Obrazy na stronie
PDF
ePub

Never content with what you had before,
But true to change, and English men all o'er.
Now honor calls you hence; and all

your care

;

Is to provide the horrid pomp of war.
In plume and scarf, jack-boots, and Bilbo blade,
Your filver goes, that should support our trade.
Go, unkind heroes, leave our stage to mourn;
"Till rich from vanquish'd rebels you return;
And the fat spoils of Teague in triumph draw,
His firkin-butter, and his ufquebaugh.
Go, conquerors of your male and female foes ;
Men without hearts, and women without hose.
Each bring his love a Bogland captive home;
Such proper pages will long trains become ;
With copper collars, and with brawny backs,
Quite to put down the fashion of our blacks.
Then fhall the pious Muses pay their vows,
And furnish all their laurels for your
Their tuneful voice fhall raise for your delights;
We want not poets fit to fing your flights.
But you, bright beauties, for whofe only fake
Those doughty knights fuch dangers undertake,
When they with happy gales are gone away,
With your propitious prefence grace our play;
And with a figh their empty feats furvey:

brows;

Then think, on that bare bench my fervant fat ;
I fee him ogle ftill, and hear him chat ;
Selling facetious bargains, and propounding
That witty recreation, call'd dum-founding.
Their lofs with patience we will try to bear;
And would do more, to fee you often here:
That our dead stage, reviv'd by your fair eyes,
Under a female
regency may rife.

PROLOGUE

то тнЕ

MISTAKE S.

Enter Mr. BRIGHT.

Entlemen, we must beg your pardon; here's

GE

no Prologue to be had to-day; our new play is like to come on, without a frontispiece; as bald as one of you young beaux, without your periwig. I left our young poet, fnivelling and fobbing behind the fcenes, and curfing fomebody that has deceived him.

Enter Mr. BOWEN.

HOLD your prating to the audience: here's honeft Mr. Williams, juft come in, half mellow, from the Rofe-Tavern. He fwears he is inspired with claret, and will come on, and that extempore too, either with a prologue of his own or fomething like one: O here he comes to his tryal, at all adventures; for my part I wish him a good deliverance.

[Exeunt Mr. Bright and Mr. Bowen.

Enter Mr. WILLIAM S.

SAVE ye firs, fave ye! I am in a hopeful way. I should speak fomething, in rhyme, now, for the play :

can tell

ye,

But the duce take me, if I know what to say. I'll stick to my friend the author, that I To the last drop of claret, in my belly. So far I'm fure 'tis rhyme-that needs no granting: my verfes feet stumble---you fee my are wanting.

And, if

[ocr errors]

Our young poet has brought a piece of work, In which, tho much of art there does not lurk, may hold out three days---and that's as long as Cork.

It

But, for this play---(which till I have done, we show not)

What may be its fortune---by the Lord---I know

not.

This I dare fwear, no malice here is writ:

"Tis innocent of all things

even of wit.

He's no high-flyer-he makes no sky-rockets,
His fquibs are only levell'd at your pockets.
And if his crackers light among your pelf,

You are blown up; if not, then he's blown up

himself.

By this time, I'm fomething recover'd of my flufter'd madness:

And now, a word or two in fober fadness.

down

Ours is a common play; and you pay
A common harlot's price---juft half a crown.
You'll fay, I play the pimp, on my friend's score;
But fince 'tis for a friend your gibes give o'er :
For many a mother has done that before.
How's this, you cry? an actor write?-- we know it;
But Shakespear was an actor, and a poet.
Has not great Jonfon's learning, often fail'd?
But Shakespear's greater genius ftill prevail'd.
Have not fome writing actors, in this age
Deferv'd and found fuccefs upon the stage?

To tell the truth, when our old wits are tir'd,
Not one of us but means to be infpir'd.

Let your kind prefence grace our homely cheer;
Peace and the butt, is all our bus'nefs here:
So much for that;---and the devil take fmall beer.

EPILOGUE to HENRY II.

[By Mr. MOUNTFORT, 1693.]

Spoken by Mrs. BRACEGIRDLE.

HUS you the fad catastrophe have seen,

Toccafond by a miftrefs and a queen.

Queen Eleanor the proud was French, they say;
But English manufacture got the day.
Jane Clifford was her name, as books aver:
Fair Rofamond was but her Nom de guerre.
Now tell me, gallants, would you lead your

With fuch a miftrefs, or with fuch a wife?

life

If one must be your choice, which d'ye approve, The curtain lecture, or the curtain love? Would ye be godly with perpetual ftrife,

Still drudging on with homely Joan your wife;

« PoprzedniaDalej »