by John Dryden
Your Nurses, we presume, in such a Case,
Your Father chose, because he lik’d the Face;
And often they supply’d your Mother’s place.
The Dry Nurse was your Mother’s ancient Maid,
Who knew some former Slip she ne’er betray’d. 25
Betwixt ‘em both, for Milk and Sugar-Candy,
Your sucking Bottles were well stor’d with Brandy.
Your Father, to initiate your discourse,
Meant to have taught you first to swear and curse,
But was prevented by each careful Nurse. 30
For, leaving Dad and Mam, as names too common,
They taught you certain parts of Man and Woman.
I pass your Schools, for there when first you came,
You wou’d be sure to learn the Latin name.
In Colledges, you scorn’d their Art of thinking, 35
But learn’d all Moods and Figures of good Drinking:
Thence come to Town, you practise Play, to know
The Vertues of the High Dice and the Low.
Each thinks himself a SHARPER most profound:
He cheats by Pence, is cheated by the Pound. 40
With these perfections, and what else he gleans,
The SPARK sets up for Love behind our Scenes,
Hot in pursuit of Princesses and Queens.
There, if they know their Man, with cunning Carriage,
Twenty to one but it concludes in Marriage. 45
He hires some homely Room, Love’s Fruits to gather,
And Garret-high rebells against his Father:
But he once dead ——
Brings her in Triumph, with her Portion, down,
A Twillet, Dressing-Box, and Half a Crown. 50
Some Marry first, and then they fall to Scowring,
Which is, Refining Marriage into Whoring.
Our Women batten well on their good Nature,
All they can rap and rend for the dear Creature.
But while abroad so liberal the DOLT is, 55
Poor SPOUSE at Home as Ragged as a Colt is.
Last, some there are, who take their first Degrees
Of Lewdness in our middle Galleries;
The Doughty BULLIES enter Bloody Drunk,
Invade and grabble one another’s PUNK; 60
They Caterwoul, and make a dismal Rout,
Call SONS of WHORES, and strike, but ne’re lug out:
Thus, while for Paultry Punk they roar and stickle,
They make it Bawdier than a Conventicle.
Prologue and Epilogue to Albion and Albanius
PROLOGUE.
FULL twenty years and more, our lab’ring Stage
Has lost, on this incorrigible age:
Our Poets, the John Ketches of the Nation,
Have seem’d to lash yee ev’n to excoriation:
But still no sign remains; which plainly notes 5
You bore like Hero’s or you brib’d like Oates.
What can we do, when mimicking a Fop,
Like beating Nut-trees, makes a larger Crop?
Faith, we’ll e’en spare our pains, and to content you,
We’ll fairly leave you what your Maker meant you. 10
Satyre was once your Physick, Wit your Food;
One nourisht not, and t’ other drew no Blood.
Wee now prescribe, like Doctors in despair,
The Diet your weak appetites can bear.
Since hearty Beef and Mutton will not do, 15
Here’s Julep dance, Ptisan of Song and show:
Give you strong Sense, the Liquor is too heady;
You’re come to farce, that’s Asses’ Milk, already.
Some hopeful Youths there are of callow Wit,
Who one day may be Men, if Heav’n think fit; 20
Sound may serve such, ere they to Sense are grown;
Like leading strings, till they can walk alone.
But yet, to keep our Friends in count’nance, know,
The Wise Italians first invented show;
Thence into France the Noble Pageant past; 25
’Tis England’s Credit to be cozn’d last.
Freedom and Zeal have chous’d you o’er and o’er;
‘Pray give us leave to bubble you once more;
You never were so cheaply fool’d before.
We bring you change, to humour your Disease; 30
Change for the Worse has ever used to please:
Then ’tis the mode of France, without whose Rules
None must presume to set up here for Fools:
In France, the oldest Man is always young,
Sees Opera’s daily, learns the Tunes so long, 35
Till Foot, Hand, Head, keep Time with ev’ry Song.
Each sings his part, echoing from Pit and Box,
With his hoarse Voice, half Harmony, half Pox.
Le plus grand Roy du Monde, is always ringing;
They show themselves good Subjects by their singing. 40
On that Condition, set up every Throat;
You Whiggs may sing, for you have chang’d your Note.
Cits and Citesses, raise a joyful Strain,
’Tis a good Omen to begin a Reign:
Voices may help your Charter to restoring, 45
And get by singing, what you lost by roaring.
EPILOGUE
After our Æsop’s Fable shown to day,
I come to give the Moral of the play.
Feign’d Zeal, you saw, set out the speedier pace;
But, the last Heat, Plain Dealing won the Race: 50
Plain Dealing for a Jewel has been known;
But ne’er till now the Jewel of a Crown.
