigner will stare, Be stuff divith fools, as brisk and dull as they ;
And mutter to himself, Ah, gens barbare! Such might the half-crown (pare, and in a glats
And, 'gad, 'tis well he mutters, well for him; At home behold a more accomplifi'd als;
Gur butchers else would tear him limb from Where they may set their cravars, wigs, and faces,
limi.

And practise all their buffoon'ry grimaces'Tis true, the time may come, your fons may be See how this huff becomes this damme fare, Infected with this French civility :

Which they at home may act, because theydare; But this in afrer-ages will be done;

Bur must with prudent caution do elsewhere.) Our poet writes an hundred years too soon. 10, that our Nokes, or Tony Lee, could thew This age comes on too low, or he too fast; A fop but half so much to th' life as you! And early springs are subject r a blast! Who would excel, when few can make a test loe. Epilogue to The Round-Heads, or The Betwixt indifferent writing and the best?

Good Old Canje; 1682. Spokrn by Fer favours cheap and common who would Delbro'.

Mrs. BEHN.

THE vizor 's off, and now I dare appear
Which, like abandon'd profitutes, you give? I
Yer featter'd here and there I fome behold,

High for the royal cause, en cuvalier ;
Who can difcern the cintel from the gold;

Tho' once as true a wbig as most of you,

Could cant and lye, preach, and dillemble too: To there he writes; and, if by them allow'd,

So far you drew me in; but 'faith I 'l be 'Tis their prerogative to rule the crowd ;

Reveng'd on you, for thus debauching me: For he more feais (like a prefuming man)

Some of your pious chears I 'll open lay, Their votes who cannot judge, than thcirs who

of That lead your ignoramus flock aftray ;
can.

For, fmce i cannot fight, I will not fail
To exercise my talent-that's to rail.

Ye'race of hypocrites, whose cloak of zeal $ 8. Epilogue to the firp Part of Tb Rover, orl,

Covers the knave that cants for commonweal, the Banisbed Cavaliers; 1677. Mrs. Benn.

All laws, the church, and state to ruin brings, THE banithid cavaliers ! a roving blade! And impudently sets a rule on kings :

A popish carnival! a masquerade ! Ruin, deftroy, all 's good that you decres,
The devil's in't if this will please the nation, By your infallible presbytery :
3 ir thefe our blessed times of reformation, Prolperous at first, in ills you grew fo vain,
When conventicling is so much in fashion.

You thought to play the old game o'er again; And yet

And thus the cheat was put upon the nation, That morinous tribe less factions do beget, First with long parliaments, next reformation, Than your continual ditfcring in wit.

And now you hop'd to make a new invasion : Your judgment (as your pallion) 's a disease; And when you can't prevail by open force, Nor Mule nor Miss your appetite can please; } [To cunning tickling ticks you have recourse, You're grown as nice as q:teafy confciences, J And raise ledition forth without remorse. Whoic each convullion, when the fpirit moves, " Confound these curfed Tories," then they cry, Damos cvery thing that inaggot disapproves.

[In a preaching fore, With canting rule you would the fage refine, “ Those fools, those loyal pimps to monarchy, And to dull method all our sense contine. • Those that cxclude the saints, yet ope the door With th'iolo'ence of commonwealths you rulc, ) “ To introduce the Babylonian Whore ! Where cach gay fop, and politic hrare fool, l« By sacred Oliver, the nation's mad! On monarch Wit impose without controul. D. Beloved, 'twas not fo when he was head : As for the latt, who feldom fees a play,

" But then, as I have said it oft before ye, Unless it be the old Black-Friars way,

“ A cavalier was but a type of Tory. Shaking his empty noddle o'er Bamboo,

Thecurs then durft not bark, but all the breed Ite cries, Goud faith, theru plays will never do." Is much increas'd fince that good man is th, Sir! in my young days, what lofty wit,

“ dead: What high-ftrain'd scenes of fighting there were “ Yet then they rail'd against the Good Old writ!

