University of Virginia Library

A second PROLOGUE intended, but not spoken.

He who comes hither, with design to hiss,
And with a bum revers'd to whisper Miss,
To kemb a Peruke, or to show gay Cloaths,
Or to vent antique Non-sence with new Oaths;
Our Poet welcomes as the Muses Friend,
For he'll by Irony each Play commend.
Next him, we welcome such who briskly dine
At Lockets, at Giraus, or Shattiline;
Swell'd with Pottage, and the Burgundian Grape,
They hither come to take a kindly Nap;
In these our Poet don't conceive much harm,
For they pay well, and keep our Benches warm;
And tho' (scarce half awake) some Plays they damn;
They do't by whole-sale, not by Ounce, and Dram.
But when fierce Criticks get them in their Clutch,
They're crueller than the Tyrannick Dutch;
And with more Art do dislocate each Scene,
Than in Amboyna they the limbs of Men;
They rack each line, and ev'ry word unknit,
As if they'd find a way to cramp all Wit.
They're the Terrour of all adventures here,
The very objects of their hate, and fear;
And like rude Common-wealths they still are knit,
'Gainst English Playes, the Monarchies of Wit.
Th'invade Poetick licence, and still rail
At Plays, to which in duty they shou'd vail,
Yet still th'infest this Coast to Fish for Tests,
To suppliment their Wits at City Feasts.
Thus much for Criticks: To the more generous Wit
Our Poet frankly does each Scene submit,
And begs your kind Alliance to engage
Those Hogen Interlopers of the Stage.