The Island Princess, or The Generous Portuguese Made into an Opera |
PROLOGUE. Spoken by Mr. Powell.
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 | The Island Princess, or The Generous Portuguese |  |
PROLOGUE. Spoken by Mr. Powell.
Prologues
, some say, are useless, grave or gay:
The first but clog, the last ne're save a Play.
Yet, since for hum'rous Prologues most you long,
Before this Play we'll have a Ballad sung.
This is our Play-wright's Thoughts: But we who know
The just Respect to mighty Names you show,
Think fit t'acquaint you, that, 'tis humbly own'd,
He rais'd his Structure on fam'd Fletcher's Ground.
This known, we hope we've little now to dread;
You'll spare the Living, lest you wrong the Dead.
Perhaps too, when you know we wave our Pay,
At our own Cost t'adorn these Scenes to day,
In Pity to the Play'rs, you'll kindly use the Play.
Left by our Rulers for our selves to strive
When our faint hopes could scarce be kept alive,
Tho' by Misfortunes drain'd, we by your Smiles revive.
Your gen'rous Pity wou'd not let us fall,
And, in Return, we freely venture all.
Exit.
The first but clog, the last ne're save a Play.
Yet, since for hum'rous Prologues most you long,
Before this Play we'll have a Ballad sung.
The just Respect to mighty Names you show,
Think fit t'acquaint you, that, 'tis humbly own'd,
He rais'd his Structure on fam'd Fletcher's Ground.
This known, we hope we've little now to dread;
You'll spare the Living, lest you wrong the Dead.
Perhaps too, when you know we wave our Pay,
At our own Cost t'adorn these Scenes to day,
In Pity to the Play'rs, you'll kindly use the Play.
Left by our Rulers for our selves to strive
When our faint hopes could scarce be kept alive,
Tho' by Misfortunes drain'd, we by your Smiles revive.
Your gen'rous Pity wou'd not let us fall,
And, in Return, we freely venture all.
Enter Mr. Leveridge, who sings the following words.
1
You've been with dull Prologues here banter'd so long,They signifie nothing, or less than a Song.
To Sing you a Ballad this time we thought fit;
For sound has oft nick'd you, when Sense cou'd not hit.
Then Ladies be kind,
And Gentlemen mind!
Wit-Carpers,
Mobb'd Sinners,
Play-Sharpers,
In Pinners,
Loud Bullies,
Kept-Toppers,
Tame Cullies,
Bench-Hoppers,
Sowre Grumblers,
High-Fliers,
Wench-Bumblers,
Pit-Plyers,
Give Ear, ev'ry Man!
Be still, if you can!
You're always in Mischief for leading the Van.
2
Ye Side-box Gallants, whom the Vulgar call Beaux,Admirers of—Self, and nice Judges of—Cloaths,
Yet ne're were at Sieges, unless at Compiegne.
Spare all, on the Stage,
Love in every Age.
Young Tattles,
Young Graces
Wild Rattles,
Black Faces,
Fan-Tearers,
Some faded,
Mask-Fleerers,
Some jaded,
Old Coasters,
Old Mothers,
Love Boasters,
And Others,
Who set up for Truth!
Who've yet a Colts-Tooth,
See us act that in Winter, you'd all act in youth,
3
Ye Gallery haunters, who Love to Lie Snug,And munch Apples or Cakes while some Neighbour you hug
Ye loftier Genteels, who above us all sit,
And look down with contempt on the Mob in the Pit!
Here's what you like best,
Jig, Song, and the rest.
Free Laughers,
Sly Spouses
Close Gaffers,
With Blowzes,
Dry Joakers,
Grave Horners,
Old Soakers,
In Corners,
Kind Cousins
Kind No-Wits,
By Dozens,
Save-Poets,
Your Custom don't break!
Clap till your hands ake;
And though the Wits damn us, we'll say the Whims take.
| The Island Princess, or The Generous Portuguese | |