All other ills, though sharp they prove,
Serve to refine, and perfect love:
In absence, or unkind disdain,
Sweet hope relieves the lover's pain.
But, ah! no cure but death we find,
To set us free

From Jealousy:

O Jealousy!

Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy,
Thou tyrant of the mind!

False in thy glass all objects are,
Some set too near, and some too far,
Thou art the fire of endless night,

The fire that burns, and gives no light.
All torments of the damn'd we find
In only thee,

O Jealousy!

Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, Thou tyrant of the mind!

A SECOND PROLOGUE ENTERS.

2. Hold would you admit For judges all you see within the pit? 1. Whom would he then except, or on what score ? [fore;

2. All who (like him) have writ ill plays be-
For they, like thieves condemn'd, are hangmen
To execute the members of their trade. [made,
All that are writing now he would disown,
But then he must except-even all the town;
All choleric, losing gamesters, who in spite,
Will damn to-day, because they lost last night;
All servants, whom their mistress' scorn up-
braids;

All maudlin lovers, and all slighted maids;
All, who are out of humour, or severe ;
All, that want wit, or hope to find it here.

PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES.

PROLOGUE TO THE RIVAL LADIES.

'Tis much desir'd, you judges of the town Would pass a vote to put all prologues down: For who can show me, since they first were writ,

They e'er converted one hard-hearted wit?
Yet the world's mended well; in former days
Good prologues were as scarce as now good
For the reforming poets of our age [plays.
In this first charge, spend their poetic rage:
Expect no more when once the prologue's
The wit is ended ere the play's begun. [done;
You now have habits, dances, scenes, and
rhymes;

High language often; ay, and sense, sometimes.
As for a clear contrivance, doubt it not;
They blow out candles to give light to th' plot.
And for surprise, two bloody-minded men
Fight till they die, then rise and dance again.
Such deep intrigues you're welcome to this day,
But blame yourselves, not him who writ the
play:

Though his plot's dull, as can be well desired,
Wit stiff as any you have e'er admired:
He's bound to please, not to write well; and
knows

There is a mode in plays as well as clothes;
Therefore, kind judges....

EPILOGUE TO THE INDIAN

QUEEN.

SPOKEN BY MONTEZUMA.

You see what shifts we are enforc'd to try, To help out wit with some variety;

here.

Shows may be found that never yet were seen,
"T is hard to find such wit as ne'er has been :
You have seen all that this old world can do,
We, therefore, try the fortune of the new,
And hope it is below your aim to hit
At untaught nature with your practis'd wit:
Our naked Indians, then, when wits appear,
Would as soon choose to have the Spaniards
[show,
'Tis true you have marks enough, the plot, the
The poet's scenes, nay, more, the painters too;
If all this fail, considering the cost,
"T is a true voyage to the Indies lost :
But if you smile on all, then these designs,
Like the imperfect treasure of our minds,
Will pass for current wheresoe'er they go,
When to your bounteous hands their stamps

they owe.

EPILOGUE TO THE INDIAN EMPEROR.

BY A MERCURY.

To all and singular in this full meeting,
Ladies and gallants, Phoebus send ye greeting,
To all his sons, by whate'er title known,
Whether of court, or coffee house, or town;
From his most mighty sons, whose confidence
Is plac'd in lofty sound, and humble sense,
Even to his little infants of the time, [rhyme;
Who write new songs, and trust in tune and
Be't known, that Phoebus (being daily grieved
To see good plays condemn'd, and bad re-
ceived)

Ordains your judgment upon every cause,
Henceforth, be limited by wholesome laws.
He first thinks fit no sonnetteer advance
His censure farther than the song or dance.
Your wit burlesque may one step higher climb,
And in his sphere may judge all doggerel rhyme;
All proves, and inoves, and loves, and honours

too;

All that appears high sense, and scarce is low.
As for the coffee wits, he says not much;
Their proper business is to damn the Dutch:
For the great dons of wit-

Phoebus gives them full privilege alone,
To damn all others, and cry up their own.

Last, for the ladies, 't is Apollo's will,
They should have power to save, but not to kill:
For love and he long since have thought it fit,
Wit live by beauty, beauty reign by wit..

PROLOGUE TO SIR MARTIN MARRALL.

FOOLS, which each man meets in his disa each day,

Are yet the great regalios of a play,
In which to poets you but just appear,
To prize that highest, which cost them so dear:
Fops in the town more easily will pass;
One story makes a statutable ass :
Like yolks of eggs, a dozen beat to one.
But such in plays must be much thicker sown,
Observing poets all their walks invade, [glade:
As men watch woodcocks gliding through a
And when they have enough for comedy,
They stow their several bodies in a pie:
For, gallants, you yourselves have found the
The poet's but the cook to fashion it, [wit.
To bid you welcome, would your bounty wrong;
None welcome those who bring their cheer
along.