" Cause, There are night airy toys Bit tell me, pray, " Raild foolishly for loyalty and laws; What has the Houle of Comnions done to-day? f“ But when the saints had put them to a stand, Theo thews his politics, to let you see

" Wc left thein loyalty, and took their land ; Of ftatc affairs he'll judge as notably

· Yea, and the pious work of reformation As he can do of wit and poetry.

" Rewarded was with plunder, fequefracion." * Alluding to the siralry of the Spital-fie!ds manufactures with those of France.

Thas

Thus canc the faithful ; nay, they're fo uncivil, Yet no one man was meant, nor great, nor small;
To pray us harmless playeis to the devil. Our poets, like frank gameftersit, threw at all. :
When this is all th' exception they can make, They took no fingle aim
They damn us for our glorious master's fake. But like bold boys, true to their prince, and
But why 'gainst us lo you unjustly arm?

hearty, Our mall religion lure can do no harm: Huzza'd, and fir'd broadsides at the whole party. Or if it do, fince that is the only shing,

Duels are crimes; but when the cause is right, We will reform, when you are true to th' king. In battle, every man is bound to fight.

For what should hinder me to sell my skin

Dear as I could, if opce my heart were in ? 10. Epilogue 10 tbe Lancaspire Witches; 1682. Se defendendo never was a fin. Spoken by Mrs. Burry and Teague. l'Tis a fine world, my masters-right or wrong,

SHADWELL. The Whigs must talk, and Tories hold their Mis. Bairy: A Skiiful mistress uses wondrous tongue. ... art

They must do all they can To keep a peesish crazy lover's heart.

But we, forsooth, muft bear a Chriftian mind. Hlis awkward linbs, forgetful of delights, And fight like boys with one hand tied behind : Must be urg'd on by tricks and painful nights, Nay, and when one boy's down, 'twere wondrous Which the poor creature is content to bear, I wise, Fine mantuas and new petticoats to wear. To cry, Box fair, and give him time to rise. And, Sirs, your fickly appetites to raise, When fortune favours,none but foolswill dally: The Itarving players try a thousand ways : Would any of you (parks, if Nan or Mally's You liad a Spanish Friar of intrigue,

Tipp'dyou th'invitingwink,stand thall I thalli?) And now we have presented you a Teague,

A Trimmer cried (har heard me tell this story), Which with much coft from Ireland we have got: Fie, Mistress Cook! 'faith, you're too rank a If he be dull, c'en hang bim for elre plor.

Tory!

[cases ; Teagn. Now have a care; for, by my shoul's With not Whigs hang'd, but pity their hard Maulvaation,

You women love to see men makc wry faces. Dith vill offcnd a party in de nation.

Pray, Sir, said I, doo't think me such a Jew; Mrs. Barry. They that are angry must be very I say no more, but give thc devil his due. beasts;

Lenitives, says he, best suit with our condition. For all religions laugh at foolish priests. Jack Ketch, lays I, 's an excellent physician. Teague. By Crecht, I swear, de poct has I love no blood-Nor I, Sir, as I breathe; undone me;

But hanging is a fine dry kind of death. Some fiinpie Tory will make beat upon me. We Trimmers are for holding all things even Mrs. Bury. Good Protestants, I hope you will Yes, just like him that hung 'twixt hell and not lee

hearen. A mariyo made of our poor Tony Lce

| Have we not had men's lives enough already! Our popes and friars on one side atiend, Yes, sure ; but you 're for holding all things And yet, alas! the city's not our friend:

fready. The city neither like us nor our wit;

Now, since the weight hangs all on one side, They lay their wives learn og'ing in the pit :

brother, They're from the boxes Lauglit to make ad- You Trimmers should, to poize it, hang on t'o. vances,

ther. To answer folen fighs and naughty glances. Damn'd neuters, in their middle way of steering, We virtuous ladies fome new ways must leck; | Are neither fish nor flesh, nor good red-herring: For all conspire our playing trade to break. Not Whigs nor Tories they, nor this nor that ; If the bold poet freely thews his vein,

