 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
A New Prologue spoken at the Theatre in Lincolns-Inn-Fields, on Saturday, July the 8th, 1704. in Praise of the Wells.
Why is great Phœbus stil'd the God of Lays,Who proves so great an Enemy to Plays?
Most Products thrive by those prolifick Fires,
By which the Languid, Drooping Stage expires.
The Sun calls forth the Town to Rural Sport,
For Wilds and Fields ye change the Stage and Court,
To Baths and Wells the Beaus and Belles resort.
To Wells, that great Receit which Doctors give;
To Wells, by which none but Physicians live;
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To Wells, that give ten Pains in curing one.
There the dull Splenetick is cur'd of Life,
And the tormented Husband eas'd of Wife.
For Wife, the worst of Plagues, as some suppose,
Is carry'd off by Waters, or by Beaus.
Their painful Love, to Youth the worst Mishap,
Is cur'd by that most sure Receit, a Clap.
There finds a Virgin Help, with Fits upon her,
Of that most languishing Disease call'd Honour.
There the young Squire, sick of his happy Fate,
Is purg'd of Folly, and a great Estate.
There barren Spouse is sent by trading Sot,
And there a Pox, or Alderman is got.
In short, of all Degrees the Wells draw some;
But more are those call'd by the Martial Drum:
The Tragick Scenes Abroad spoil those at Home.
Tragick indeed, but Tragick to our Foes;
Let wide Germania sing, Germania knows,
How much to Britain's Bravery she owes.
To Anna's Arms the Austrian owes his Crown,
She saves the Father, and restores the Son.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |