University of Virginia Library

PROLOGUE.

When your Fore-Fathers did our Judges sit,
And Spight and Malice, were not counted Wit;
Mens Appetites lay quite a different Way;
They came t'a Play-House then, to like a Play:
They came to meet Diversion from the Stage:
But, 'tis not that, that brings you here this Age.
Since Custom 'mongst the Gallants of the Pit,
Has made Confed'racy the Badg of Wit;
That Mode of Liking Plays is as much out,
As 'tis to go to Church to be Devout.
Fancy, and Wit, can no more please you here,
Than Faith, and Reason, can Convert you There.
Incorrigible, you resolve, you'l be;
And Prayers have no more Pow'r than Poetry.
And faith, to make Comparisons in both Cases,
Much the same Business brings you to both Places:
'Tis not the Plays invite you, nor the Poet;
Good Company, and Assignations do it.
And so you come too to a Pulpit Treat,
To like the Guests, more then the Fare you meet.
And Gad, I think, the Cause is much at one,
Why you the Poet, as the Priests run down.
In a Smart Prologue, or Satyrick Play,
He tells you of your Sins, as well as They.
But since you're Desperate, and you defy us
To make you Kind, and them to make you Pious:
For, you Lost State, which will be best, to pray
In th'Huffing Authors, or Mild Parsons way;
And cry with this, have Mercy on you Heav'n,
Grant you more Grace, and be your Sins forgiv'n:
Or else with th'other, in an angry stile;
Death cannot Wit, nor Sense deserve a Smile?
If no good usage, cost, nor pains can make ye
Less spightful, and more kind, the Devil take ye.