Nor birds, nor bcasts, but just a kind of bat; in every place the inirliog fops com:lxin. A twilight animal, true to neither cause, Of your grofs fullies if you will not hear, With Tory wings, but Whiggish teeth and claws. With inoffensive nonsente you must bear. You, like the husband, never Thail receive Half the delight the sportful wife can give. $ 12. Prologue to the Emperor of the Moon; A poct dares not whip this foolish age; I 1675. Spoken by Mr. Jivern. Mrs. Bern. You cannot bear the phytic of the stage. II ONG, and at vast expence, th' industrious

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| Has strove to please a dull ungrateful age : § 11. Epilogue in the Duke of Guise : 1633. With the

Spoken by Mrs. Cook. DRYDEN. And thunder'd to you in heroic train : M UCH time and trouble this poor play has some dying love-sick queen each night you coft ;

enjoy'd, And, 'faith, I doubted once the cause was loft. And with magnificence at last were cloy'd : * This play was written jointly by Drydçn and Lec,

Qur

Our drums and trumpets frighted all the women; 1$ 13. Prologue to The Miftakes, a Play cozitie
Our fighting scar'd the beaux and billet-doux men. by Joseph Harris, Comedian ; 1690. DEYDES.
So Spark, in an intrigue of quality,
Grows weary of his fplendid drudgery;

Enter Mr. Bright.
Hates the fatigue, and cries, A pox upon her! CENTLEMEN, we must beg your pardoni
What a dama'd bustle 's here, with love and here's no prologue to be bad to-day;c:
honour!

new play is like to come on without a frockIn humble comedy wę next appear,

piece; as bald as one of you young beats No fop, or cuckold, but, llap-dath, we had him without your periwig. I left our young pe here;

(nivelling and fobbing behind the scenes, 2 We fnew'd ye all ; but you, malicious grown, ) cursing somebody that has deceived him. Friends' vices to expofe, and hide your own, s

Enter Mr. Bowen.
Cry, Damn it-this is such or such a one!
Yet,nettled, Plague!what does this scribbler mean,

Hold your prating to the audience; bere With his damn'a characters, and pluts obscene

te ohfcener'honeft Mr. Williams just come in, half mellos, No woman without vizard in the vation

from the Rose-Tavern. He swears he is ECan see it twice, and keep her reputation

Spired with claret, and will come on, and tha That's certain, forgetting

cxtempore too, either with a prologie of hs That he himself, in every gross lampoon,

own, or something like one. O here he comes Her lewder secrets spread about the town;

to his trial, at all adventures : for iny par, ! Whilft their feign'd niceness is but cautious fear, wilh him a good deliverance. Their own intrigues fhould be unravellid here.

Exeunt Mr. Bright and Mr. Bowie. Our next recourícwas dwindling down to farce,

Enter Mr. Williams. Then, Zounds-what fuff is here! Is wit fo Save re, Sirs, fare ye! I'm in a bopeful way, scarce ?

I should speak sumcthing, in rhyme, now, icr Well, gentlemen, since none of those has sped,

the play: Gad, we have bought a share in the speaking head. But the deuce take me if I know what to far.) So there you 'll fave a fice,

I'll lick to my friend the author, that I can tulisan You love good husbandry in all but vice. To the last drop of claret in my belly. The head rises upon a trified poll, on a bencb. So far I 'm sure 'tis rhyinc-that needs to

from under the stage. After severn speaks granting : . . (are wantirg. to its mouth.

And, if my verles feet ftumble--you see my na 01-0!-O!

Our young poet has brought a piece of work, Stentor. 0 -0!-O!

