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174 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES.But, ah ! no cure but death we find,To set us freeFrom Jealousy:Jealousy IThou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy,Thou tyrant of the mind 1False in thy glass all objects are,Some set too near, and some too farThou art the fire of endless night,The fire that burns, and gives no light.All torments of the damn'd we findIn only thee,Jealousy !Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy,Thou tyrant of the mind IPEOLOGUES AND EPILOGUES.PROLOGUEPROLOGUETO "THE BIVAL LADIES."TO "THE INDIAN QUEEN."As the music plays a soft air, the curtain r&es slowly, and discovers'Tie much desired, you judges of the townWould pass a vote to put all prologues down;an Indian boy and girl sleeping under two plantain-bees; and,when the curtain is almost up, the music tarns into a tune expressingan alarm, at which the boy awakes, and speaks;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 5Good prologues were as scarce as now good plays.BOY.For the reforming poets of our age,WAKE, wake, Quevira our soft rest must !cease,AndIn this first charge, spend their poetic rage fly together with our country's peaceJ:Expect no more when once the prologue 's done No more must we;sleep under plantain shade,10TheWhich neither heat couldwit is ended ere the play's begun. pierce, nor cold invade :You now have habits, dances, scenes, andWhere bounteous nature neverrhymes;6decay,High language often ; ay, and sense, sometimes. And opening buds drive falling fruits away.As for a clear contrivance, doubt it not ,They blow out candles to give light to th' plot.QTJEVIRA.lsAnd for surprise, two bloody-minded menFight till they die, then rise and dance again.Why should men quarrel here, where all possessAs muchSuch deep intrigues you 're welcome to this day they can hope for by success ?:None can haveBut blame yourselves, not him who most, where nature is so kind,writ the play;Though his plot 's dull, as can be 10As well to exceed man's use, though not his mind.desired,Wit stiff as any you have e'er ad-mired : 2He's bound to please, not to write well; andBOY.knows,ByThere is a mode prophecies we have been told,in plays as well as clothes; Our world shall beTherefore, kind by one more old ;judgesAnd, see, that world already 's hither come.A SECOND PROLOGUE ENTERS.QUEVIRA,2. Hold ;would you admitIf these be they, we welcome then our doom !For judges all you see within the pit ?Their looks are such,1. Whom mercy flows fromwould he then except, or on whatscoreB?More gentle than our native innocence.2. All who (like him) have writ HI plays before ;For they, like thieves condemn'd, are hangmenmade,BOY.To execute the members of their trade.WhyAll that are writing now these, our enemies,he would disown,That rather seem to us like deities ?*But then he must except even all the town ;All choleric, losing gamesters, who, in spite,Will damn to-day, because they lost last QTTEVIRA,night ;All servants, whom their mistress' scorn upbraids ; By their protection, let us beg to live ;All maudlin lovers, and all slighted maids ; TheyffiAll, who conquer, but forgive.are out of humour, or severe ;If so, your goodness may your power express,A.11, that want wit, or hope to find it here. And we shall judge both best by our success.
PEOLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 175EPILOGUETO "THE INDIAN QUEEN."SPOKEN BY MONTEZUMA.PROLOGUETO "SIB MABTDT MABB-ALL."You see what sliiffcs -we are enforced to try,To help out wit with some variety ;Shows may be found that never yet were seen,"Pis hard to find such wit as ne'er has been :You have seen all that this old world can s do,We, therefore, try the fortune of the new,And hope it is below your g,im to hitAt untaught nature with your practisedOur wit :naked Indians, then, when wits appear,Would as soon choose to have the Spaniards here."Pis true, you have marks enough, the plot, theshow,uThe poet's scenes, nay, more, the painter's too ;If all this fail, considering the cost,"Tis a true voyage to the Indies lost :But if you smile on all, then these udesigns,Like the imperfect treasure of our minds,Will pass for current wheresoe'er they go,When to your bounteous hands their stamps theyFooi, which each man meets in his disfr eachday,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 :But such in plays must be much thicker sown,Like yolks of eggs, a dozen beat to one.Observing poets all their walks invade,As men watch woodcocks gliding through agkdeAnd :when they have enough for comedy,They stow their several bodies in a pieThe :poet's but the cook to fashion it,For gallants, you yourselves have found the witTo bid you welcome, would your bounty wrong ;u$one welcome those who bring their cheer along.EPILOGUETO "THE INDIAN BMPEBOB."BY A MEBCUBY.To all and singular in this mil meeting^Ladies and gallants, Phoebus sends 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 confidenceIs placed hi lofty sound, and humble sense,Even to his little infants of the time,Who write new songs, and trust in tune andrhyme *Be 't known, that Phoebus (being daily grievedTo see good plays condemn'd, and bad received)llOrdains, your judgment upon every cause,Henceforth, be limited by wholesome laws.He first thinks fit no sonnetteer advanceHis censure, farther than the song or dance.Your wit burlesque may one step higher climb, 1SAnd in his sphere may judge all doggrel rhyme ;All proves, and moves, and loves, and honourstoo;AH 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 witPhoebus gives them full privilege alone,To damn all others, and cry up their own.Last, for the ladies, 'tis Apollo's will,They should have power to save, ttbut not to kill ;For love and he long since have thought it fit^Wit live ly beauty, beauty reign by wit.