University of Virginia Library

PROLOGUE.

Judges of Wit, you, whose diserning Eyes
Know the right path and nearest, to be wise
That never damn'd a Play, as a despite
To us, but always thought your selves i'th' right.
Our Rhymer swears it never shall corode
Upon his mind, since 'tis grown Al-a-mode,
Since great and pow'rful Sons of Poesie,
Have felt your pointed censures, why not he?
The Age is alter'd now, he that has Wit,
Ne're uses it abroad, but in the Pit,
There spreads it all, and e're one Scene does know,
Calls friend aside, Cryes, Dammy. Jack lets go,
Not a Wench here that's worth the speaking to.
Others that want Wit, hither come to glean,
Seem to find fault and cavil at a Scene,
Because they understand it not, yet will
Dislike, because 'tis Modish, and Gentile.
Thus both ways we our Enemy's inclose:
The Wise and Fools are equally our foes,
'Tis true some tender hearted Females come,
That want divertisement and trade at home,
But little's to be got by them, alas!
They bring good faces, but their moneys brass,
Madam, we cry, 'tis naught, she peeps through hood,
Cryes, truth, my Lord did give it me for good.
Still this makes ill for us, such as doe pay
Bring naughty money, such as do not, stay
Your Criticism's greater then your sins are,
And yet, you'd laugh to hear, Old Cole of Windsor,
A bawdy Ballad, though with non sence cram'd,
Will please ye when a serious Play is damn'd.
But do your worst for we resolve to try,
A proof now of the Ladies Clemency,
If they but favour us, you must obey,
Their frowns hurt you more then you'l hurt our Play,
But should they hiss and our designs condemn,
It were an honnour be damn'd by them,
You are such Devils and so far exceed,
From you 'twere worse then to be damn'd indeed,
But in their heav'nly breasts no rancour lyes,
Their censures must be glorious as their eyes,
And he that hears, and follows not their rule,
Is impotent, I'me sure, if not a Fool.