The wild gallant a comedy : as it was acted at the Theater-Royal by His Majesties servants / written by John Dryden, esq.

PROLOGUE to the WILD GALLANT, as it was first Acted.

IS it not strange, to hear a Poet say, He comes to ask you, how you like the Play? You have not seen it yet! alas 'tis true, But now your Love and Hatred judge, not You. And cruel Factions (brib'd by Interest) come, Not to weigh Merit, but to give their Doome: Our Poet therefore, jealous of th' Event, And (though much boldness takes) not confident. Has sent me, whither you, fair Ladies, too Sometimes upon as small occasions goe, And from this Scheme, drawn for the hour and day, Bid me inquire the fortune of his Play.

The Curtain drawn discovers two Astrologers; The Prologue is presented to them.

First Astrol. reads.

A Figure of the heavenly Bodies in their several Apartments, Feb. the 5th. half an hour after three after Noon, from whence you are to judge the success of a new Play called the Wild Gallant.

2. Astrol.

Who must judge of it, we, or these Gentlemen? We'll not meddle with it, so tell your Poet. Here are in this House the ablest Mathematicians in Europe for his purpose.

They will resolve the question e'r they part.

1. Ast.

Yet let us judge it by the rules of Art. First Jupiter, the Ascendants Lord disgrac'd, In the twelfth House, and near grim Saturn plac'd, Denote short life unto the Play:—

2. Ast.

—Jove yet, In his Apartment Sagitary, set Vnder his own Roof, cannot take much wrong;

1. Ast.

Why then the Lif's not very short, nor long;

2. Ast.

The luck not very good, nor very ill,

Prolo.

That is to say, 'tis as 'tis taken still.

1. Ast.

But, Brother, Ptolomy the Learned says, 'Tis the fifth house from whence we judge of Plays. Venus the Lady of that House I find Is Peregrine, your Play is ill design'd, It should have been but one continued Song, Or at the least a Dance of 3 hours long.

2. Ast.

But yet the greatest Mischief does remain, The twelfth Apartment bears the Lord of Spain; Whence I conclude, it is your Authors lot, To be indanger'd by a Spanish Plot.

Prolo.

Our Poet yet protection hopes from you, But bribes you not with any thing that's new. Nature is old, which Poets imitate, And for Wit, those that boast their own estate, Forget Fletcher and Ben before them went, Their Elder Brothers, and that vastly spent: So much 'twill hardly be repair'd again, Not, though supply'd with all the wealth of Spain: This Play is English, and the growth your own; As such it yields to English Plays alone. He could have wish'd it better for your sakes; But that in Plays he finds you love mistakes: Besides he thought it was in vain to mend What you are bound in honour to defend, That English Wit (how e'r despis'd by some) Like English Valour still may overcome