Marcelia, or, The treacherous friend a tragicomedy : as it is acted at the Theatre-Royal by His Majesties servants / written by Mrs. F. Boothby.

PROLOGUE TO Marcelia.

I'M hither come, but what d'ye think to say? A Womans Pen presents you with a Play: Who smiling told me I'd be sure to see, That once confirm'd, the House wou'd empty be. Not one yet gone!— Well, I'l go tell her you are all so just, You'l laugh at her on Knowledg, not on Trust. I know she'l send me back, but what to do,

[He goes off.

When I have learn'd of her, I'l tell it you.

[Comes agen.

Guess now the Message: she prays ye to be gone, You'l croud her Wit to death in such a Throng Of Wits, she says, which no Consumptions have, And hers is weak, e'en going to the grave. She wonders much that ye should all desire To stay, and witness when it does expire.

[One comes to him.

Mess. Hark ye the Poetess does angry grow.

Prol. I cannot make'em whether they will or no. 'Tis better be a Dog, than Womans slave, That knows not what she would, or would not have. With Ballading I think she mad is grown, And by her Prologue fain would make it known. She need not be so hasty; faith her Play Will witness that her Reason's gone astray: For when that it is done, I'm almost sure, You'l give her Bedlam for Reward or Cure.

[Another comes to him and whispers.

What more? nay then I never shall have done; Now I've command to court ye one by one: When I return to send her word by me, Who will her Judges, who her Lawyers be. If that the Wits will plead her cause, she'l stay; If not, she fairly means to run away: For if her Judges they resolve to sit, She neither Pardon nor Reprieve shall get. But still she hopes the Ladies out of Pride And Honor, will not quit their sexes side: Though they in private do her faults reprove, They'l neither publick scorn nor laughter move. But should they all in censuring be severe, 'Tis still the Critick Men she most does fear: For if that Solomon now liv'd, and writ; They'd cry, Pish, hang't, there's nothing in't of Wit.