PROLOGUE.

Prologues, like bells to churches, toll you in

With chiming verse, till the dull plays begin;

With this sad difference though, of pit and pew,

You damn the poet, but the priest damns you:

But priests can treat you at your own expence,

And gravely call you fools without offence.

Poets, poor devils, have ne'er your folly shown,

But, to their cost, you proved it was their own:

For, when a fop's presented on the stage,

Straight all the coxcombs in the town engage;

For his deliverance and revenge they join,

And grunt, like hogs, about their captive swine.

Your poets daily split upon this shelf,—

You must have fools, yet none will have himself.

Or if, in kindness, you that leave would give,

No man could write you at that rate you live:

For some of you grow fops with so much haste,

Riot in nonsense, and commit such waste,

'Twould ruin poets should they spend so fast.

He, who made this, observed what farces hit,

And durst not disoblige you now with wit.

But, gentlemen, you over-do the mode;

You must have fools out of the common road.

Th' unnatural strained buffoon is only taking;

No fop can please you now of God's own making.

Pardon our poet, if he speaks his mind;

You come to plays with your own follies lined:

Small fools fall on you, like small showers, in vain;

Your own oiled coats keep out all common rain.

You must have Mamamouchi[1], such a fop

As would appear a monster in a shop;

He'll fill your pit and boxes to the brim,

Where, rain'd in crowds, you see yourselves in him.

Sure there's some spell, our poet never knew,

In Hullibabilah de, and Chu, chu, chu;

But Marababah sahem[2] most did touch you;

That is, Oh how we love the Mamamouchi!

Grimace and habit sent you pleased away:

You damned the poet, and cried up the play.

This thought had made our author more uneasy,

But that he hopes I'm fool enough to please ye.

But here's my grief,—though nature, joined with art,

Have cut me out to act a fooling part,

Yet, to your praise, the few wits here will say,

'Twas imitating you taught Haynes to play.

Footnotes:

  1. See the introductory remarks on the "Citizen turned Gentleman," of Ravenscroft, where the jest turns on Jorden's being created a Mamamouchi, or Turkish paladin, as it is interpreted.
  3. Trickman. I told him she was woundrous beautiful. Then said he, Marababa sahem, Ah how much in love am I!
  4. Jorden. Marababa sahem, means, how much in love am I?
  5. Trick. Yes.
  6. Jorden. I am beholden to you for telling me, for I ne'er could have thought that Marababa sahem, should signify, Ah how much in love am I. Ah this Turkish is an admirable language!
  7. Citizen turned Gentleman, Act. IV.
  8. In the same piece, we are presented with a grand chorus of Turks and Dervises, who sing, "Hu la baba la chou ba la baba la da."