PROLOGUE

TO THE

INDIAN QUEEN.

As the mufic plays a foft air, the curtain rises flowly, and discovers an Indian boy and girl fleeping under two plantain-trees; and, when the curtain is almost up, the mufic turns into a tune expreffing an alarm, at which the boy awakes, and speaks:

BOY. WAKE, wake, Quevira! our soft rest

muft cease,

And fly together with our country's peace!
No more muft we fleep under plantain shade,
Which neither heat could pierce, nor cold in-
vade;

Where bounteous nature never feels decay,
And opening buds drive falling fruits away.
QUE. Why should men quarrel here, where
all poffefs

As much as they can hope for by fuccefs?— None can have moft, where nature is fo kind, As to exceed man's use, though not his mind.

Boy. By ancient prophecies we have been told,

Our world shall be fubdued by one more old ;And, fee, that world already's hither come.

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QUE. If these be they, we welcome then our doom!

Their looks are fuch, that mercy flows from thence,

More gentle than our native innocence.

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Box. Why should we then fear these, our enemies,

That rather feem to us like deities?

QUE. By their protection, let us beg to live; They came not here to conquer, but forgive.— If fo, your goodness may your power express, And we shall judge both best by our success.

EPILOGUE

TO THE

INDIAN QUEEN.

SPOKEN BY MONTEZUMA.

YOU fee what fhifts we are enforc'd to try,
To help out wit with fome variety;

Shows may be found that never yet were seen,
"Tis hard to find fuch wit as ne'er has been:
You have feen all that this old world can do, 5
We, therefore, try the fortune of the new,
And hope it is below your aim to hit
At untaught nature with your practis'd wit:
Our naked Indians, then, when wits appear,
Would as foon choose to have the Spaniards here.
"Tis true, you have marks enough, the plot, the

fhow,

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The poet's scenes, nay, more, the painter's too; If all this fail, confidering the cost,

'Tis a true voyage to the Indies loft:

But if you fmile on all, then these designs, 15
Like the imperfect treasure of our minds,
Will pafs for current wherefoe'er they go,
When to your bounteous hands their ftamps
they owe.

EPILOGUE

TO THE

INDIAN EMPEROUR.

BY A MERCURY.

TO all and fingular in this full meeting, Ladies and gallants, Phœbus fends ye greeting. To all his fons, by whate'er title known, Whether of court, or coffee-house, or town; From his moft mighty fons, whofe confidence 5 Is plac'd in lofty found, and humble sense, Even to his little infants of the time,

Who write new fongs, and truft in tune and rhime:

Be't known, that Phoebus (being daily grieved
To fee good plays condemn'd, and bad received)
Ordains, your judgement upon every cause, 11
Henceforth, be limited by wholesome laws.
He first thinks fit no fonnetteer advance
His cenfure, farther than the fong or dance.
Your wit burlefque may one ftep higher climb,
And in his sphere may judge all doggrel rhime;

All proves, and moves, and loves, and honours

too;

All that appears high fenfe, and fcarce is low. As for the coffee-wits, he fays not much; Their

proper bufinefs is to damn the Dutch: 20 For the great dons of wit--

Phoebus gives them full privilege alone,
To damn all others, and cry up their own.
Laft, for the ladies, 'tis Apollo's will,

They should have power to fave, but not to kill:
For love and he long fince have thought it fit, 26
Wit live by beauty, beauty reign by wit.