University of Virginia Library

PROLOGUE, Spoke by Mr. Mountfort.

I think or hope, at least, the Coast is clear,
That none but Men of Wit and Sence are here:
That our Bear-Garden Friends are all away,
Who bounce with Hands and Feet, and cry Play, Play.
Who to save Coach-hire, trudge along the Street,
Then print our Matted Seats with dirty Feet;
Who, while we speak, make Love to Orange-Wenches,
And between Acts stand strutting on the Benches:
Where got a Cock-horse, making vile Grimaces,
They to the Boxes show their Booby Faces.
A Merry-Andrew, such a Mob will serve,
And treat 'em with such Wit as they deserve:
Let 'em go People Ireland, where there's need
Of such new Planters to repair the Breed;
Or to Virginia or Jamaica Steer,
But have a care of some French Privateer;
For if they should become the Prize of Battle,
They'll take 'em Black and White for Irish Cattle.
Arise true Judges in your own Defence,
Controul those Foplings, and declare for Sence:
For should the Fools prevail, they stop not there,
But make their next Descent upon the Fair.
Then rise ye Fair; for it concerns you most,
That Fools no longer should your Favours boast;
'Tis time you should renounce 'em, for we find
They plead a senseless Claim to Woman kind:
Such Squires are only fit for Country Towns,
To stink of Ale; and dust a Stand with Clownes:
Who, to be chosen for the Lands Protectors,
Tope and get Drunk before their Wise Electors.
Let not Farce Lovers your weak Choice upbraid,
But turn 'em over to the Chamber-maid.
Or if they come to see our Tragick Scenes,
Instruct them what a Spartan Hero means:
Teach 'em how manly Passions ought to move,
For such as cannot Think can never Love:
And since they needs will judge the Poets Art,
Point 'em with Fescu's to each shining Part.
Our Author hopes in you, but still in pain,
He fears your Charms will be employ'd in vain;
You can make Fools of Wits, we find each Hour,
But to make Wits of Fools, is past your Power.