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PROLOGUE, By the Honourable Mr. Granville.

Your Comick Writer, is a Common Foe,
None can intrigue in Peace, or be a Beau,
Nor wanton Wife, nor Widow can be sped,
Not even Russell, can interr the Dead,
But strait this Censor, in his Whim of Wit,
Strips, and presents you naked to the Pit.
Thus Criticks, should like these, be branded Foes,
Who for the Poyson only, suck the Rose,
Rejecting what is sweet, like Vultures, they
Feed only, on the Carrion of the Play,
Snarling and Carping, without Wit or Sense,
Impeach Mistakes, o'er-looking Excellence:
As if to every Fop it might belong,
Like Senators, to censure Right or Wrong.

But generous Wits, have more Heroick Views,
And Love and Honour, are the Theams they chuse.

To the Ladies.

From yon bright Heaven, our Author fetcht his Fire,
And paints the Passions, that your Eyes inspire,
Full of that Flame, his tender Scenes he warms,
And frames his Goddess, by your matchless Charms.
So may that Fleet, the Pride of Navys stand,
So, be each shining Sail, completely mann'd.
As you, to Day, shall grace the Poet's Name,
Who writes, and lives, but to record your Fame.
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