The unhappy kindness, or, A fruitless revenge a tragedy, as it is acted at the Theatre Royal / wrirten [sic] by Mr. Scot.

PROLOGUE.

Spoken by Mr. Verbruggen.

I'M thinking, Sirs, how soon we are undone, Deserted thus by the inconstant Town. Where are those Friends, that did in numerous throngs Crowd to our Musick, and applaud our Songs? Curse on this dull preposterous Soil! since all The Winter gave the Summer must recal; Tho more than Greenland Frosts prevail'd elsewhere, Yet then you found a warm Reception here, But now Hide-Park scarce yeilds so fresh an Air. Well then, we have resolv'd, till your return, Since you, our Soveraigns, leave us, we'll adjourn; Only once more your Subjects humbly pray, You'd set your Hands to a few Acts to day; Some new, but made on purpose to unfold The meaning if the rest, long since grown old, By your fam'd Ancestors confirm'd to th' Stage In Fletcher's time, the Muses Golden Age: 'Tis true, our Money may adulterate grow, But Wit must still from one pure Fountain flow; Pull not the well-plac'd Lawrels from his Brow, What pleas'd them then, we hope will please you now.