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PROLOGUE. Spoken by Mr. Underhill.

Gallants our Author met me here to day,
And beg'd that I'd say something for his Play.
You Waggs that Judge by Roat, and damn by Rule,
Taking your measures from some Neighbour fool,
Who has Impudence a Coxcombs useful Tool;
That always are severe you know not why,
And would be thought great Criticks by the By:
With very much ill Nature, and no Wit,
Just as you are, we humbly beg you'd Sit,
And with your Silly selves divert the Pitt.
You Men of Sence, who heretofore allow'd,
Our Author's Follies; make him once more proud,
But for the Youths, that newl' are come from France,
Who's Heads want Sence, though heels abound with dance:
Our Authour to their Judgment won't submit,
But swears that they who so infest the Pit,
With their own Follies, ne're can Judge of Wit.
'Tis thence he Chiefly favour would Implore,
[to the Boxes.
And Fair Ones pray oblige him on my Score.
Confine his Foes, the Fops within their Rules,
For Ladies you know how to manage Fools.