The Staple of Newes :: :: University of Virginia Library

Come Gossip, be not asham'd. The Play is
the Staple of Newes, and you are the Mistresse, and
Lady of Tatle, let's ha' your opinion of it: Do you heare
Gentleman? what are you? Gentleman-vsher to the
Play? pray you helpe vs to some stooles here.

Prologve.

Where? o' the Stage, Ladies?

Mirth.

Yes, o' the Stage; wee are persons of quality, I assure
you, and women of fashion; and come to see, and to be seene: My Gossip
Tatle here, and Gossip Expectation, and my Gossip Censure, and
I am Mirth, the daugther of Christmas, and spirit of Shrouetide. They
say, It's merry when Gossips meet, I hope your Play will be a merry one!

Prologve.

Or you wil make it such, Ladies. Bring a forme here,
but what will the Noblemen thinke, or the graue Wits here, to see you
seated on the bench thus?

Mirth.

Why, what should they thinke? but that they had Mothers,
as we had, and those Mothers had Gossips (if their children were christned)
as we are, and such as had a longing to see Playes, and sit vpon them, as wee
doe, and arraigne both them, and their Poëts.

Prologve.

O! Is that your purpose? Why, Mr s. Mirth, and Madame
Tatle, enioy your delights freely.

Tatle.

Looke your Newes be new, and fresh, Mr Prologue, and
vntainted, I shall find them else, if they be stale, or flye-blowne, quickly!

Prologve.

Wee aske no fauour from you, onely wee would entreate
of Madame Expectation—

Expectation.

What, Mr Prologue?

Prologve.

That your Ladi-ship would expect no more then you
vnderstand.

Expectation.

Sir, I can expect enough!

Prologve.

I feare too much, Lady, and teach others to do the like?

Expectation.

I can doe that too, if I haue cause.

Prologve.

Cry you mercy, you neuer did wrong, but with
iust cause. What's this, Lady?

Mirth.

Curiosity, my lady Censure.

Prologve.

O Curiosity! you come to see, who weares the new
sute to day? whose clothes are best penn'd, what euer the part be? which
Actor has the best legge and foote? what King playes without cuffes?
and his Queene without gloues? who rides post in stockings? and daunces
in bootes?

Censvre.

Yes, and which amorous Prince makes loue in drinke, or
doe's ouer-act prodigiously in beaten satten, and, hauing got the tricke on't,
will be monstrous still, in despight of Counsell!

The Tiremen enter to mend the lights.
Book-holder.

Mend your lights, Gentlemen. Master Prologue,
beginne.

Tatle.

Ay me!

Expectation.

Who's that?

Prologve.

Nay, start not Ladies, these carry no fire-workes to
fright you, but a Torch i' their hands, to giue light to the businesse. The
truth is, there are a set of gamesters within, in trauell of a thing call'd
a Play, and would faine be deliuer'd of it: and they haue intreated me to be their Man-Midwife, the Prologue; for they are like to haue a hard
labour on't.

Tatle.

Then the Poet has abus'd himselfe, like an Asse, as hee is.

Mirth.

No, his Actors will abuse him enough, or I am deceiu'd.
Yonder he is within (I was i' the Tiring-house a while to see the Actors
drest) rowling himselfe vp and downe like a tun, i' the midst of 'hem, and
spurges, neuer did vessel of wort, or wine worke so! His sweating put me
in minde of a good Shrouing dish (and I beleeue would be taken vp for a
seruice of state somewhere, an't were knowne) a stew'd Poet! He doth sit
like a vnbrac'd Drum with one of his heads beaten out: For, that you
must note, a Poet hath two heads, as a Drum has, one for making, the
other repeating, and his repeating head is all to pieces: they may gather
it vp i' the tiring-house; for hee hath torne the booke in a Poeticall fury,
and put himselfe to silence in dead Sacke, which, were there no other vexation,
were sufficient to make him the most miserable Embleme of patience.

Censvre.

The Prologue, peace.