&PROLOGUETO "THE TEMPEST."*As when a tree's cut down, the secret rootLives tinder ground, and thence new branchesshoot;So from old Shakspeare's honoured dust, ihis daySprings up and buds a new-reviving play :Shakspeare, who (taught by none) did first impart &To Fletcher wit, to labouring Jonson art.He, monarch like, gave those, his subjects, law;And is that nature which they paint and draw,Fletcher reach'd that which on his heights didgrow,l 'While Jonson crept, and gather'd all below.This did his love, and this Ms mirth, digest:One imitates >"'m most, the other bestIf they have since outwrit all other men,'Tis with the drops which fell from Shakspeare'spen.The storm, which vanish'd on the neighbouring15shore,Was taught by Shakspeare's Tempestfirst to roar.That innocence and beauty, which did smileIn Fletcher, grew on this enchanted islaBut Shakspeare's magic could not copied be ;**Within that circle none durst \ralk but he.I must confess 'twas bold, nor would you nowThat liberty to vulgar wits allow,Which works by magic supernatural things :But Shakspeare's poweris sacred as a king's.Those legends from old priesthood were received,And he then writ, as people then Mbelieved.But if for Shakspeare we your grace implore,We for our theatre ah^n want it more :herdess in love with two persons, ITempest. Dr. J. WABTOHlias introduced a sbepthealterations in tht
- Page 201 and 202: The priest before them did his wing
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PEOLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 175EPILOGUETO "THE INDIAN QUEEN."SPOKEN BY MONTEZUMA.PROLOGUETO "SIB MABTDT MABB-ALL."You see what sliiffcs -we are enforced to try,To help out wit with some variety ;Shows may be found that never yet were seen,"Pis hard to find such wit as ne'er has been :You have seen all that this old world can s do,We, therefore, try the fortune of the new,And hope it is below your g,im to hitAt untaught nature with your practisedOur wit :naked Indians, then, when wits appear,Would as soon choose to have the Spaniards here."Pis true, you have marks enough, the plot, theshow,uThe poet's scenes, nay, more, the painter's too ;If all this fail, considering the cost,"Tis a true voyage to the Indies lost :But if you smile on all, then these udesigns,Like the imperfect treasure of our minds,Will pass for current wheresoe'er they go,When to your bounteous hands their stamps theyFooi, which each man meets in his disfr eachday,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 :But such in plays must be much thicker sown,Like yolks of eggs, a dozen beat to one.Observing poets all their walks invade,As men watch woodcocks gliding through agkdeAnd :when they have enough for comedy,They stow their several bodies in a pieThe :poet's but the cook to fashion it,For gallants, you yourselves have found the witTo bid you welcome, would your bounty wrong ;u$one welcome those who bring their cheer along.EPILOGUETO "THE INDIAN BMPEBOB."BY A MEBCUBY.To all and singular in this mil meeting^Ladies and gallants, Phoebus sends 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 confidenceIs placed hi lofty sound, and humble sense,Even to his little infants of the time,Who write new songs, and trust in tune andrhyme *Be 't known, that Phoebus (being daily grievedTo see good plays condemn'd, and bad received)llOrdains, your judgment upon every cause,Henceforth, be limited by wholesome laws.He first thinks fit no sonnetteer advanceHis censure, farther than the song or dance.Your wit burlesque may one step higher climb, 1SAnd in his sphere may judge all doggrel rhyme ;All proves, and moves, and loves, and honourstoo;AH 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 witPhoebus gives them full privilege alone,To damn all others, and cry up their own.Last, for the ladies, 'tis Apollo's will,They should have power to save, ttbut not to kill ;For love and he long since have thought it fit^Wit live ly beauty, beauty reign by wit.&PROLOGUETO "THE TEMPEST."*As when a tree's cut down, the secret rootLives tinder ground, and thence new branchesshoot;So from old Shakspeare's honoured dust, ihis daySprings up and buds a new-reviving play :Shakspeare, who (taught by none) did first impart &To Fletcher wit, to labouring Jonson art.He, monarch like, gave those, his subjects, law;And is that nature which they paint and draw,Fletcher reach'd that which on his heights didgrow,l 'While Jonson crept, and gather'd all below.This did his love, and this Ms mirth, digest:One imitates >"'m most, the other bestIf they have since outwrit all other men,'Tis with the drops which fell from Shakspeare'spen.The storm, which vanish'd on the neighbouring15shore,Was taught by Shakspeare's Tempestfirst to roar.That innocence and beauty, which did smileIn Fletcher, grew on this enchanted islaBut Shakspeare's magic could not copied be ;**Within that circle none durst \ralk but he.I must confess 'twas bold, nor would you nowThat liberty to vulgar wits allow,Which works by magic supernatural things :But Shakspeare's poweris sacred as a king's.Those legends from old priesthood were received,And he then writ, as people then Mbelieved.But if for Shakspeare we your grace implore,We for our theatre ah^n want it more :herdess in love with two persons, ITempest. Dr. J. WABTOHlias introduced a sbepthealterations in tht