University of Virginia Library

The Second Prologue personated like Ben Johnson rising from below.

Behold I Ben appear, your Poet once,
That living durst a vengeance here denounce
On all the Stages Crimes, and Judges dare
To make my Wit their sense, or else their fear;
Thus have I left th'Elizium Shades and Groves,
The sacred Mansions of the Muses Loves,
Where I my Bays till now unwither'd saw
In my immortal Plays, that here gave Law.
But now provok'd, the Muses quarrel take,
And from their call thus my appearance make;
Did I instruct you (well ne're half an Age)
To understand the Grandeur of the Stage,
With the exactest Rules of Comedy,
Yet now y'are pleased with Wits low frippery,
Admitting Farce, the trifling mode of France,
T'infect you with fantastick ignorance,
Forgetting 'twas your glory to behold,
Plays wisely form'd, such as I made of old;
But by my Bays I swear, if you persist,
And my Judicious Cautions hence resist,
I'le next rise with the Furies from below,
That scourge vile Poets there with Scorpions too,
And with those circl'd, hiss at you, and them,
Except the Scenes just Grandeur you redeem;
Thus for your Crimes, but what this day will be,
The fate and merit of the Play you'l see;
I scarce divine, nor did its Author raise
Me by a Poets charm to give him praise.
I never had an Ear was sooth'd by Rhime,
Or flatter'd to protect a Writers crime.
And might this Authors modesty offend,
Should my Encomium here his Play commend;
Who now prevents it, whilest methinks I hear
A whisper of his doubtings in my ear;
His fears are many, there's such Fate in Wit,
That Plays from fortune more then merit hit,
Whose Muse would blush for such a guilty chance,
Since 'twere the bounty of your ignorance.
But though your crimes in judgment he forbears,
Take heed, how Ben provok'd, once more appears.