When Heav’n made Man, to show the work Divine,
Truth was his Image, stampt upon the Coin:
And, when a King is to a God refin’d, 55
On all he says and does, he stamps his Mind.
This proves a Soul without allay, and pure;
Kings, like their Gold, should every touch endure.
To dare in Fields is Valour; but how few
Dare be so thoroughly Valiant to be true? 60
The Name of Great let other Kings affect:
He’s Great indeed, the Prince that is direct.
His Subjects know him now, and trust him more,
Than all their Kings, and all their Laws before.
What safety could their publick Acts afford? 65
Those he can break, but cannot break his Word.
So great a Trust to him alone was due;
Well have they trusted whom so well they knew.
The Saint, who walk’d on Waves, securely trod,
While he believ’d the beckning of his God; 70
But, when his Faith no longer bore him out,
Began to sink, as he began to doubt.
Let us our native Character maintain,
’Tis of our Growth to be sincerely plain.
T’ excel in Truth we Loyally may strive, 75
Set Privilege against Prerogative:
He Plights his Faith, and we believe him just:
His Honour is to Promise, ours to Trust.
Thus Britain’s Basis on a Word is laid,
As by a Word the World it self was made. 80
Prologue and Epilogue to Don Sebastian
PROLOGUE.
Spoken by a Woman.
THE JUDGE remov’d, tho he’s no more My Lord,
May plead at Bar, or at the Council-Board:
So may cast Poets write; there’s no Pretension,
To argue loss of Wit from loss of Pension.
Your looks are cheerful; and in all this place 5
I see not one that wears a damning face.
The British Nation is too brave to show
Ignoble vengeance on a vanquish’d foe.
At least be civil to the Wretch imploring;
And lay your Paws upon him without roaring: 10
Suppose our Poet was your foe before,
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Yet now, the bus’ness of the Field is o’er;
’Tis Time to let your Civil Wars alone,
When Troops are into Winter-quarters gone.
Jove was alike to Latian and to Phrygian; 15
And you well know, a Play’s of no Religion.
Take good advice, and please your selves this Day
No matter from what hands you have the Play.
Among good Fellows ev’ry health will pass,
That serves to carry round another glass: 20
When with full bowls of Burgundy you dine,
Tho at the Mighty Monarch you repine,
You grant him still most Christian, in his Wine.
Thus far the Poet; but his brains grow Addle,
And all the rest is purely from this Noddle. 25
You’ve seen young Ladies at the Senate door
Prefer Petitions, and your grace implore;
However grave the Legislators were,
Their Cause went ne’re the worse for being fair.
Reasons as weak as theirs, perhaps I bring; 30
But I cou’d bribe you with as good a thing,
I heard him make advances of good Nature,
That he for once, wou’d sheath his cutting Satyr:
Sign but his Peace, he vows he’ll ne’er again
The Sacred Names of Fops and Beaus profane. 35
Strike up the Bargain quickly; for I swear,
As Times go now, he offers very fair.
Be not too hard on him with Statutes neither;
Be kind; and do not set your Teeth together,
To stretch the Laws, as Coblers do their Leather. 40
Horses by Papists are not to be ridden,
But sure the Muses Horse was ne’re forbidden;
For in no Rate-Book it was ever found
That Pegasus was valued at Five-pound:
Fine him to dayly Drudging and Inditing; 45
And let him pay his Taxes out in Writing.
EPILOGUE
Spoken betwixt Antonio and Morayma.
Mor. I Quak’d at heart for fear the Royal Fashion
Shou’d have seduc’d Us two to Seperation:
To be drawn in, against our own desire,
Poor I to be a Nun, poor You a Fryar. 50
Ant. I trembled when the Old Man’s hand was in,
He would have prov’d we were too near of kin,
Discovering old Intrigues of Love, like t’other,
Betwixt my Father and thy sinful Mother;
To make Us Sister Turk and Christian Brother. 55
Mor. Excuse me there; that League shou’d have been rather
Betwixt your Mother and my Multi-Father;
’Tis for my own and my Relations Credit
Your Friends shou’d bear the Bastard, mine shou’d get it.
Ant. Suppose us two, Almeyda and Sebastian, 60
With Incest prov’d upon us: —— —
Mor. Without Question,
Their Conscience was too queazy of digestion.
Ant. Thou woud’st have kept the Councell of thy Brother
And sinn’d till we repented of each other.
Mor. Beast as you are, on Natures Laws to trample! 65
‘Twere fitter that we follow’d their Example.
And since all Marriage in Repentance ends,
’Tis good for us to part while we are Friends.
