University of Virginia Library

PROLOGUE TO ALEXANDER, Written by Sir Char. Scroop, Baronet.

How hard the Fate is, of that Scribling Drudge,
Who writes to all, when yet so few can judge!
Wit, like Religion, once Divine was thought;
And the dull Crowd believ'd, as they were taught:
Now each Fanatick Fool presumes t'explain
The Text, and does the sacred Writ prophane:
For, while you Wits each others Fall pursue,
The Fops usurp the Power belongs to you.
You think y'are challeng'd in each new Play-hill,
And here you come for tryal of your Skill;
Where, Fencer-like, you one another hurt,
While, with your Wounds, you make the Rabble sport.
Others there are, that have the bruital Will
To Murder a poor Play, but want the Skill.
They love to fight, but seldome have the Wit
To spye the Place, where they may thrust and hit;
And therefore, like some Bully of the Town,
Ne're stand to draw, but knock the Poet down.
With these, like Hogs in Gardens it succeeds,
They root up all, and know not Flowers from Weeds.
As for you, Sparks, that hither come each day
To Act your own, and not to mind our Play;
Rehearse your usual follies to the Pit,
And with loud Non-sense drown the Stages Wit:
Talk of your Cloaths, your last Debauches tell,
And witty Bargains to each other sell;
Gloat on the silly She, who for your sake
Can Vanity, and Noise, for Love mistake;
'Till the Cocquet, sung in the next Lampoon,
Is by her jealous Friends sent out of Town.
For, in this Duelling Intriguing Age,
The Love you make is like the War you wage;
Y'are still prevented e're you come t'ingage.
But 'tis not to such trifling Foes as you,
The Mighty Alexander daigns to sue:
You Persians of the Pit he does despise,
But to the Men of Sence, for Aid, he flies;
On their experienc'd Arms he now depends,
Nor fears he odds, if they but prove his Friends:
For as he once, a little handful chose,
The numerous Armies of the World t'oppose,
So back'd by you, who understand the Rules,
He hopes to rout the Mighty Host of Fools.