Ob that your Brows my Lawrel bad fuftain'd;
Well bad I been depos'd, if you had Reign'd!
The Father had defcended for the Son;
For only You are lineal to the Throne.
Thus when the State one Edward did depofe;
A greater Edward in his Room arofe.
But now, not I, but Poetry is curs'd;
For Tom the Second reigns like Tom the Firft.
But let 'em not mistake my Patron's Part;
Nor call bis Charity their own Defert.
Yet this I Prophefie; Thou shalt be seen,
(Tho' with fome fhort Parenthefis between:)
High on the Throne of Wit; and seated there,
Not mine (that's little) but thy Lawrel wear.
Thy firft Attempt an early Promise made;
That early Promife this has more than paid.
So bold, yet fo judiciously you dare,
That your leaft Praife, is to be Regular.
Time, Place, and Action, may with Pains be wrought,
But Genius must be born; and never can be taught.
This is your Portion, this your Native Store;
Heav'n, that but once was Prodigal before,
To Shakespear gave as much; he could not give
Maintain your Poft: That's all the Fame you need; For 'tis impoffible you should proceed.
Already I am worn with Cares and Age;
And just abandoning th' Ungrateful Stage:
Unprofitably kept at Heav'n's Expence;
I live a Rent-charge on his Providence;
But You, whom ev'ry Muse and Grace adorn,
Whom I forefee to better Fortune born,
Be kind to my Remains; and ob defend,
Against your Judgment, your departed Friend!
Let not th' infulting Foe my Fame pursue;
But fhade thofe Lawrels which defcend to You:
And take for Tribute what these Lines express:
You merit more; nor could my Love do less.
PROLOGUE,
Spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle.
MOORS have this Way (as Story tells) to know
Whether their Brats are truely got, or no;
Into the Sea the New-born Babe is thrown,
There, as Inftinct directs, to fwim, or drown.
A barbarous Device, to try if Spouse
Has kept religiously her Nuptial Vows.
Such are the Tryals, Poets make of Plays:
Only they trust to more inconftant Seas;
So does our Author, this his Child commit
To the tempestuous Mercy of the Pit,
To know if it be truly born a Wit.
Criticks avaunt; for you are Fish of Prey,
And feed, like Sharks, upon an Infant Play.
Be ev'ry Monfier of the Deep away;
Let's a fair Tryal have, and a clear Sea.
Let Nature work, and do not Damn too soon,
For Life will struggle long, ere it fink down:
And will at leaftrife thrice, before it drown.
Let us confider, had it been our Fate,
Thus hardly to be prov'd Legitimate!
I will not fay, we'd all in Danger been,
Were each to fuffer for his Mother's Sin:
But by my Troth I cannot avoid thinking,
How nearly fome good Men might have'fcap'dfinking.
But, Heav'n be prais'd, this Custom is confin'd
Alone to th' Offspring of the Mufes kind:
Our Chriftian Cuckolds are more bent to Pity;
I know not one Moor-Husband in the City.
I'th' good Man's Arms the Chopping Baftard thrives,
For he thinks all his own, that is his Wife's.
Whatever Fate is for this Play defign'd,
The Poet's fure he shall fome Comfort find:
For if his Mufe has play'd him falfe, the worst
That can befal him, is, to be divorc'd;
You Husbands Judge, if that be to be Curs'd.
Maskwell, A Villain; pretended Friend to Mellefont, Galiant to Lady Touchwood, and in Love with Cynthia. Lord Touchwood, Uncle to Mellefont. Mellefont, promised to, and in Love with Cynthia.
Careless, his Friend,
Lord Froth, a folemn Coxcomb.
Brisk, a pert Coxcomb.
Sir Paul Plyant, An Uxorious, Foolish,
Old Knight; Brother to Lady Touch- Mr. Dogget. wood, and Father to Cynthia.
Lady Touchwood, in Love with Mellefont.
Cynthia, Daughter to Sir Paul by a for-
mer Wife, promised to Mellefont.
Lady Froth, a great Coquet; Pretender
to Poetry, Wit, and Learning.
Lady Plyant, Infolent to her Husband,
and cafie to any Pretender.
Chaplain, Boy, Footmen, and Attendants.
The SCENE, A Gallery in the Lord Touchwood's Houfe, with Chambers adjoining.
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