University of Virginia Library

PROLOGUE. Spoken by Mr. Cibber.

Our Bard the Critick dreads; but more he fears
The Wit that's noisie, than the Judge that hears.
To gain the kind Attention of the Fair,
Has ever been the gentle Poet's Care,
And to that pleasing Hope, what e'er may prove
The least Impediment, he wou'd remove.
While His distrest, Love-wounded Hero's Part,
Melts ev'ry Tender Lady's Eyes, and Heart,
He begs the Men, who muffled Nymphs ingage,
Wou'd, for that time, suspend their am'rous Rage.
During the Scene, let Roman Lovers burn,
And 'twixt each Act, the Brittish in their turn;
But more presumptuous yet, he dares to Night,
Retrench the Many, of their chief Delight,
Against those Monst'rous Gim-Cracks, here declare,
Of which, more fond our gross Spectators are,
Than honest Otter of his Bull, and Bear.
First, he contemns that senseless Decoration,
In which, some Poets have indulg'd the Nation,
No taudry Court, no dangling Maids of Honour,
When e'er the Princess Enters, wait upon her;
No lacker'd Guards, to please our Friends above,
Attend the Hero, while he's making Love;
Here, no Drawcansir, with Bear-Garden Play,
Warms the rough Briton, when he hews his Way;
No Armies fall beneath the ratt'ling Shield,
To make this Spot resemble Blenheim's Field;
This Author, to delight a barb'rous Age,
Strows not with gasping Heroines the Stage;
We bellow forth no high-flown gingling Traps,
To bite transported Witlings of their Claps,
No Ghost is rais'd, no Incantation sung,
Nor a stuff'd OEdipus from Window flung.
We, of the French, their Stage Decorum prize,
And justly such Absurdities despise,
Approve their Unity, of Place, and Time;
But shun their trivial Points, and gaudy Rhime.
True Tastes, our Poet strives to entertain,
With something very good, and very plain.
One choice, well-order'd Dish, is all the Treat,
No Sauce, to make you doubtful what you eat,
The rav'nous Auditor is quite undone,
Who comes prepar'd to hear five Plays in one.
The courser Palates love a large Repast;
But where the Course will cram, the Fine will fast.
This bold Reformer wisely hides his Name;
For none expect Applause from those they blame.
He says, he dabbles in Heroick Measure,
Neither for Fame, nor Profit; but his Pleasure,
Idle, conceal'd, and far from Thought of Gains,
He ventures naught, we risk our Time, and Pains.