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The PROLOGUE,
Spoken by Mrs. Currer.
THe devil take this cursed plotting Age,
'T has ruin'd all our Plots upon the Stage;
Suspicions, New Elections, Jealousies,
Fresh Informations, New discoveries,
Do so employ the busie fearful Town,
Our honest calling here is useless grown;
Each fool turns Politician now, and wears
A formal face, and talks of State-affairs;
Makes Acts, Decrees, and a new Modell draws
For regulation both of Church and Laws;
Tires out his empty noddle to invent
What rule and method's best in government;
But Wit as if 'twere Jesuiticall,
Is an abomination to ye all:
To what a wretched pass will poor Plays come,
This must be damn'd, the Plot is laid in Rome
'Tis hard—yet—
Not one amongst ye all I'le undertake,
Ere thought that we should suffer for Religions sake:
Who wou'd have thought that wou'd have been th'occasion,
Of any contest in our hopefull Nation?
For my own principles, faith, let me tell yo•…•…
I'me still of the Religion of my Cully,
And till these dangerous times they'd none to fix on,
But now are something in meer contradiction,
And piously pretend, these are not days,
For keeping Mistresses and seeing Plays.
Who says this Age a Reformation wants,
When Betty Currer's Lovers all turn Saints?
In vain alas I flatter, swear, and vow,
You'l scarce do any thing for Charity now:
Yet I am handsome still, still young and mad,
Can w•…•…eadle, lie, dissemble, jilt—egad,
As well and artfully as•…•…rd I did,
Yet not one Conquest can I gain or hope,
No Prentice, not a Foreman of a Shop,
So that I want extremely New Supplies;
Of my last. Coxcomb, faith, these were the Prize;