 | The Novelty |  |
PROLOGUE, spoken by Mr. Bowen.
To please you with new Whims our Poet strives;For most Things please when new, ev'n your own Wives.
But Wives, he fears, are surer to delight
Than Plays. Plays scarce can do't one single Night.
Yet still h'has found you kind; but, for his part,
Swears, 'Twas your goodness more than his desert.
Chiefly at others Cost he treats to Day;
For ev'ry Act you'll have a different Play:
Each kind distinct: Then let no Critic grumble;
Some taking Plays are a worse sort of jumble.
The first's a Pastoral, which t' a friend is due;
But that's for none but th' innocent and true,
And I much fear, Gallants, 'tis not for you.
A Comic Dish before you then he'll set,
And much in Season; that's a Beau in debt:
Poor, as a Poet, in all Things but's Cloths;
For Poets are at best but dirty Beaux,
And what, long after a third day, God knows.
His Third's a Masque. The fourth he chiefly drew
From a late Tragic Drama seen by few;
Yet hopes 'twill please no less than if 'twere new.
The fifth's a Farce, where some odd tricks are joyn'd,
Us'd by the Italians; to which pray be kind:
Nor hope in Farce true Wit or Sence to find.
Sure your Devotion several Plays will bear,
As in one day, some several Sermons hear.
These are not long; but be not sorry for't,
All things are not the worse for being short.
Our Author studies, Sirs, to make you easy;
Some things, the less they are, the better please ye.
Light Cloths, and lighter Food are best this weather,
Next Winter for more solid fare come hither.
Plays, Whores and Masks, go rarely off together.
When Volunteers return, who, like Commanders,
Went to buy Mechlen-Lace, and drink Champaign in Flanders.
Then they all bravely march to Winter Quarters,
To be bombarded by the Vizard-Mortars.
The Tars, who play'd at Bow-peep with the French,
Come to spend all upon some batter'd wench;
And Beaux, of honor fond, when Dangers cease,
To buy Commissions, hearing of a Peace.
Raw Squires come to be modish, see a Play,
Be rigg'd, be rookt, be clapt, then sneak away;
And Petti-foggers come to spend their Guineas,
Then Plantiffs and Defendants all trot home like Ninnies.
Projectors come to offer means and ways,
And a huge Mob to offer us damn'd new Plays.
Kept back by many such, and some few better,
Our Author, till his turn, must be your Debtor,
For, by the by, we did these Acts prepare,
To make good his deficiencies of funds last year.
Since he may make amends, pray let 'em pass!
Restore the Credit of the Bank of Bays!
He'll ne're thus trespass, till, by wondrous Chance,
This is reviv'd, and we have Conquerd France.
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