No fooner out of fight, but they are gadding,
And for the next new face ride out a padding.
Yet, by their favour, when they have been kiffing,
We can perceive the ready money miffing.
Well! we may rail; but 'tis as good e'en wink';
Something we find, and fomething they will fink.
But fince they're at renouncing, 'tis our parts,
To trump their diamonds, as they trump our hearts.
Qualm of confcience brings me back again,
To make amends to you befpatter'd men.
We women love like cats, that hide their joys,
By growling, fqualling, and a hideous noife.
I rail'd at wild young sparks; but, without lying,
Never was man worse thought on for high-flying.
The prodigal of love gives each her part,
And fquand'ring fhows, at leaff, a noble heart.
I've heard of men, who, in fome lewd lampoon,
Have hir'd a friend, to make their valour known.
That accufation ftraight this question brings;
What is the man that does fuch naughty things?
The spaniel lover, like a fneaking fop,
Lies at our feet: he's scarce worth taking up.
'Tis true, fuch heroes in a play go far;
But chamber-practice is not like the bar.
When men fuch vile, fuch faint, petitions make,
We fear to give, becaufe they fear to take;
Since modefty's the virtue of our kind,
Pray let it be to our own fex confin'd.
When men ufurp it from the female nation,
'Tis but a work of fupererogation-
We fhew'd a princefs in the play, 'tis true,
Who gave her Cæfar more than all his due;
Told her own faults: but I fhould much abhor
To choose a husband for my confeffor.
You fee what fate follow'd the faint-like fool,
For telling tales from out the nuptial school.
Our play a merry comedy had prov'd,
Had the confefs'd fo much to him the lov'd.
True Prefbyterian wives the means would try;
But damn'd confeffing is flat Popery.
To ARVIRAGUS and PHILICIA Revived:
[By LODOWICK CARLELL, Efq; 1690.]
Spoken by Mr. HART,
WITH fickly actors and an old houfe too,
We're match'd with glorious theatres and new,
And with our alehoufe fcenes, and cloaths bare worn,
Can neither raise old plays, nor new adorn.
If all thefe ills could not undo us quite,
A brifk French troop is grown your dear delight;
Who with broad bloody bills call you each day,
To laugh and break your buttons at their play;
Or fee fome serious piece, which we prefume
Is fall'n from fome incomparable plume;
And therefore, Meffieurs, if you'll do us grace,
Send lacquies early to preferve your place.
We dare not on your privilege intrench,
Or ask you why you like them? they are French.
Therefore
Therefore fome go with courtesy exceeding,
Neither to hear nor fee, but fhow their breeding:
Each lady ftriving to out-laugh the reft;
To make it seem they understood the jest.
Their countrymen come in, and nothing pay,
To teach us English were to clap the play :
Civil Igad! our hofpitable land
Bears all the charge, for them to understand:
Mean time we languish, and neglected lie,
Like wives, while you keep better company;
And wifh for your own fakes, without a fatire,
You'd lefs good breeding, or had more good-nature.
To the PROPHETESS'.
By BEAUMONT and FLETCHER.
Spoken by Mr. BETTERTON. 1690.
HAT Noftradame, with all his art can guess
The fate of our approaching Prophetefs?
A play, which like a perfpective fet right,
Prefents our vast expences close to fight;
But turn the tube, and there we fadly view
Our diftant gains; and thofe uncertain too:
1 This prologue was forbid by the Earl of Dorfet, then Lord Chamberlain, after the firft day of its being fpoken. Colley Cibber fays, it had fome familiar fneers at the Revolution; and as the poetry of it was good, the offence was the lefs pardonable.
A fweeping tax, which on ourselves we raise,
And all, like you, in hopes of better days
When will our loffes warn us to be wife
Our wealth decreases, and our charges rife.
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 fated, ere the second fight.
Falfe men, e'en fo you ferve your miftreffes:
They rife three ftories in their tow'ring dress;
And, after all, you love not long enough
To pay the rigging, ere you leave them off.
Never content with what you had before,
But true to change, and English men all o'er.
- Now honour 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 2, leave our stage to mourn;
'Till rich from vanquish'd rebels you return;
And the fat fpoils 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 hofe.
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 Mufes pay their vows,
And furnish all their laurels for your brows;
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
Thofe doughty knights fuch dangers undertake,
2 King William was at this time profecuting the war in Ireland, which is alluded to in thefe lines.
When they with happy gales are gone away,
With your propitious prefence grace our play;
And with a figh their empty feats survey:
Then think, on that bare bench my fervant fat;
I fee him ogle still, 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 ftage, reviv'd by your fair eyes,
Under a female regency may rise.
(By JOSEPH HARRIS, Comedian, 1690.)
'Entlemen, we must beg your pardon; here's no Prologue to be had to-day; our new play is likę 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.
HOLD your prating to the audience: here is honeft Mr. Williams, juft come in, half mellow, from the Rofe-Tavern. He fwears he is infpired with claret, and will come on, and that extempore too, either with
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