University of Virginia Library

The Prologue.

Our poet not full confident he says,
When Theaters free vote had crown'd his plays,
Came never with more trembling to the stage,
Since that poetick Sohism possest the age.
A Prologue must have more wit than the play,
He knowes not what to write, fears what to say.
He has been stranger long to'th' English scene,
Knowes not the mode, nor how with artfull pen
To charm your airy soules; beside, he sees
The Muses have forsook their groves, the trees
That fear'd no thunder, and were safely worn
By Phæbus own priests, are now rudely torn
By every scurrile wit that can but say
He made a Prologue to a new—no play.
But let 'em pass; you Gentlemen that sit
Our judges, great Commissioners of wit,
Be pleas'd I may one humble motion make,
'Tis that you would resolve for th'authors sake,
I'th' progress of his play not to be such
Who'l understand too little, or too much
But choose your way to Iudge; to th'Ladies one
Address from the Author, and the Prologue's done,
In all his Poems, you have been his care,
Nor shall you need to wrinckle now that fair
Smooth Alablaster of your brow, no fright
Shall strike chast eares, or dye the harmlese white
Of any cheek with blushes, by this pen
No Innocence shall bleed in any scene,
If then your thoughts secur'd you smile, the wise
Will learn to like by looking on your eyes.