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PROLOGUE TO THE KING AND QUEEN, At the Opening of their THEATRE.
Since Faction ebbs, and Rogues grow out of Fashion,
Their penny-Scribes take care t' inform the Nation,
How well men thrive in this or that Plantation.
How Pensilvania's Air agrees with Quakers,
And Carolina's with Associators:
Both e'en too good for Madmen and for Traitors.
Truth is, our Land with Saints is so run o'er,
And every Age produces such a store,
That now there's need of two New-Englands more.
What's this, you'll say, to Us and our Vocation?
Onely thus much, that we have left our Station,
And made this Theatre our new Plantation.
The Factious Natives never could agree;
But aiming, as they call'd it, to be Free,
Those Play-house Whiggs ••et up for Property.
Some say they no Obedience paid of late;
But wou'd new Fears and Jealousies create;
Till topsi-turvy they had turn'd the State.
Plain Sense, without the Tallent of Foretelling,
Might guess 'twou'd end in down-right knocks and quelling:
For seldome comes there better of Rebelling.
When Men will, needlesly, their Freedom barter
For Lawless Pow'r, sometimes they catch a Tartar:
(There's a damn'd word that rhimes to this call'd Charter.)
But, since the Victory with Us remains,
You shall be call'd to Twelve in all our Gains:
(If you'll not think us sawcy for our pains.)
Old Men shall have good old Plays to delight 'em:
And you fair Ladies and Gallants that slight 'em,
We'll treat with good new Plays; if our new Wits can writ'em.
We'll take no blundring Verse, no fustian Tumour,
No dribling Love, from this or that Presumer:
No dull fat Fool shamm'd on the Stage for humour.
For, faith, some of'em such vile stuff have made,
As none but Fools or Fairies ever Play'd;
But 't was, as Shopmen say, to force a Trade.
We've giv'n you Tragedies, all Sense defying:
And singing men, in wofull Metre dying;
This 'tis when heavy Lubbers will be flying.
All these disasters we well hope to weather;
We bring you none of our old Lumber hether:
Whigg Poets and Whigg Sheriffs may hang together.
EPILOGUE.
NEW Ministers, when first they get in ••••••ce,
Must have a care to Please; and that's our Case:
Some Laws for publick Welfare we ••esign,
If You, the Power supreme will please to joyn:
There are a sort of Pratlers in the Pit,
Who either have, or who pretend to Wit:
These noisie Sirs so loud their parts rehearse,
That oft the Play is silenc'd by the Farce:
Let such be dumb, this Penal•••••• to shun,
Each to be thought my Lady 〈…〉〈…〉est Son.
But stay, methinks some Viz〈…〉〈…〉 Masque I see,
Cast out her Lure from the mi〈…〉〈…〉llery:
About her all the flutt'ring Sparks ••••e rang'd;
The Noise continues though the Scene is chang'd:
Now growling, sputtring, wauling, such a clutter,
〈1 line〉〈1 line〉
Fine Love no doubt, but e'er two days are o'er ye,
The Surgeon will be told a wofull story.
Let Vizard Masque her naked Face expose,
On pain of being thought to want a Nose:
Then for your Laqueys, and your Train beside,
(By what e'er Name or Title dignify'd)
They roar so loud, you'd think behind the Stairs
Tom Dove, and all the Brotherhood of Bears:
They're grown a Nuisance, beyond all Disasters,
We've none so great but their unpaying Masters.
We beg you, Sirs, to beg your Men, that they
Wou'd please to give you leave to hear the Play.
Next, in the Play-house spare your precious Lives;
Think, like good Christians, on your Bearns and Wives:
Think on your Souls; but by your lugging forth,
It seems you know how little they are Worth:
If none of these will move the Warlike Mind,
Think on the helpless Whoore you leave behind!
We beg you last, our Scene-room to forbear,
And leave our Goods and Chattels to our Care:
Alas, our Women are but washy Toys,
And wholly taken up in Stage employs:
Poor willing Tits they are: but yet I doubt
This double Duty soon will wear 'em out.
Then you are watcht besides, with jealous care;
What if my Lady's Page should find you there?
My Lady knows t'a tittle what there's in ye;
No passing your guilt Shilling for a Guiney.
Thus, Gentlemen, we have summ'd up in short,
Our Grievances, from Country, Town and Court;
Which humbly we submit to your good pleasure;
But first vote Money, then Redress at leasure.
FINIS.