PROLOGUE. TO THE King and Queen, AT THE OPENING OF Their THEATRE.
SInce Faction ebbs, and Rogues grow out of Fashion,
Their penny-Scribes take care t'inform the Nation,
How well men thrive in this or that Plantation.
How Pensilvania's Air agrees with Quakers,
And Carolina's with Associators:
Both e'en too good for Madmen and for Traitors.
Truth is, our Land with Saints is so run o'er,
And every Age produces such a store,
That now there's need of two New-Englands more.
What's this, you'll say, to Us and our Vocation?
Onely thus much, that we have left our Station,
And made this Theatre our new Plantation.
The Factious Natives never cou'd agree;
But aiming, as they call'd it, to be Free,
Those Play-house Whiggs set up for Property.
Some say they no Obedience paid of late;
But wou'd new Fears and Jealousies create;
Till topsy-turvy they had turn'd the State.
Plain Sense, without the Talent of Foretelling,
Might guess 'twou'd end in down-right knocks and quelling:
For seldome comes there better of Rebelling.
When Men will, needlesly, their Freedom barter
For Lawless Pow'r, sometimes they catch a Tartar:
(There's a damn'd word that rhimes to this call'd Charter.)
But, since the Victory with Us remains,
You shall be call'd to Twelve in all our Gains:
(If you'll not think us sawcy for our pains.)
Old Men shall have good old Plays to delight 'em:
And you, fair Ladys and Gallants that slight 'em,
We'll treat with good new Plays; if our new Wits can write 'em.
We'll take no blundring Verse, no fustian Tumour,
No dribling Love, from this or that Presumer:
No dull fat Fool shamm'd on the Stage for humour.
For, faith, some of 'em such vile stuff have made,
As none but Fools or Fairies ever Play'd;
But 'twas, as Shopmen say, to force a Trade.
We've giv'n you Tragedies, all Sense defying:
And singing men, in wofull Metre dying;
This 'tis when heavy Lubbers will be flying.
All these disasters we well hope to weather;
We bring you none of our old Lumber hether:
Whigg Poets and Whigg Sheriffs may hang together.
EPILOGUE.
NEW Ministers, when first they get in place
Must have a care to Please; and that's our Case:
Some Laws for publick Welfare we design,
If You, the Power supreme, will please to joyn:
There are a sort of Pratlers in the Pit,
Who either have, or who pretend to Wit:
These noisie Sirs so loud their Parts rehearse,
That oft the Play is silenc'd by the Farce:
Let such be dumb, this Penalty to shun,
Each to be thought my Lady's Eldest Son.
But stay: methinks some Vizard Masque I see,
Cast out her Lure from the mid Gallery:
About her all the f lutt'ring Sparks are rang'd;
The Noise continues though the Scene is chang'd:
Now growling, sputtring, wauling, such a clutter,
'Tis just like Puss defendant in a Gutter:
Fine Love no doubt, but e'er two days are o'er ye,
The Surgeon will be told a wofull story.
Let Vizard Masque her naked Face expose,
On pein of being thought to want a Nose:
Then for your Lacqueys, and your Train beside,
(By what e'er Name or Title dignify'd)
They roar so loud, you'd think behind the Stairs
Tom Dove, and all the Brotherhood of Bears:
They re grown a Nuisance, beyond all Disasters,
We've none so great but their unpaying Masters.
We beg you, Sirs, to beg your Men, that they
Wou'd please to give you leave to hear the Play.
Next, in the Play-house spare your pretious Lives;
Think, like good Christians, on your Bearns and Wives:
Think on your Souls; but by your lugging forth,
It seems you know how little they are Worth:
If none of these will move the Warlike Mind,
Think on the helpless Whore you leave behind!
We beg you last, our Seene-room to forbear,
And leave our Goods and Chattels to our Care:
[Page] Alas, our Women are but washy Toys,
And wholly taken up in Stage employs:
Poor willing Tits they are: but yet I doubt
This double Duty soon will wear 'em out.
Then you are watcht besides, with jealous care;
What if my Lady's Page shoud find you there?
My Lady knows t'a tittle what there's in ye;
No passing your guilt Shilling for a Guiney.
Thus, Gentlemen, we have summ'd up in short,
Our Grievances, from Country, Town and Court:
Which humbly we submit to your good pleasure;
But first vote Money, then Redress at leasure.
FINIS.
LONDON, Printed for Jacob Tonson, at the Judge's Head in Chancery-lane. 1683.