King Arthur : or, The British Worthy A Dramatick Opera |
Prologue to the OPERA, Spoken by Mr. Betterton.
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King Arthur : or, The British Worthy | ||
Prologue to the OPERA, Spoken by Mr. Betterton.
Sure there's a Dearth of Wit in this dull Town,When silly Plays so savourly go down:
As when Clipp'd Money passes, 'tis a sign
A Nation is not over-stock'd with Coin.
Happy is he, who, in his own Defence,
Can Write just level to your humble Sence;
Who higher than your Pitch can never go;
And doubtless, he must creep, who Writes below.
So have I seen in Hall of Knight, or Lord,
A weak Arm, throw on a long Shovel-Board,
He barely lays his Piece, bar Rubs and Knocks,
Secur'd by Weakness not to reach the Box.
A Feeble Poet will his Bus'ness do;
Who straining all he can, comes up to you:
For if you like your Selves, you like him too.
An Ape his own Dear Image will embrace;
An ugly Beau adores a Hatchet Face:
So some of you, on pure instinct of Nature,
Are led, by Kind, t'admire your fellow Creature.
In fear of which, our House has sent this Day,
T'insure our New-Built-Vessel, call'd a Play.
No sooner Nam'd, than one crys out, These Stagers
Come in good time, to make more Work for Wagers.
The Town divides, if it will take, or no;
The Courtiers Bet, the Cits, the Merchants too;
A sign they have but little else to do.
Like Spiders, lay in Ambush for the Flies:
But now they're grown a common Trade for all,
And Actions, by the News-Book, Rise and Fall.
Wits, Cheats, and Fops, are free of VVager-Hall.
One-Policy, as far as Lyons carries;
Another, nearer home sets up for Paris.
Our Betts, at last, wou'd ev'n to Rome extend,
But that the Pope has prov'd our Trusty Friend.
Indeed, it were a Bargain, worth our Money,
Cou'd we insure another Ottobuoni.
Among the rest, there are a sharping Sett,
That Pray for us, and yet against us Bett:
Sure Heav'n it self, is at a loss to know,
If these wou'd have their Pray'rs be heard, or no:
For in great Stakes, we piously suppose,
Men Pray but very faintly they may lose.
Leave off these VVagers; for in Conscience Speaking,
The City needs not your new Tricks for Breaking:
And if you Gallants lose, to all appearing
You'll want an Equipage for Volunteering;
While thus, no Spark of Honour left within ye,
When you shou'd draw the Sword, you draw the Guinea.
King Arthur : or, The British Worthy | ||