In which tho' much of art there does not lurk, Afier ibis it fing's Sawny, laughs, cries God tlefs It may hold out three days and that's as the king, in oriler.

long as Cork ; Stentor answers,

But for this play-(which 'till I have done, we Speak louder, Jevern, if you'd have me repeat; 1 thew not) Plague of this rogue, he will betray the cheat. What may be its fortune-by the Lord

[Hippuks louder, it alfier's indireetly. This I dare swear, no malicé here is writ: -Hum- There'tis again :

'Tis innocent of all things-even of wit. Pox of your echo with a northern strain. He's no high-flyer--he makes no sky-rockers, Well this will be bata nine days wonder too; His fquibs are only levell’d at your pockets.

There 's nothing lafing but the puppet-thew. | And if his crackers 'light among your pelf,
What lady's leait fo hard, but it would move, Yc are blown up; if not, then he's blown up
To bear Philander and Irene's love?

I himself.
Thole lifters too, the fcandalous wits do say, By this time I 'm something recover'd of
Two namcicfo Iceping beaux have made to gay ; fluster'd madness:
Lut those amcurs are perfe& sympathy,

And now, a word or two, in sober sadness.
Their gallants being as mere machines as they. Ours is a common play; and you pay down
O!!:o v the city wife, with her nown ninny, A common harlot's price-just half a crown.
Is charm’d wath, Come into my coach, Miss You'll say, I play the pimp on my friend's score;
Jenny!

But fince 'ris for a friend, your gibes give o'er: But overturving- Frilblo cries---Adzigs, For many a mother has done that before. The joggling rogue has murder'd all his kids. How's this: you cry: an actor write! we know it; The men of war cry, Pox on't ! this is duil; But Shakspeare was an actor and a poct. We're for rough sports-dog Hector, and the Has not great Jonson's learning often failid, bull.

While Skakspeare's greater genius still prevaild? Thus each, in his degree, diversion finds, Have not some writing actors, in this are, Your sports are suited to your mighty minds; Defcrv'd and found success upon the stage? Whilft so much judgment in yourchoice you show, To tell the truth, when our oid wits are cir'd. Thc puppets have more sense than some of you. Not one of us but means to be inspir'd. * The fig: of the city of Cosbe

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Let your kind presence grace our homely cheer; 7 (Grave, folemn things (as graces are to feasts), Peace and the butt, is all our businet's here; Where poets begg'a blefling from their quefts. So much for thatm-indthedeviitake small beer. J But now no more like suppliants we come!

A play makes war, and prologue is the drum. & 14. Epilogue to King Arthur, an Opera; Arra'd with keen satire, and with pointed wit,

1691. Spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle, in ibe We threaten you, who do for judges fit, Chantier of Emeline

DRYDEN. Tosaveour plays; or else we'll damn your pit. T'VE had to-day a dozen billet-doux,

But, for your comfort, it falls out to-day, From fops, and wits, and cits, and Bow-Street We've a yourg author, and his first-born play: beaux :

So, standing only on his good behaviour, Some from Whitehall, but from the Temple He's very civil, and entreats your favour. more,

Not but the man has malice, would he shew it: A Covent-Garden porter brought me four. But, on my conscience, he's a balhful poet; I have not yet read all; but, without feigning, You think that strange-no matter; he 'li We maids can make threwd guesses at your outgrow it. meaning.

Well, I'ın his advocate--by me he prays you, What if, to fhew your styles, I read them here? (I don't know whether I shall speak to please Methinks I hear one cry,“ O Lord, forbear!

you) “ No, Madam, no; by Heaven that's too se. He prays-o bless me! what shall I do now? Well then, be safe- .

[vere.") Hang me if I know what he prays, or how ! But swear henceforward to renounce all writ->And 'twas the prettiest prologue as he wrote it : ing,

Well, the deuce take me if I han't forgot it. And take this folemn oath of my inditing, O Lord! for Heaven's fake excuse the play, ! " As you love ease, and hate campaigns and Because, you know, if it be damn'd to-day, } fighting."

