University of Virginia Library

Prologue, by Mr. Lee.

Not careful Leaders, when the Trumpets call
Their Martial Squadrons on, to stand or fall,
Toss'd with more doubts, than careful Poets are
When vent'rous Wit for Sally does prepare;
When Humming Voices bid the Play begin,
And the last flourish calls the Prologue in.
Here you, like dreadful Warriours, judging sit;
And, in full Councel, try all Writers Wit.
To some for Sense Renown'd, our Authors bow;
And what you Doom, for a just Fate allow:
But sure far less such Judges Poets dread,
Than those Raw Blades who will not let 'em Plead,
But, e're they can be heard, cry, shoot 'em dead.
These Pyrats, they both Arms and Wits debase;
Who Fields and Poems, with their Spleen, disgrace,
Poets and Warriours both shou'd have in Chase:
These Libellers who noblest Fights despise,
Yet, when a Pan but flashes, shut their Eyes.
They who write Lampoons, vilely get a Name
By others Infamy, and live in shame;
Fifes, Whiflers, and the silly'st Sense, not fit
To be the Powder-Monkeys of true Wit:
Mimies, like Apes, what's ill, for head they cover,
And live upon the Vermin of a Lover:
Nauseous to all, like Pills, by Fortune hurl'd,
And coated o're with Gold, to Purge the World.
Neglecting these, and rusting to your aid,
To Beauty our last Vows, like yours, are made:
Beauty, which still adorns the op'ning List,
Which Cæsar's Heart vouchsafes not to resist:
To that alone devoted is this day;
For, by the Poet, I was bid to say,
In the first draught, 'twas meant the Ladies Play.