The Spanish wives a farce, as it was acted by His Majesty's servants at the theatre in Dorset-Garden.
Pix, Mary, 1666-1720., Brémond, Gabriel de. Pelerin.
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PROLOGUE, Spoken by Mr. Penkethman, in a Press-master's Habit.

WHat Chear, my Lads? Igad, I'm ome to say,
Ill press to Sea all those who Damn this Play:
Lord how our Ship might here be Mann' to day!
Sea-fights, 'tis thought, won't much gre with those
Whom they call Wits, and less with Mealy Beaus.
Mayhaps 'twou'd make them stink; for, every Year,
We don't go to drink Punch, and take French Air.
But sure, the Gentlewomen are at rest,
None of them are afraid of being Prest.
Well, hows the Wind here? Still that's veering round,
Like your Church-Weathercocks, on English Ground,
Then hiss it goes; Oh, that's a plaguy Sound:
Igad, 'tis worse to every Actor's Ear,
Than Frets of Wind to your huge Mops of Hair
For thus your Cri— Criticks serve Nine Plays in Ten,
Worse than Jack Frenchman does our Merchant-men.
Like Pyrates too, while honest men they're breaking,
The damn'd Fresh-water Sharks are n't worth the taking:
Yet long to maul these ame New Plays as much
As we, when Homeward bound, to take a Touch;
Or, as Dubart, to snap his Brother Dutch.
Yet why shou'd they Hiss Plays not worth regarding?
Do we Bombard a Town not worth Bombarding?
Drolls shortly will amuse ye at the Fair:
To like This, think your selves already there,
As for you Spruce Gallants, pray be n't too nice,
But shew you can Oblige a Woman twice.
The First Time she was grave, as well she might,
For Women will be damn'd sullen the first Night;
But faith, they'l quickly mend, so be n't uneasie:
To Night she's brisk, and trys New Tricks to please ye.