and with music by Purcell (see Downes). The date is fixed with some accuracy by the references to King William's campaign in Ireland, from June 4 to September 6, 1690, during which time Queen Mary acted as regent. The prologue gave offense by its political references; and, as Cibber tells us in his Apology, was forbid by the Lord Dorset after the first day of its being spoken." It must be confessed," Cibber adds, that this prologue had some familiar, metaphorical sneers at the Revolution itself; and as the poetry of it was good, the offense of it was less pardonable."

This prologue was not printed with The Prophetess on its publication in 1690; it first appeared in the second edition, 1708, of The Annual Miscellany for the Year 1694 (the Fourth Miscellany).]

WHAT Nostradame, with all his art, can guess

The fate of our approaching Prophetess?
A play, which, like a prospective set right,
Presents our vast expenses close to sight;
But turn the tube, and there we sadly view
Our distant gains; and those uncertain too:
A sweeping tax, which on ourselves we
raise,

II

And all, like you, in hopes of better days. When will our losses warn us to be wise? Our wealth decreases, and our charges rise. Money, the sweet allurer of our hopes, Ebbs out in oceans and comes in by drops. We raise new objects to provoke delight, But you grow sated ere the second sight. False men, ev'n so you serve your mistresses:

They rise three stories in their tow'ring dress;

And, after all, you love not long enough To pay the rigging, ere you leave 'em off: Never content with what you bad before, But true to change, and Englishmen all

Such is a satire, when you take away
That rage in which his noble vigor lay.
What gain you by not suffering him to
tease ye?

He neither can offend you, now, nor please ye.

The honey-bag and venom lay so near, That both together you resolv'd to tear; And lost your pleasure, to secure your fear.

How can he show his manhood, if you bind him

To box, like boys, with one hand tied behind him?

This is plain leveling of wit, in which The poor has all th' advantage, not the rich.

The blockhead stands excus'd for wanting

Beauty for valor's best reward he chose; Peace, after war; and after toil, repose. Hence, ye profane, excluded from our sights;

And, charm'd by day with honor's vain delights,

Go, make your best of solitary nights.
Recant betimes, 't is prudence to submit; 40
Our sex is still your overmatch in wit:
We never fail with new, successful arts,
To make fine fools of you, and all your
parts.

EPILOGUE

SPOKEN BY PHÆDRA, MRS. MOUNTFORT

I'm thinking (and it almost makes me mad) How sweet a time those heathen ladies had. Idolatry was ev'n their gods' own trade; They worship'd the fine creatures they had made.

Cupid was chief of all the deities,

And love was all the fashion in the skies. When the sweet nymph held up the lily hand,

Jove was her humble servant at command.
The treasury of heav'n was ne'er so bare,
But still there was a pension for the fair. 10
In all his reign adult'ry was no sin,
For Jove the good example did begin.
Mark, too, when he usurp'd the husband's

That the next age may see another rise. Then pagan gods may once again succeed, And Jove or Mars be ready, at our need, To get young godlings, and so mend our breed.

SONGS

I

SONG

I

CELIA, that I once was blest,
Is now the torment of my breast,
Since, to curse me, you bereave me
Of the pleasures I possess'd:

Cruel creature, to deceive me!
First to love, and then to leave me!

II

Had you the bliss refus'd to grant,
Then I had never known the want;
But possessing once the blessing
Is the cause of my complaint:
Once possessing is but tasting;
'Tis no bliss that is not lasting.

III

Celia now is mine no more;
But I am hers, and must adore,

Nor to leave her will endeavor:
Charms that captiv'd me before
No unkindness can dissever;
Love that's true, is love forever.

II

MERCURY'S SONG TO PHÆDRA

I

29

10

FAIR Iris I love, and hourly I die,
But not for a lip, nor a languishing eye:
She's fickle and false, and there we agree,
For I am as false and as fickle as she.
We neither believe what either can say;
And, neither believing, we neither betray.

II

'Tis civil to swear, and say things of course;
We mean not the taking for better for worse.
When present, we love; when absent, agree:
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me.
The legend of love no couple can find,
So easy to part, or so equally join'd.

10

But what to-day will take away,

To-morrow will restore.

Thus at the heighth we love and live, And fear not to be poor.

PROLOGUE TO THE MISTAKES

OR, THE FALSE REPORT

[This play, a tragi-comedy by Joseph Harris, a comic actor of no great note, was probably acted in 1690; it was published early in 1691, being entered in the Term Catalogue for Hilary Term (February). According to Giles Jacob, in The Poetical Register, or The Lives and Characters of all the English Poets, 1723, this play was "originally composed by another person; but being put into his [Harris's] hands, he, by altering, spoiled it."]

Enter MR. BRIGHT

GENTLEMEN, we must beg your pardon; here's 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 sniveling and sobbing behind. the scenes, and cursing somebody that has deceiv'd him.

Enter MR. BOWEN

Hold your prating to the audience: here's honest Mr. Williams, just come in, half mellow, from the Rose Tavern. He swears he is inspir'd with claret, and will come on, and that extempore too, either with a prologue of his own or something like one. O here he comes to his trial, at all adventures; for my part I wish him a good deliverance.

[Exeunt Mr. Bright and Mr. Bowen.

Enter MR. WILLIAMS Save ye, sirs, save ye! I am in a) hopeful way,

I should speak something, in rhyme, now, for the play:

But the deuce take me, if I know what