State Tracts Containing Many Necessary Observations and Reflections on the State of our Affairs at Home and Abroad; With some Secret Memoirs. By the Author of the Examiner [i.e. William Oldisworth] |
 | I. |
| Coffee-House Chat; BY WAY OF DIALOGUE |
 |
 | State Tracts |  |
Coffee-House Chat; BY WAY OF DIALOGUE
The PROLOGUE.
Since
such promiscuous Crowds are hither come,
From sundry Neighb'ring parts of Christendom,
Knaves of all Trades, and Fools in ev'ry Art,
Not only to behold, but play their Part;
Therefore the Poet, who Commands our Stage,
Skill'd in the various Humours of the Age,
In hopes to please you, has Ordain'd to Day
Poor me to be the Zany of his Play.
For how profusely Dull would Farce appear,
Were not a Pinkethman or Bullock there?
Tho' I confess, we don't like them propose
To please Town Punks, or win Applause from Beaus:
For our Diverting Stage is of a Nature
Quite different from that of the Theatre:
We raise no blust'ring Heroes from the Grave,
To Strut in Buskins, and like Madmen Rave,
Because some Jilting Beauty has the Grace
To hold her Play-thing from their Lewd Embrace:
We have no Fighting Lovers for the Fair;
No Anthony's shall on our Stage appear
With Am'rous Rants, the Ladies Hearts to move,
And Teach our Modern Blockheads how to love,
Yet we've a Sturdy Soldier, and 'tis said
Women will Snap at any Fool in Red:
But I must needs confess our Poet asks
No favour now from Merry Dames in Masks:
He's only bent to please a buzzing Breed,
That o'er their Coffee Tattle, Smoke, and Read;
And blust'ring in their Talk like Petty Lords,
Win and Loose Worlds as Children do at Cards.
In short, our Merry Author only means
To give you back what he amongst ye gleans,
That when your num'rous Faults at large are shown,
Each Knave and Fool may justly see his own,
And stain'd with Blushes, or provok'd to Smiles,
View their past Follies at their Leisure whiles.
From sundry Neighb'ring parts of Christendom,
Knaves of all Trades, and Fools in ev'ry Art,
Not only to behold, but play their Part;
Therefore the Poet, who Commands our Stage,
Skill'd in the various Humours of the Age,
184
Poor me to be the Zany of his Play.
For how profusely Dull would Farce appear,
Were not a Pinkethman or Bullock there?
Tho' I confess, we don't like them propose
To please Town Punks, or win Applause from Beaus:
For our Diverting Stage is of a Nature
Quite different from that of the Theatre:
We raise no blust'ring Heroes from the Grave,
To Strut in Buskins, and like Madmen Rave,
Because some Jilting Beauty has the Grace
To hold her Play-thing from their Lewd Embrace:
We have no Fighting Lovers for the Fair;
No Anthony's shall on our Stage appear
With Am'rous Rants, the Ladies Hearts to move,
And Teach our Modern Blockheads how to love,
Yet we've a Sturdy Soldier, and 'tis said
Women will Snap at any Fool in Red:
But I must needs confess our Poet asks
No favour now from Merry Dames in Masks:
He's only bent to please a buzzing Breed,
That o'er their Coffee Tattle, Smoke, and Read;
And blust'ring in their Talk like Petty Lords,
Win and Loose Worlds as Children do at Cards.
In short, our Merry Author only means
To give you back what he amongst ye gleans,
That when your num'rous Faults at large are shown,
Each Knave and Fool may justly see his own,
And stain'd with Blushes, or provok'd to Smiles,
View their past Follies at their Leisure whiles.
The Soldier, Gamester, Sharper, and the Beau,
Shall in true Colours all their Vices show:
The Miser, Lawyer, Conjurer and Quack,
The Merchant, and the Knave that Jobs in Stock,
Shall open each the Myst'ries of their Trade,
And how their subtle Wiles and Snares are laid:
The wav'ring Fox that changes with the Times;
The Jingling Poet, stuff'd with Songs and Rhimes;
The Frothy Punster, and the Downright Dealer;
The News-hound; the Projector; and the Sailor;
The Merry Roaring Rake that lives apace,
And Values nothing but his Friend and Glass,
All on our Stage agree to play their Parts,
And shew their sundry Vanities and Arts.
But e're we draw the Curtain, let me see
Who wants fresh Coffee, Chocolate, or Tea.
Drink, Gentlemen, for that's the only way
To save poor Bohee, tho' you damn our Play.
Shall in true Colours all their Vices show:
The Miser, Lawyer, Conjurer and Quack,
The Merchant, and the Knave that Jobs in Stock,
Shall open each the Myst'ries of their Trade,
And how their subtle Wiles and Snares are laid:
185
The Jingling Poet, stuff'd with Songs and Rhimes;
The Frothy Punster, and the Downright Dealer;
The News-hound; the Projector; and the Sailor;
The Merry Roaring Rake that lives apace,
And Values nothing but his Friend and Glass,
All on our Stage agree to play their Parts,
And shew their sundry Vanities and Arts.
But e're we draw the Curtain, let me see
Who wants fresh Coffee, Chocolate, or Tea.
Drink, Gentlemen, for that's the only way
To save poor Bohee, tho' you damn our Play.
Vol. II.
Qui nescit, Versus tamen audet fingere.
Hor. de Arte Poet.
Hor. de Arte Poet.
| State Tracts | |