A PROLOGUE spoken at MITHRIDATES King of PONTUS, the First Play Acted at the THEATRE ROYAL this Year, 1681.
AFter a four Months Fast we hope at length
Your queasie Stomachs have recover'd strength
That You can taste a Play (your old coarse Messe)
As honest and as plain as an Addresse.
And therefore Welcome from your several Parts,
You that have gain'd kind Country Wenches Hearts:
Have watch'd returning Milk-maids in the Dark,
And sinn'd against the Pales of every Park.
Welcom fair Ladies of unblemish'd Faith,
That left Town Bagnio's for the fruitful Bath;
For when the Season's Hot, and Lover's there,
The Waters never fail to get an Heir.
Welcom kind Men that did your Wives attend,
And Welcom He that was the Husbands Friend,
Who holding Chat did silently Encroach,
With Treacherous Hand to grabble in the Coach.
Hail you New-Market Brothers of the Switch,
That leap left Strumpets, full of Pox and Itch,
A leap more dangerous than the Devil's Ditch.
Last Welcom you who never did appear;
Gave out i'th' Country, but lay fluxing here.
Now Crawl abroad with Stick, lean-chapt and thin,
And Fair as Lady that hath new lain in;
This Winter let us reckon you our own,
For all Wise Men will let the State alone:
The Plot's remov'd, a Witness of Renown
Has lodg'd it safe, at t' other End o'th' Town,
And that it ne're may fail, some pious Whore
Has cast her Mite, and fairly at his Dore
Laid two small squalling Evidences more;
Which well instructed, if we take their words,
In time may grow to hang two Popish Lords;
Heav'n Grant the Babes may Live, for Faith there's need,
Swearers fall off so fast, if none succeed
The Land's in danger quite to loose the breed.
Unless you break an Act, which were a Sin,
And for recruit let Irish Cattle in.
Well; after all 'twere better to Compound,
Then let the foolish Frolick still go round,
Both sides have lost and by my Computation
None but Jack Ketch has gained in the Nation.
EPILOGUE.
POX on this Play-house, 'tis an old tir'd Jade,
'Twill do no longer, we must force a Trade;
What if we all turn Witness of the Plot?
That's overstockt, there's nothing to be got.
Shall we take Orders? That will Parts require,
And Colledges give no Degrees for Hire,
Would Salamancha was a little nigher.
Will nothing do? Oh now 'tis found I hope;
Have not you seen the Dancing of the Rope?
When Andrew's Wit was clean run off the Score,
And Jacob's Cap'ring Tricks could do no more,
A Damsel does to the Ladders Top advance
And with two heavy Buckets drags a Dance;
The Yawning Crowd pearch't up to see the sight,
And slav'r'd at the Mouth for vast Delight:
Oh Friends there's nothing to Enchant the Mind,
Nothing like that sweet Sex to draw Mankind:
The Foundred Horse that switching will not stir,
Trots to the Mare, afore without a Spur.
Faith I'le go scoure the Scene-room and Engage
Some Toy within to save the falling Stage.
Exit.
Re-Enters with Mrs. Cox.
Who have we here again, what Nymphsi'th' Stocks?
Your most Obedient Servant, sweet Madam Cox.
You'd best be Coy, and Blush for a pretence,
For Shame say something in your own Defence.
Mrs. Cox,
What shall I say? I have been hence so long
I've e'ne almost forgot my Mother Tongue;
If I can Act I wish I were ten Fathom
Beneath—
M. Goodman.
—Oh Lord, Pray, no swearing, Madam;
Mrs. Cox,
Why Sir, If I had sworn, to laye the Nation
I could find out some Mental Reservation.
Well in plain Termes, Gallants, without a Shamm,
Will you be pleas'd to take me as I am.
Quite out of Countenance, with a down cast look,
Just like a Truant that returnes to Book:
Yet I'me not old, but if I were this place
Ne're wanted Art to peice a ruin'd Face.
When Grey-Beards Govern'd I forsook the Stage,
You know 'tis piteous work to Act with Age;
Though there's no sex amongst these Beardless Boys,
There's what we Women love, that's Mirth & Noise,
These young Beginners may grow up in time,
And the Devil's in't if I'me past my Prime.
London, Printed for J. Sturton.