J I fhall be hang'd for wanting what to say. . Ver,'faith, 'tis just to make some few examples: For my fake then-but I 'm in such confusion, What if í fhew'd you one or two for samples ? I cannot stay to hear your resolution. Here's one desires my lady fhip to meet

[Runs off. [Pulls out one. At the kind couch above, in Bridges-street. sharping knavelthatwould have you know what, $ 16. Prologue, spoken by Lord Buckhurst, or

Westminster Scbool, at a representation of Mr. For a poor sneaking treat of chocolate.

Dryden's CLEOMENES, ibe Spartan Hero, at Now, in the name of luck, I'll break this open, Pulls out ano.ber. Cbristmas, 1695. .

PRIOR. Because I dreame last night I had a token; PISH! Lord, I wish this prologue was but The superscription is exceeding pretty,

Greck, “ To the desire of all the town and city." Then young Cleonidas would boldly speak : Now, gallants, you must know, this precious fop But can Lord Buckhurst in poor English lay, Is foreman of a haberdasher's shop;

Gentle spectators, pray excute the play? One who devoutly cheats, demure in carriage, No, witness all ye gods of ancient Greece, And courts me to the holy bands of marriage : Rather than condeicend to terms like these, But with a civil inuendo too,

I'd go to school fix hours on Christmas-day My overplus of love shall be for you.

Or construe Perfus while my comrades play.

[Reads. Such work by hircling actors should be done, " Madam, I swear, your looks are fo divine, Who tremble when they lec a critic frown; u When I set up your face shall be my fign. Poor rognes, that linart like fencers for their

Tho'times are harr, to show how I adore you, bread, 4 Here's mywhole heart, and halfaguinea for you. And if they are not wounded are not fed. 66 But have a care of beaux ; they 're falfe, my But, Sirs, our labour has more noble ends, “ honey ;

We act our tragedy to fee our friends : 6. And, which is worse, have not one rag of Our gei'rous foones are for pure love repeated, " money."

And if you are not pllas'd, at leaft you're See how maliciously thc rogue would wrong ye: treated But I know better things of fome among ye. The caadles and the clothes ourselves we bought, My wifest way will be to keep the stage, Dar tops neglected, and our balls forgot. And trul to the good-nature of the age; To learn our parts we left our midniglit bed, And he that likes the music and the play, Most of you fnor'd whilft Cleomencs read : Shall be my favourite gallant to-day.

Vot i hat from this con fuifion we would sue

Praise undcferv'd; we know ourselves and you : 15. Prologue to The Old Bachelor; 1693. Resolv'd to stand or perish by our cause, !

CONCREVE. We neither cenfire fear, nor beg applause, NOW this vile world is chang'd! In former for thofe arc Westminster and Sparta's laws.

Yet if we fee forme judgment well irclin'd, Prologues were serious speeches before plays; To young defert and growing virtue kind,

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That critic hy ten thousand marks should know,No critic here will he provoke to fight; That greateit' souls to goodness only bow; The day be theirs, he only begs his night. And that your little hero dves inherit

Pray pledge him now, fecur'd from all abus ; Not Cleomencs'inore than Dorset's fpirit. Then name the health you love, let none refur

§ 17. Prologue to ibe Royal Mijcbief; 1696. § 19. Prologue to ibe Confiant Couple ; 1900. Prior.!

FERQUHAL I ADIES, to you with pleasure we submit

poETS will think nothing fochecks their firs, This early offspring of a virgin-wit.

1
1

As wits, cits, beaux, and women for their jur'

Tour spark's halfdead to think varmedky's 0 From your good-nature nought our authoress Wich

"With blended judgments, to pronounce luis doute. fears : Sure you 'll indulge, if not the musc, her years ; le

'Tis all falle fear; for in a iningled pit, Freely the praile she may deserve, bestow;

''Why, what your grave Don thinks bu, dulis!

I writ, Pardon, not cenfuic, what you can't allow;

His neighbouri' th' great wig may take for wit." Smile on the work, be to her merits kind, And to her faults, whate'er they are, he blind.

