 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
Prologue for Sir John Falstaff, rising slowly to soft Musick.
See
Britains, see one half before your Eyes
Of the old Falstaff labouring to arise.
Curse on these straitlac'd Traps and French Machines,
None but a Genius can ascend these Scenes.
Once more my English Air I breath agen,
And smooth my double Ruff, and double Chin.
Now let me see what Beauties gild the Sphere;
Body O me! the Ladies still are fair:
The Boxes shine, and Gallerys are full,
Such were our Bona Robas at the Bull.
But Supreme Jove, what washy Rogues are here?
Are these the Sons of Beef and English Beer?
Old Pharaoh never dreamt of Kine so lean,
This comes of meagre Soop and sour Champaign.
Degenerate Race! Let your old Sire advise,
If you desire to fill the fair Ones Eyes,
Drink unctious Stck, and emulate my Size.
Your half-flown Strains aspire to humble Bliss,
And proudly aim no lower than a Kiss,
Till quite worn out with acting Beaux and Wits,
You're all sent crawling to the Gravel-Pits:
Pretending Claps, there languishing you lie,
And let the Maids of the Green-sickness die.
The Case was other when we rul'd the Roast,
We rob'd and ravish'd, but you sigh and toast.
Of the old Falstaff labouring to arise.
Curse on these straitlac'd Traps and French Machines,
None but a Genius can ascend these Scenes.
Once more my English Air I breath agen,
And smooth my double Ruff, and double Chin.
Now let me see what Beauties gild the Sphere;
Body O me! the Ladies still are fair:
The Boxes shine, and Gallerys are full,
Such were our Bona Robas at the Bull.
219
Are these the Sons of Beef and English Beer?
Old Pharaoh never dreamt of Kine so lean,
This comes of meagre Soop and sour Champaign.
Degenerate Race! Let your old Sire advise,
If you desire to fill the fair Ones Eyes,
Drink unctious Stck, and emulate my Size.
Your half-flown Strains aspire to humble Bliss,
And proudly aim no lower than a Kiss,
Till quite worn out with acting Beaux and Wits,
You're all sent crawling to the Gravel-Pits:
Pretending Claps, there languishing you lie,
And let the Maids of the Green-sickness die.
The Case was other when we rul'd the Roast,
We rob'd and ravish'd, but you sigh and toast.
But here I see a Side-box better lin'd,
Where old plump Jack in Miniature I find,
Tho they're but Turnspits of the Mastiff kind.
Half bred they seem, mark'd with the Mungrels Curse,
Oons! which among you dares attempt a Purse?
If you'd appear my Sons, defend my Cause,
And let my Wit and Humour find applause;
Shew your Disdain those nauseous Scenes to taste,
Where French Buffoon like leanest Switzer drest,
Turns all good Politicks to Farce and Jest.
Banish such Apes, and save the sinking Stage;
Let Mimes and squeaking Eunuchs fill your Rage;
On such let your descending Curse be try'd,
Preserve plump Jack, and banish all beside.
Where old plump Jack in Miniature I find,
Tho they're but Turnspits of the Mastiff kind.
Half bred they seem, mark'd with the Mungrels Curse,
Oons! which among you dares attempt a Purse?
If you'd appear my Sons, defend my Cause,
And let my Wit and Humour find applause;
Shew your Disdain those nauseous Scenes to taste,
Where French Buffoon like leanest Switzer drest,
Turns all good Politicks to Farce and Jest.
Banish such Apes, and save the sinking Stage;
Let Mimes and squeaking Eunuchs fill your Rage;
On such let your descending Curse be try'd,
Preserve plump Jack, and banish all beside.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |