 | The Ingratitude of a Common-Wealth : Or, the fall of Laius Martius Coriolanus |  |
PROLOGUE Written by Sir George Raynsford.
Our Author do's with modesty submit,
To all the Loyal Criticks of the Pit;
Not to the Wit-dissenters of the Age,
Who in a Civil War do still Engage,
The antient fundamental Laws o'th' Stage:
Such who have common Places got, by stealth,
From the Sedition of Wits Common-Wealth.
From Kings presented, They may well detract,
Who will not suffer Kings Themselves to Act.
To all the Loyal Criticks of the Pit;
Not to the Wit-dissenters of the Age,
Who in a Civil War do still Engage,
The antient fundamental Laws o'th' Stage:
Such who have common Places got, by stealth,
From the Sedition of Wits Common-Wealth.
From Kings presented, They may well detract,
Who will not suffer Kings Themselves to Act.
Yet he presumes we may be safe to Day,
Since Shakespear gave Foundation to the Play:
'Tis Alter'd—and his sacred Ghost appeas'd;
I wish you All as easily were Pleas'd:
He only ventures to make Gold from Oar,
And turn to Money, what lay dead before.
Since Shakespear gave Foundation to the Play:
'Tis Alter'd—and his sacred Ghost appeas'd;
I wish you All as easily were Pleas'd:
He only ventures to make Gold from Oar,
And turn to Money, what lay dead before.
But now I spy Tyrannick Judges here;
What pitty 'tis so Fair, and so Severe!
Fine Lady Criticks—on whose fragrant Breath,
Depends the Plays long Life, or sudden Death.
From them the Poet must receive his Doom,
Just as Affairs succeed with them at Home:
We hope the Paraquit and Squirrel's well,
Else we are Damn'd to th'very Pit of Hell.
Sir John is kind—and nothing goes Amiss,
Else we shall have a scurvy Night of this!
If we shou'd here present a Husband cross,
And the Revenge neglected by his Spouse,
'Twere Death in us—nay some of 'em wou'd Rage,
Because he's not made Cuckold on the Stage:
But who shall be that happy Undertaker,
Since each wou'd strive to be that Cuckold-maker?
What pitty 'tis so Fair, and so Severe!
Fine Lady Criticks—on whose fragrant Breath,
Depends the Plays long Life, or sudden Death.
From them the Poet must receive his Doom,
Just as Affairs succeed with them at Home:
We hope the Paraquit and Squirrel's well,
Else we are Damn'd to th'very Pit of Hell.
Sir John is kind—and nothing goes Amiss,
Else we shall have a scurvy Night of this!
If we shou'd here present a Husband cross,
And the Revenge neglected by his Spouse,
'Twere Death in us—nay some of 'em wou'd Rage,
Because he's not made Cuckold on the Stage:
But who shall be that happy Undertaker,
Since each wou'd strive to be that Cuckold-maker?
| The Ingratitude of a Common-Wealth : Or, the fall of Laius Martius Coriolanus | |