 | Herod And Mariamne |  |
PROLOGUE, Spoken at the Theatre in Lincolns-Inn-Fields.
This Play was pretty once for ought we know,When 'twas first writ, a dozen years agoe.
But Gallants what-e're 'twas when it was young;
You know that Beauty seldom holds so long.
But though it has not like kind Misses done,
Who act so briskly, and begin so soon,
That their o'relighted Beauties set e're Noon:
Yet it is guilty of a greater Crime.
A dozen years ago, and in its prime;
And ne're launcht out till now! Pox, cryes a Wit,
So long in this kind Town, and ne're tryed yet!
If this Play take, my sence and judgment fayle.
'Tis an ill Face keeps Maiden-head so stale.
But grant 'twas Modest, and kept off till now,
A Miracle in Wit, and Woman too.
No, that won't pass; refuse so long t'engage,
And stoop at last t'appear upon this Stage,
In a damn'd House, and in as damn'd a Dress;
Like Wench debaucht in Paragon; you'd guess
It had a very longing mind before,
That yields at last on such an easy score.
But, Faith, without fine Scenes once like a Play:
You like kind Women when their Paint's away.
Plays heighten'd by gay Cloaths, and gawdy Scenes,
Are but like Spanish Beauties in Jappeens.
| Herod And Mariamne | |