To save a Maids Remorses and Confusions,
E’en leave me now, before We try Conclusions. 70
Ant. To copy their Example first make certain
Of one good hour, like theirs, before our parting;
Make a debauch o’re Night of Love and Madness;
And marry, when we wake, in sober sadness.
Mor. I’le follow no new Sects of your inventing. 75
One Night might cost me nine long months repenting:
First wed, and, if you find that Life a Fetter,
Dye when you please, the sooner Sir the better:
My wealth wou’d get me love e’re I cou’d ask it:
Oh there’s a strange Temptation in the Casket: 80
All these Young Sharpers would my grace importune,
And make me thundring Votes of Lives and Fortune.
Prologue to The Prophetess
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 Expences close to Sight;
But turn the Tube, and there we sadly view 5
Our distant Gains, and those uncertain too;
A sweeping Tax, which on our selves we raise,
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. 10
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; 15
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 had before,
But true to Change, and English Men all o’er. 20
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 Silver goes, that shou’d support our Trade.
Go, unkind Heroes, leave our Stage to mourn, 25
‘Till rich from vanquish’d Rebels you return;
And the fat Spoils of Teague in Triumph draw,
His Firkin-Butter and his Usquebaugh.
Go, Conqu’rors of your Male and Female Foes;
Men without Hearts, and Women without Hose. 30
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 shall the Pious Muses pay their Vows, 35
And furnish all their Laurels for your Brows;
Their tuneful Voice shall rise for your Delights;
We want not Poets fit to sing your Flights.
But you, bright Beauties, of whose only sake
Those Doughty Knights such Dangers undertake, 40
When they with happy Gales are gone away,
With your propitious Presence grace our Play,
And with a Sigh their Empty Seats survey;
Then think, on that bare Bench my servant sate,
I see him Ogle still, and hear him Chat; 45
Selling facetious Bargains, and propounding
That witty Recreation, called Dum-founding.
Their Loss with Patience we will try to bear,
And wou’d do more, to see you often here;
That our dead Stage, reviv’d by your fair Eyes, 50
Under a Female Regency may rise.
Prologue and Epilogue to Amphitryon, or the Two Sosias
PROLOGUE.
Spoken by Mrs. BRACEGIRDLE.
THE LAB’RING Bee, when his sharp Sting is gone,
Forgets his golden Work, and turns a Drone:
Such is a Satyr, when you take away
That Rage in which his Noble Vigour lay.
What gain you, by not suffering him to teize ye? 5
He neither can offend you now, nor please ye.
The Honey-Bag and Venome 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 10
To box, like Boys, with one hand ty’d behind him?
This is plain Levelling of Wit; in which
The Poor has all th’ advantage, not the Rich.
The Blockhead stands excus’d, for wanting Sense;
And Wits turn Blockheads in their own defence. 15
Yet, though the Stages Traffick is undone,
Still Julian’s interloping Trade goes on:
Though Satyr on the Theatre you smother,
Yet in Lampoons, you Libel one another.
The first produces still, a second Jig; 20
You whip ‘em out, like School-boys, till they gig:
And, with the same Success, we Readers guess,
For ev’ry one still dwindles to a less;
And much good Malice is so meanly drest,
That we wou’d laugh, but cannot find the Jest. 25
If no Advice your Rhiming Rage can stay,
Let not the Ladies suffer in the Fray.
Their tender Sex is priviledg’d from War;
’Tis not like Knights, to draw upon the Fair.
What Fame expect you from so mean a Prize? 30
We wear no murd’ring Weapons, but our Eyes.
Our Sex, you know, was after yours design’d;
The last Perfection of the Makers Mind;
Heav’n drew out all the Gold for us, and left your Dross behind.
Beauty, for Valours best Reward, He chose; 35
Peace, after War; and after Toil, Repose.
Hence, ye Prophane, excluded from our sights;
And, charm’d by Day, with Honour’s vain delights,
Go, make your best of solitary Nights.
Recant betimes, ’tis 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. 45
Idolatry was ev’n their Gods’ own trade:
They Worshipt 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 Lilly hand, 50
Jove, was her humble Servant, at Command.
The Treasury of Heav’n was ne’re so bare,
But still there was a Pension for the Fair.
In all his Reign, Adultry was no Sin;
For Jove the good Example did begin. 55
Mark too, when he usurp’d the Husband’s name,
How civilly he sav’d the Ladies fame.
The secret Joys of Love he wisely hid;
But you, Sirs, boast of more than e’er you did.
You teize your Cuckolds; to their face torment ‘em: 60
But Jove gave his, new Honours to content ‘em,