Sylvæ, or, The second part of Poetical miscellanies

A PROLOGUE Intended for the DVKE and no DVKE.

A Pox! Who'd be a Poet in our days? When every Coxcomb crowns his Head with Bays, And stands a saucy Candidate for Praise. The surly Scriblers sturdy Vice ingage, And draw their blunted Satyr on the Age. Vainly they strive and weakly for renown. So Spaniards first make War then lose the Town: They fellow fools to their Tribunal call, There's no spare Fop now left amongst you all.

They've robb'd our Poet of you quite to day, You were the standing Prologue to each Play. The want of you may chance to spoil his treat, A well dress'd Fop was the best dish of Meat: But 'tis not civil you to entertain With the chaw'd Fragments of your selves again▪ To court the Ladies is in vain, I ••ear, They're all bespoke by some small Sonniteer. You cannot spie a Dam'sel in this throng But's an elected Phyllis for a Song. For our good natur'd Fools, of late incline, In senseless Sonnets much to sigh and whine; Thinking their Wit, and Passion to rehearse, The Maudlin Blockheads love to weep in Verse. But still the Poet is the Lovers Foe, And makes the Nation merry with his Woe. Who wou'd not laugh, tho' he is vex'd, to see Nokes put to act the great Marc-Antony.

Heaven send us help in these Poetick times, And free us from the Pestilence of Rhimes; There's not a word of sense remains, God knows, When Songs are stripp'd of Rhime to Naked Prose. Our Poet's at a loss to find a way To recommend to you his Farce or Play, He will not use the Painters surest Art To win to day the Male and Female heart. Course painting will delight your wanton eye If in it naked Nature you deserie. Adam and Eve must not their Fig leaves wear, But they, good old Folks, too must both stand bare. He that will please our most Religious Age Must bring a naked Muse upon the Stage; Leudness of Wit has been the single Test And fulsome Baudy's your beloved Jest.

Our Poet fears that this will prove too chaste, For you will see her stripp'd but to the Waste; But if the modest Dam'sel you refuse, Next Venture, Posture Mall shall be his Muse.