*PROLOGUE

TO THE

PROPHETESS.

BY BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

REVIVED BY MR. DRYDEN.

SPOKEN BY MR. BETTERTON.

WHAT Noftradame, with all his art can guefs

The fate of our approaching Prophetefs?

The Prophetefs, or the Hiftory of Dioclefian, was revived in 1690, with alterations and additions, after the manner of an opera, by Mr. Betterton, and not by Dryden, as Langbaine, who is generally pretty exact, afferts. Our author only wrote the prologue, and that was forbid by the Earl of Dorfet, then Lord Chamberlain, after the first day of its being fpoken. King William was at this time profecuting the war in Ireland, which is alluded to in these lines:

""Till rich from vanquifh'd rebels you return;

"And the fat fpoils of Teague in triumph draw,
"His firkin butter, and his ufquebaugh."

"This prologue," fays Colley Cibber in his Apology, "had "fome familiar metaphorical fueers at the Revolution itself; "and as the poetry of it was good, the offence of it was lefs "pardonable.

"Go conquerors of your male and female foes,
"Men without hearts, and women without hofe."

DERRICK.

5

A play, which, like a perspective set right,
Prefents our vaft expences clofe to fight;
But turn the tube, and there we fadly view
Our diftant gains; and those uncertain too:
A fweeping tax, which on ourselves we raife,
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. 10
Money, the fweet 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 fecond fight.
Falfe men, e'en fo you ferve your miftreffes: 15
They rife three stories in their towering 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 Englishmen 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 filver goes, that fhould fupport our trade.
Go, unkind heroes, leave our ftage to mourn;
"Till rich from vanquish'd rebels you return; 26
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; 31
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 Muses pay their vows, S5
And furnish all their laurels for your
brows;
Their tuneful voice fhall raife for your delights;
We want not poets fit to fing your flights.
But you, bright beauties, for whofe only fake
Those doughty knights fuch dangers undertake,
When they with happy gales are gone away,
With your propitious prefence grace our play
And with a figh their empty feats furvey:
Then think, on that bare bench my fervant fat;
I fee him ogle ftill, 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 rife.

45

51

PROLOGUE

TO THE

*MISTAKES.

ENTER MR. BRIGHT.

GENTLEMEN, we must beg your pardon ; here's no Prologue to be had to-day; our new play is like 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 scenes, and curfing fomebody that has deceived him.

ENTER MR. BOWEN.

HOLD your prating to the audience: here's honeft Mr. Williams, just come in, half mellow, from the Rofe-Tavern. He fwears he is inspired with claret, and will come on, and that extempore too, either with a prologue of his own or fomething like one: O here he comes

The Miftakes, or Falfe Reports, was not written, but, according to G. Jacob, fpoiled by Jofeph Harris, a comedian, who dedicated it to Mr. afterwards Sir Godfrey Kneller. It was acted in 1690. DERRICK.

I

to his tryal, at all adventures; for my part wifh him a good deliverance.

[Exeunt Mr. Bright and Mr. Bowen.

ENTER MR. WILLIAMS.

SAVE ye, firs, fave ye! I am in a hopeful

way.

I should speak fomething, in rhyme, now, for the play:

But the deuce take me, if I know what to fay. I'll stick to my friend the author, that I can tell ye,

To the laft drop of claret, in my belly.

5

So far I'm fure 'tis rhyme-that needs no granting:

And, if my verfes' feet ftumble-you fee my own are wanting.

Our young poet has brought a piece of work, In which, though much of art there does not

lurk,

It may hold out three days-and that's as long as Cork.

10

But, for this play-(which till I have done, we fhow not)

What may be its fortune-by the Lord-I

know not.

This I dare fwear, no malice here is writ:

'I'is innocent of all things; even of wit.