And, from the fweet retreat, with joy furvey Safe in our scene, through dangerous courts you go, With joy we bring what our dead authors writ, That Shakespeare's, Fletcher's, and great Jonson's claim, May be renew'd from those who gave them fame. For Mufes fo fevere are worship'd here, eye, That, conscious of their faults, they shun the you Difdaining Difdaining that, which yet they know will take, V. PROLOGUE to CIRCE. [By Dr. DA VENANT, 1675.] WERE you but half so wife as you're fevere, Our youthful poet fhould not need to fear: To his green years your cenfures you would fuit, Not blaft the bloffom, but expect the fruit, The sex, that beft does pleasure understand, Will always choose to err on t'other hand. They check not him that's aukward in delight, But clap the young rogue's cheek, and fet him right. Thus hearten'd well, and flesh'd upon his prey, The youth may prove a man another day. Your Ben and Fletcher, in their first young flight, Did no Volpone, nor no Arbaces write; But hopp'd about, and fhort excursions made From bough to bough, as if they were afraid, And each was guilty of fome flighted maid. Shakespeare's own Mufe her Pericles firft bore; The prince of Tyre was elder than the Moor: 'Tis miracle to fee a firft good play; All hawthorns do not bloom on Christmas-day. } A A flender poet must have time to grow, And spread and burnish as his brothers do. Then damn not, but indulge his rude essays, Perhaps, if now your grace you will not grudge, VI. EPILOGUE intended to have been spoken by the Lady HEN. MAR. WENTWORTH, when CALISTO was acted at Court. As Jupiter I made my court in vain ; I'll now affume my native fhape again. I'm weary to be fo unkindly us'd, Our fullen Cato's, whatfoe'er they say, Ev'n while they frown and dictate laws, obey. You, mighty fir, our bonds more easy make, True wisdom may fome gallantry admit, And foften business with the charms of wit. These peaceful triumphs with your cares you bought, And from the midst of fighting nations brought. You only hear it thunder from afar, And fit in peace the arbiter of war : Peace, the loath'd manna, which hot brains despise. The promises of more felicity : Two glorious nymphs of your own godlike line, VII. EPILOGUE to the MAN of MODE, or Sir FOPLING FLUTTER. [By Sir GEORGE ETHEREGE, 1676.] MOST OST modern wits fuch monftrous fools have They seem not of heaven's making, but their own. But there goes more to a substantial ass : Something Something of man must be expos'd to view, The ladies would miftake him for a wit; And, when he fings, talks loud, and cocks would cry, I vow, methinks, he's pretty company. So brifk, fo gay, fo travel'd, fo refin'd, As he took pains to graff upon his kind. True fops help nature's work, and go to school, And, rolling o'er you, like a fnow-ball grows. One taught the tofs, and one the new French wallow. And this, the yard-long fnake he twirls behind. Which wind ne'er blew, nor touch of hat prophan'd. Another's diving bow he did adcre, Which with a fhog cafts all the hair before, Thefe fure he took from most of you who write. For no one fool is hunted from the herd. VIII. EPILOGUE |