But both to Congreve justly shall submit,
One match'd in Judgment, both o'er-match'd in Wit.
In Him all Beauties of this Age we see,
Etherege his Courtship, Southern's Purity ;
The Satire, Wit, and Strength of Manly Wicherly.
All this in blooming Youth you have atchiev'd;
Nor are your foil'd Contemporaries griev'd;
So much the Sweetness of your Manners move,
We cannot envy you, because we Love.
Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he faw
A Beardlefs Conful made against the Law,
And join his Suffrage to the Votes of Rome;
Though he with Hannibal was overcome.
Thus old Romano bow'd to Raphael's Fame;
And Scholar to the Youth he taught, became.
Oh that your Brows my Laurel had sustain'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 First.
But let 'em not mistake my Patron's Part;
Nor call his Charity their own Defert.
Yet this I Prophesy; Thou shalt be seen,
(Tho' with fome fhort Parenthefis between :)
High on the Throne of Wit; and feated there,
Not mine (that's little) but thy Laurel wear.
Thy first Attempt an early Promise made,
That early Promise 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; fhe cou'd not give him more.
Maintain your Poft: That's all the Fame you need; For 'tis impoffible you shou'd 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 Laurels which defcend to You:
And take for Tribute what thefe Lines exprefs;
You merit more; nor cou'd my Love do lefs.
PROLOGUE,
Spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle.
OORS have this Way (as Story tells) to know
Whether their Brats are truly 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 Trials Poet's make of Plays:
Only they trust to more inconftant Seas;
So does our Author, this his Child commit
To the tempeftuous Mercy of the Pit,
To know if it be truly born of Wit.
Criticks avaunt; for you are Fish of Prey,
And feed, like Sharks, upon an Infant Play.
Be ev'ry Monster of the Deep away;
Let's have a fair Trial, and a clear Sea.
Let Nature work, and do not Damn too foon,
For Life will fruggle long ere it fink down:
And will at least rife 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'd finking.
But Heav'n be prais'd, this Cuftom 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 Wives.
Whatever Fate is for this Play defign'd,
The Poet's fure he fhall fome Comfort find:
For if his Mufe has play'd him false, the worst
That can befall him, is to be divorc'd;
You Husbands judge, if that, be to be Curs'd.
Maskavell, A Villain; pretended
Friend to Mellefont, Gallant 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 Solemn Coxcomb.
Brisk, A pert Coxcomb.
Sir Paul Plyant, An Uxorious, Fool
Mr. Kynaston.
Mr. Williams.
Mr. Verbruggen.
Mr. Bowman.
ifh, old Knight; Brother to Lady Mr. Dogget. Touchwood, and Father to Cynthia.
Lady Touchwood, In Love with Mellefont. Mrs. Barrey. Cynthia, Daughter to Sir Paul by
a former Wife, promifed to Mel- Mrs. Bracegirdle. lefont.
Lady Froth, A great Coquet; Pre
tender to Poetry, Wit, and Learn-> Mrs. Mountfort. ing.
Lady Plyant, Infolent to her Hus
band, and easy to any Pretender.
Chaplain, Boy, Footmen, and Attendants.
The SCENE, A Gallery in the Lord Touchwood's Houfe with Chambers adjoining.
A Gallery in the Lord Touchwood's Houfe, with Chambers adjoining.
Enter Carele, Croffing the Stage, with his Hat, Gloves, and Sword in his Hands; as just rifen from Table: Mellefont following him.
ED, Ned, whither fo faft? What, turn'd
Flincher! Why, you wo'not leave us?
Care. Where are the Women? I'm weary of guzling, and begin to think them the better Company.
Mel. Then thy Reafon flaggers, and
Care. No, Faith, but your Fools grow noify
if a Man muft endure the Noife of Words without Sense,
I think the Women have more Mufical Voices, and become Nonsense better.
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