With all their force, to draw the ponderous mass from Greece;
A weight that bent e'en Seneca's strong muse, 5
And which Corneille's shoulders did refuse.
So hard it is the Athenian harp to string!
So much two consuls yield to one just king.
Terror and pity this whole poem sway;
The mightiest machines that can mount a play. 10
How heavy will those vulgar souls be found,
Whom two such engines cannot move from ground!
When Greece and Rome have smil'd upon this birth,
You can but damn for one poor spot of earth:
And when your children find your judgment such,
They'll scorn their sires, and wish themselves born
Dutch;
Each haughty poet will infer with ease,
How much his wit must underwrite to please.
As some strong churl would, brandishing, advance
The monumental sword that conquer'd France; 20
So you, by judging this, your judgment teach,
Thus far you like, that is, thus far you
Since then the vote of full two thousand years
Has crown'd this plot, and all the dead are theirs,
Think it a debt you pay, not alms you give,
And, in your own defence, let this Play live.
Think them not vain, when Sophocles is shown,
To praise his worth they humbly doubt their own.
Yet as weak states each other's power assure,
Weak poets by conjunction are secure.
Their treat is what your palates relish most,
Charm! song! and show! a murder and a ghost!
We know not what you can desire or hope,
To please you more, but burning of a Pope.
PROLOGUE TO TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
SPOKEN BY MR. BETTERTON, REPRESENTING THE GHOST OF
SEE, my lov'd Britons, see your Shakespeare rise,
An awful ghost confess'd to human eyes!
Unnam'd, methinks, distinguish'd I had been
From other shades, by this eternal green,
About whose wreaths the vulgar poets strive,
And with a touch their wither'd bays revive.
Untaught, unpractis'd, in a barbarous age,
I found not, but created first the stage.
And, if I drain'd no Greek or Latin store,
'Twas, that my own abundance gave me more. 10
On foreign trade I needed not rely,
Like fruitful Britain, rich without supply.
In this my rough drawn play you shall behold
Some master strokes, so manly and so bold,
That he who meant to alter, found 'em such,
He shook, and thought it sacrilege to touch.
Now, where are the successors to my name?
What bring they to fill out a poet's fame ?
Weak, short liv'd issues of a feeble age;
Scarce living to be christen'd on the stage!
For humour farce, for love they rhyme dispense,
That tolls the knell for their departed sense.
Dulness might thrive in any trade but this
'Twould recommend to some fat benefice.
Dulness, that in a playhouse meets disgrace,
Might meet with reverence in its proper place.
The fulsome clench, that nauseates the town,
Would from a judge or alderman go down,
Such virtue is there in a robe and gown!
And that insipid stuff which here you hate,
Might somewhere else be call'd a grave debate;
Dulness is decent in the church and state.
But I forget that still 'tis understood,
Bad plays are best decried by showing good.
Sit silent then, that my pleas'd soul may see
A judging audience once, and worthy me;
My faithful scene from true records shall tell,
How Trojan valour did the Greek excel;
Your great forefathers shall their fame regain,
And Homer's angry ghost repine in vain.
PROLOGUE TO CESAR BORGIA.
THE unhappy man, who once has trail'd a pen, Lives not to please himself, but other men ;
V. 1. The unhappy man] Lee had so melodious a voice,
Is always drudging, wastes his life and blood,
Yet only eats and drinks what you think good.
What praise soe'er the poetry deserve,
Yet every fool can bid the poet starve.
That fumbling lecher to revenge is bent,
Because he thinks himself or whore is meant :
Name but a cuckold, all the city swarms;
From Leadenhall to Ludgate is in arms:
Were there no fear of Antichrist, or France,
In the blest time poor poets live by chance.
Either you come not here, or, as you grace
Some old acquaintance, drop into the place,
Careless and qualmish with a yawning face:
You sleep o'er wit, and by my troth you may;
Most of your talents lie another way.
You love to hear of some prodigious tale,
The bell that toll'd alone, or Irish whale.
News is your food, and you enough provide,
Both for yourselves, and all the world beside.
One theatre there is of vast resort,
Which whilom of Requests was call'd the Court;
and such pathetic elocution, that reading one of his own scenes to Major Mohun at a rehearsal, Mohun, in the warmth of his admiration, threw down his part, and exclaimed, 'Unless I were able to play it as well as you read it, to what purpose should I undertake it.' Yet it is a very remarkable circumstance, that Lee failed as an actor in attempting to perform the character of Duncan in Macbeth, 1672. As did Otway in a play of Mrs. Afra Behn, entitled the Jealous Bridegroom. After this failure, the first wrote his Alcibiades, and the last mentioned author his Nero. Dr. J. W.
But now the great Exchange of News 'tis hight,
And full of hum and buzz from noon till night. 25
Up stairs and down you run, as for a race,
And each man wears three nations in his face.
So big you look, though claret you retrench,
That, arm'd with bottled ale, you huff the French.
But all your entertainment still is fed
By villains in your own dull island bred.
Would you return to us, we dare engage
To show you better rogues upon the stage.
You know no poison but plain ratsbane here;
Death's more refin'd, and better bred elsewhere. 35 They have a civil way in Italy,
By smelling a perfume to make you die;
A trick would make you lay your snuff box by. Murder's a trade, so known and practis'd there, That 'tis infallible as is the chair.
But, mark their feast, you shall behold such pranks; The pope says grace, but 'tis the devil gives thanks.
PROLOGUE TO SOPHONISBA, AT OXFORD,
THESPIS, the first professor of our art,
At country wakes sung ballads from a cart.
prove this true, if Latin be no trespass,
Dicitur et plaustris vexisse Poemata Thespis.
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