Some authors court the few, the wile if am; Let critics foliow rules; the boldly writes

Our youth's content. if he can reach the mar, What Nature dictates, and what Love indires.

W'hu gowith much like ends to church andplar, By no dull forms her queen and ladies move,

Nor to observe what'priefta or poets lay But court their heroes, and agnize their love.

No, no! your thoughts, like theirs, lie quite

another way. Poor maid ! fhe'd have (what e'en no wife would

The ladies safe may smile, for here's no flander, crave) A husband love his spouse beyond the grare :

No sinut, no lewd-congued bcaa, no double at And, from a second marriage to deter,

tendre.

|'Tis true, he has a spark just come from Francea Shews you what horrid things step-mothers are. Howe'er, to constancy the prize the gives,

But then, so far from beau-why he talks fenk And tho' the fifter dics the brother lives.

Likecoin, ost carried out, but-seldom brought Bleft with fuccefs, at last he mounts a throne,

from thence. Enjoys at once his mistress and a crown.

There's yet a gang to whom our spark submits, ) Lcarn, ladies, then, from Lidaraxa's fate,

Your elbow-thaking fool, that lives by's wits, What great rewards on virtuous lovers wait.

That's only witty tho', juft as be lives, by firs:)

Who, lion-like, chrough bailiffs (cours away, ) Learn too, if heaven and fate should adverse prove, l, (For fate and heaven don't always smile on love)

Hunts, in the face of dinner, all the day, Learn with Zelinda to be still the same,

At night with empty bowels grumbles o'er the Nor quit your first for any second Hame:

play. Whatever fate, or death, or life, be given,

And now the modifh 'prentice he implores,

Who, with h's master's cash, tol'n out of dors, Dare to be true, submit the rest to Heaven.

Employs it on a bracc of -hovourablu whores:)

While their good bulky mother pleas'd fits by $18. Prologue 10 Love and a Bottle; 1699. Bawd-regent of the bubble gallery.

FARQUHAR. Nexttoour mounted friends we humbly move, Servant attending with a lotile of wine. Who all your side-tox tricks are much above,

Aud never fail to pay us with vour love. A S stubborn atheists, who disdain to pray,

Ah, friends! poor Dorfer Gardcu-house is gone; n Repent, thu' late, upon their dying day;

Our merry meetings there are all undone : Soin their pangs most authors, rack'd with fears, lovire lon

i tears, Quite loft to us, fure for some strange misdeeds, Implore your mercy in our suppliant pray'rs.

That strong dog Samplon's pull'd it o'er our bickes, But our new author has no caufe maintain'd,

Snaps rope like thread; but when his fortune : Let him not lore what he has never gain'd:

told him, Love and a Bottle are his peaceful arms; He'll hear perhaps of rope will one day hold him: Ladies and gallants, have not those fome charms? Ar leat thone thar:

charms? | At leaft, hope that our good-narur'd tota For love, all mankind to the fair must sue:

Will find a way to pull his.prices down. And, Sirs, the botile he presents to you.

Well, that's all I Now, gentlemen, for the plar: Health to the play I toart [Drinks ]-e en let it pass, on second thoughts, I've but two words to lay i Sure none fic nere that will refuic their glass!

gals! Such as it is, for your delight design'd, O there's a damning foldier- let me think I

Hear it, read, try, judge, and speak as you find. He looks as he were sworn to what? To drink.

(Drinks. Come on then; foot to foot be boldly fet,

$ 20. Prologue to the Inconftant; 1702... And our young author's new commitsion wet.

FARQUHAR He and his bottle here attend their doom, I IKE hungry gucfts a fitting audience looks: Froin you the poet's Helicon must come;

Plays are like fuppers ; pocts are the cooks. If he has any foes, co inake amends, [friends rhe founders you: the table is the place : He gives his service Drinks)-Sure you now art | The carvers we, the prologue is the grace : cach

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