Which thus grave penny chroniclers indite. 20 2 Leads up the show, and milks their maudlin eyes. The devil, who brought him to the shame, takes part; 35 Sits cheek by jowl, in black, to cheer his heart; 45 His best friends would not like this over-care, 50 PROLOGUE TO THE KING AND QUEEN, UPON THE UNION OF THE TWO COMPANIES IN 1682. SINCE faction ebbs, and rogues grow out of fashion, Their penny scribes take care to inform the nation, How well men thrive in this or that plantation: How Pensylvania's air agrees with Quakers, Both e'en too good for madmen and for traitors. Truth is, our land with saints is so run o'er, 5 That now there's need of two New Englands more. What's this, you'll say, to us and our vocation? 10 Only thus much, that we have left our station, And made this theatre our new plantation. The factious natives never could agree; Some say, they no obedience paid of late; Plain sense, without the talent of foretelling, Might guess 'twould end in downright knocks and quelling: For seldom comes there better of rebelling. 20 When men will, needlessly, their freedom barter For lawless power, sometimes they catch a Tartar; There's a damn'd word that rhymes to this, call'd Charter. But, since the victory with us remains, You shall be call'd to twelve in all our gains; 25 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 write 'em. 30 We'll take no blundering verse, no fustian tumour, No dribbling 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 'twas, as shopmen say, to force a trade. We've given you Tragedies, all sense defying, 35 40 All these disasters we well hope to weather; PROLOGUE TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. SPOKEN BY MR. HART, AT THE ACTING OF THE WHAT Greece, when learning flourish'd, only knew, Athenian judges, you this day renew. Here too are annual rites to Pallas done, And here poetic prizes lost or won. Methinks I see you, crown'd with olives, sit, And strike a sacred horror from the pit. Where e'en the best are but by mercy free: A day, which none but Jonson durst have wish'd to see. Here they, who long have known the useful stage, Come to be taught themselves to teach the age. To cultivate the virtue which you sow; 15 But as ambassadors, when long from home, gan, Studies with care the anatomy of man; Sees virtue, vice, and passions in their cause, And fame from science, not from fortune, draws. So Poetry, which is in Oxford made An art, in London only is a trade. 25 There haughty dunces, whose unlearned pen 30 35 |