University of Virginia Library

PROLOGUE. Spoke by the Author.

The hardy Wretch, that gives the Stage a Play,
Sails, in a Cockboat, on a tumbling Sea!
Shakespear, whose Works no Play-wright could excel,
Has lanch'd us Fleets of Plays, and built them well:
Strength, Beauty, Greatness were his constant Care;
And all his Tragedies were Men of War!
Such tow'ring Barks the Rage of Seas defy'd,
The Storms of Criticks, adverse Winds, or Tide!
Yet Fame, nor Favour ever deign'd to say,
King John was station'd as a first rate Play;
Though strong and sound the Hulk, yet ev'ry Part
Reach'd not the Merit of his usual Art!
To cure what seem'd amiss—a Modern Muse,
Warm'd by the Subject, lets his Rashness loose;
Takes on himself the Errors of to Day,
And, thus refitted, trusts it to the Sea!
The Purpose of his Voyage this—to shew,
How England groan'd—five hundred Years ago!
When, veil'd with Sanctity, the Papal Sway
To wolvish Pastors made our Folds a Prey!
When Roman Prelates here, like Princes reign'd,
Yet scarce e'er visited the Land they drain'd!
And while the Bigots Neck this Yoke endures,
Our Souls were sav'd by foreign Sine-cures!
Thus while each Pontiff, like the Sun, from hence
Exhal'd the Vapours—of his Peter-pence;
Their lock'd-up Heav'n they promis'd (such the Grace is!)
That Popes, like Box-keepers, secur'd you Places:
But not as here, their Laws more firm were made,
None were admitted there, before they paid.
As if the Right divine of Roman Pow'r,
Were first to blind their Flocks, and then devour!
This carnal Discipline the fi'ry John,
Determin'd to suppress, asserts his Throne!
Defiance to the lordly Pontiff flings,
And spurns his Legates that would cope with Kings!
Hence! roar'd the holy Thunder through the Land!
Aghast! the People hear the dread Command!
Terror, Confusion, Rage and civil War,
At once the Bowels of the Nation tear;
'Till the lost Monarch vanquish'd and alone,
His Subjects to regain resigns his Throne;
With vassal Homage at her Feet lays down,
To hold, from Rome, his Tributary-Crown!
These dire Disasters, this religious Rage,
That shames our Annals, may become the Stage:
Where the wild Passions, which these Contests raise,
If well presented, may deserve your Praise;
At least this Pleasure from the View may flow,
That long! long distant were those Scenes of Woe!
And as such Chains no more these Realms annoy,
Applaud the Liberty you now enjoy.