I must confess 't was bold, nor would you now
That liberty to vulgar wits allow,
Which works by magic supernatural things:
But Shakespeare's power is sacred as a king's.
Those legends from old priesthood were re-
ceived,

And he then writ, as people then believed.
But if for Shakespeare we your grace implore,
We for our theatre shall want it more: [ploy
Who, by our dearth of youths, are forc'd to em-
One of our women to present a boy;
And that's a transformation, you
will say,
Exceeding all the magic in the play.
Let none expect in the last act to find
Her sex transform'd from man to womankind.
Whate'er she was before the play began,
All you shall see of her is perfect man.

PROLOGUE TO TYRANNIC LOVE.
SELF-LOVE, which, never rightly understood,
Makes poets still conclude their plays are good,
And malice in all critics reigns so high,
That for small errors, they whole plays decry;
So that to see this fondness, and that spite,
You'd think that none but madmen judge or
Therefore our poet, as he thinks not fit [write.
To impose upon you what he writes for wit:
So hopes, that, leaving you your censures free,
You equal judges of the whole will be:
They judge but half, who only faults will see.
Poets, like lovers, should be bold and dare,
They spoil their business with an over care;
And he, who servilely creeps after sense,
Is safe, but ne'er will reach an excellence.
Hence 't is, our poet, in his conjuring,
Allow'd his fancy the full scope and swing.
But when a tyrant for his theme he had,
He loos'd the reins, and bid his muse run mad:
And though he stumbles in a full career,
Yet rashness is a better fault than fear.
He saw his way; but in so swift a pace,
To choose the ground might be to lose the race.
They then, who of each trip the advantage take,
Find but those faults, which they want wit to
make.

For it lies all in level to the eye,
Where all may judge, and each defect may spy.
Humour is that which every day we meet,
And therefore known as every public street;
In which, if e'er the poet go astray,
You all can point, 't was there he lost his way.
But, what's so common, to make pleasant too
Is more than any wit can always do.
For 't is like Turks, with hen and rice to treat,
To make regalios out of common meat.
But, in your diet, you grow savages:
Nothing but human flesh your taste can please,
And, as their feasts with slaughter'd slaves
began,

So you, at each new play, must have a man.
Hither you come, as to see prizes fought;
If no blood's drawn, you cry, the prize is
nought.

But fools grow wary now; and, when they see
A poet eyeing round the company,
Straight each man for himself begins to doubt,
They shrink like seamen when a press comes
Few of them will be found for public use, [out.
Except you charge an oaf upon each house,
Like the train bands, and every man engage
For a sufficient fool, to serve the stage.
Where he in all his glory should appear,
And when, with much ado, you get him there,
Your poets make him such rare things to say,
But of so ill a mingle with the rest,
That he's more wit than any man i' th' play:
As when a parrot's taught to break a jest.
Thus, aiming to be fine, they make a show,
As tawdry squires in country churches do.
Things well consider'd, 't is so hard to make
A comedy, which should the knowing take,
That our dull poet, in despair to please,
Does humbly beg, by me, his writ of ease.
'T is a land-tax, which he 's too poor to pay;
You therefore must some other impost lay.
Would you but change, for serious plot and
This motly garniture of fool and farce, [verse,
Nor scorn a mode, because 't is taught at home,
Which does, like vests, our gravity become,
Our poet yields you should this play refuse:
As tradesmen, by the change of fashions, lose,
With some content, their fripperies of France,

In hope it may their staple trade advance.

Dropping and cold, and their first fear scarce
Expecting famine on a desert shore. [o'er,
From that hard climate we must wait for bread,
Whence e'en the natives, forc'd by hunger, fled.
Our stage does human chance present to view,
But ne'er before was seen so sadly true :
You are chang'd too, and your pretence to see
I but a nobler name for charity.

Your own provisions furnish out our feasts, While you, the founders, make yourselves the guests.

Of all mankind beside fate had some care,
But for poor Wit no portion did prepare,
'T is left a rent-charge to the brave and fair.
You cherish'd it, and now its fall you mourn,
Which blind unmanner'd zealots make their

scorn,

Who think that fire a judgment on the stage,
Which spar'd not temples in its furious rage.
But as our new built city rises higher,
So from old theatres may new aspire,
Since fate contrives magnificence by fire.
Our great metropolis does far surpass
Whate'er is now, and equals all that was:
Our wit as far does foreign wit excel,
And, like a king, should in a palace dwell.
But we with golden hopes are vainly fed,
Talk high, and entertain you in a shed :
Your presence here, for which we humbly sue,
Will grace old theatres, and build up new.

EPILOGUE TO THE SECOND PART OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA.

THEY who have best succeeded on the stage,
Have still conform'd their genius to their age,
Thus Jonson did mechanic humour show,
When men were dull, and conversation low.
Then comedy was faultless, but 't was coarse :
Cobb's tankard was a jest, and Otter's horse.
And, as their comedy, their love was mean;
Except, by chance, in some one labour'd scene,
Which must atone for an ill writen play.
They rose, but at their hight could seldom stay.
Fame then was cheap, and the first comer sped;
And they have kept it since, by being dead.
But, were they now to write, when critics weigh
Each line, and every word, throughout a play,
None of them, no, not Jonson in his height,
Could pass, without allowing grains for weight
Think it not envy, that these truths are told:
Our poet's not malicious, though he's bold.
"T is not to brand them, that their faults are
But, by their errors, to excuse his own. [shown,
If love and honour now are higher rais'd,
"T is not the poet, but the age is prais'd.

