University of Virginia Library

The Prologue, Spoken by Mr. Haines.

Good Playes, and perfect Sense as scarce are grown,
As civil Women in this damn'd lewd Town.
Plain Sense, is despicable as plain Cloaths,
As English Hatts, Bone-lace, or woollen Hose;
'Tis your brisk fool that is your Man of Note;
Yonder he goes, in the the embroider'd Cote;
Such wenching eyes, and hands so prone to ruffle;
The gentile fling, the Trip and modish shuffle;
Salt soul and flame, as gay as any Prince
Thus Taggs and Silks, make up your Men of Sense.
I'm told that some are present here to day,
Who e're they see, resolve to Dam this Play,
So much wou'd interest with ill nature Sway;
But Ladies, you we hope, will prove more civil,
And charm these witts that Dam beyond the Devil:
Then let each Crittick here, all Hell inherit,
You have attractions that can lay a Spirit.
A bloody fatal Play you'l see to night,
I vow to Gad, 'thas put me in a fright.
The meanest waiter huffs, looks Big, and struts,
Gives brest a blow, then hand on hilt he puts;
'Tis a fine Age, a tearing Thund'ring age,
Pray Heav'n, this Thund'ring does not crack the Stage:
This Play I like not now—
And yet for ought I know, it may be good,
But still I hate this fighting wounds, and blood,
Why, what the devil have I to do with honour,
Let Heroes Court her, I cry, Pox upon her;
All Tragedies i'Gad to me sound odly,
I can no more be serious, than you Godly.