University of Virginia Library

PROLOGUE. Writ by Mr. Mountfort, Spoken by Mrs. Knight.

New Plays is still the Cry of the whole Town,
Therefore to day, young Powell gives you one;
The fellow never writ before this time,
And I am come to plead his Cause in Rhime;
You may be sure that writing is grown scarce,
When he sets up for Prose, and I for Verse;
Variety of Plays, like Women, all
Desire, and both, when had, grow dull:
Women and Plays are both uncertain too,
We cannot swear they'r sound, till try'd by you;
If a Play's bad, 'tis but three hours enduring,
But Women often cost you three months curing;
From an ill Play, each to the Tavern runs,
Cursing the Poet, and his memory drowns,
Drinking Damnation to him in six go downs.
Our Scribler don't at all you sharp Wits dread,
He writes as Bullies fight, not for Renown, but Bread;
Ive heard there goes a curse with Poetry,
Which many Authors know, call'd Poverty.
But as for Players,
They can no greater curse then being Players deserve,
For write or not write, we are sure to to starve;
You all are leaving us to serve the Nation,
Our men and we shall have a long Vacation;
One Plague by Fire this House hath undergone,
Let not another be by Famine shown;
Some for the Field in dismal Red prepare,
Others at Sea, engage in men of War,
Woe be to us the weaker Vessels here;
What will become of every likely Lass,
If Shipton's Prophecy should come to pass,
One man will never serve seven Women sure,
When Women can intrigue with half a score;
What shall we do, our falling Sex to prop,
The very day you march, we shut up shop.
Bills must be writ to let each Tenement,
We may find Lodgers, but they'll pay no Rent,
Be kind then to us, e're you go away,
Else we shall reap no Profit by this Play,
For Pyrat like, no Purchase, we've no pay.