Wit's now arriv'd to a more high degree
Our native language more refin'd and free.
Our ladies and our men now speak more wit
In conversation, than those poets writ.
Then, one of these is, consequently, true;
That what this poet writes comes short of you
And imitates you ill (which most he fears,)
Or else his writing is not worse than theirs.
Yet though you judge (as sure the critics will,)
That some before him writ with greater skill,
In this one praise he has their fame surpast,
To please an age more gallant than the last.

PROLOGUE TO AMBOYNA.

As needy gallants in the scriveners' hands,
Court the rich knave that gripes their mortgag'd
The first fat buck of all the season's sent, [lands,
And keeper takes no fee in compliment:
The dotage of some Englishmen is such,
To fawn on those who ruin them-the Dutch.
They shall have all, rather than make a war
With those who of the same religion are.
The Straits, the Guinea trade, the herrings too,
Nay, to keep friendship, they shall pickle you.

So would our poet lead you on this day,
Showing your tortur'd fathers in his play.
To one well born the affront is worse, and more,
When he's abus'd, and baffled by a boor:
With an ill grace the Dutch their mischiefs do,
They've both ill nature and ill manners too.
Well may they boast themselves an ancient
nation,

For they were bred ere manners were in fashion;

And their new comonwealth has set them free,
Only from honour and civility.

Venetians do not more uncouthly ride,
Than did their lubber state mankind bestride;
Their sway became them with as ill a mien,
As their own paunches swell above their chin:
Yet is their empire no true growth, but humour,
And only two kings' touch can cure the tumour.
As Cato did his Afric fruits display,
So we before your eyes their Indies lay:
All loyal English will, like him, conclude,
Let Cæsar live, and Carthage be subdued!

PROLOGUE

SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF THE NEW
HOUSE, MARCH 26, 1674.

A PLAIN built house, after so long a stay,
Will send you half unsatisfied away;
When, fallen from your expected pomp, you
A bare convenience only is design'd. [find
You, who each day can theatres behold,
Like Nero's palace, shining all with gold,
Our mean ungilded stage will scorn, we fear,
And, for the homely room, disdain the cheer.
Yet now cheap druggets to a mode are grown,
And a plain suit, since we can make but one,
Is better than to be by tarnish'd gawdry known.
They, who are by your favour wealthy made,
With mighty sums may carry on the trade:
We, broken bankers, half destroy'd by fire,
With our small stock to humble roofs retire:
Pity our loss, while you their pomp admire.
For fame and honour we no longer strive,
We yeld in both, and only beg to live:

This prologue must certainly have been writen for the King's company, which I suppose at this time might have opened their house in Drury Lane. The reflection cast upon the taste of the town in these three lines,

"T were folly now a stately pile to raise, [plays, To build a playhouse while you throw down While scenes, machines, and empty operas reign:

is certainly levelled at the Duke's company, who had exhibited the Siege of Rhodes, and other expensive operas and who now were getting up Psyche. Circe, &c. D.

Unable to support their vast expense,
Who build and treat with such magnificence;
That, like the ambitious monarchs of the age,
They give the law to our provincial stage.
Great neighbours enviously promote excess,
While they impose their splendour on the less,
But only fools, and they of vast estate,
The extremity of modes will imitate,
The dangling knee-fringe, and the bib-cravat.
Yet if some pride with want may be allow'd,
We in our plainness may be justly proud :
Our royal master will'd it should be so ;
Whate'er he's pleas'd to own, can need no show:
That sacred name gives ornament and grace,
And, like his stamp, makes basest metals pass.
'T were folly now a stately pile to raise,
To build a playhouse while you throw down
plays,
[reign,

While scenes, machines, and empty operas
And for the pencil you the pen disdain: [drive,
While troops of famish'd Frenchmen hither,
And laugh at those upon whose alms they live:
Old English authors vanish, and give place
To these new conquerors of the Norman race.
More tamely than your fathers you submit;
You're now grown vassals to them in your wit.
Mark, when they play, how our fine fops ad-

vance,

The mighty merits of their men of France,
Keep time, cry Bon, and humour the cadence.
Well, please yourselves; but sure 'tis under-
stood,
[land good.

That French machines have ne'er done Eng-
I would not prophesy our house's fate :
But while vain shows and scenes you overrate,
'T is to be fear'd . . . . . .

That as a fire the former house o' erthrew,
Machines and tempests will destroy the new.

PROLOGUE TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD,

1674. SPOKEN BY MR HART.*

POETS, your subjects, have the parts assign'd To unbend, and to divert their sovereign's mind: When tir'd with following nature, you think fit To seek repose in the cool shades of wit,

• Several gentlemen, who had adhered to their principles of loyalty during the usurpation of Cromwell, and the exile of the royal family be ing left un-provided for at the Restoration, they applied theniselves to different occupations for a livelihood: among them was Mr. Hart, the speaker of his prologue, who had served his magesty as a captain in the civil war, and was now an actor in a capital cast, and in great estimation. D.