’.is the glory of the Great and Good to be the Refuge of the Distress’d; their Virtues create ‘em troubles; and he that has the God like Talent to oblige, is never free from Impunity, you, Philaster, have a Thousand ways merited my Esteem and Veneration; and I beg you wou’d now permit the effects of it, which cou’d not forbear, though unpermitted, to dedicate this youthful sally of my Pen, this first Essay of my Infant-Poetry to your Self: ‘Tis a Virgin-Muse, harmless and unadorn’d, unpractis’d in the Arts to please; and if by chance you find any thing agreeable, ‘tis natural and unskill’d Innocence. Three thousand Leagues of spacious Ocean she has measured, visited many and distant Shores, and found a welcome every where; but in all that vast tract of Sea and Land cou’d never meet with one whose Person and Merits cou’d oblige her to yield her ungarded self into his protection: A thousand Charms of Wit, good Nature, and Beauty at first approach she found in Philaster; and since she knew she cou’d not appear upon the too-critical English Stage without making choice of some Noble Patronage, she waited long, look’d round the judging World, and fix’t on you. She fear’d the reproach of being an American, whose Country rarely produces Beauties of this kind: The Muses seldom inhabit there; or if they do, they visit and away; but for variety a Dowdy Lass may please: Her youth too should attone for all her faults besides; and her being a Stranger will beget civility, and you that are by nature kind and generous, tender and soft to all that’s new and gay, will not, I hope refuse her the Sanctuary I am so sensible she will have need of in this loose Age of Censure. You have goodness enough to excuse all her weaknesses, and Wit enough to defend ‘em; and that’s sufficient to render her Estimable to all the World that knows the generous and excellent Philaster; whilst this occasion to celebrate you under this Name, is both a Pleasure and Honour to. ASTERA.
THE YOUNG KING; or, The Mistake.
PROLOGUE.
Beauty like Wit, can only charm when new;
Is there no Merit then in being true?
Wit rather should an Estimation hold
With Wine, which is still best for being old.
Judgment in both, with vast Expence and Thought,
You from their native Soil, from Paris brought:
The Drops that from that sacred Sodom fall,
You like industrious Spiders suck up all.
Well might the French a Conquest here design,
Were but their Swords as dangerous as their Wine.
Their Education yet is worse than both;
They make our Virgins Nuns, unman our Youth.
We that don’t know ‘em, think ‘em Monsters too;
And will, because we judge of them by you.
You’ll say this once was so, but now you’re grown
So wise t’invent new Follies of your own:
Their slavish Imitations you disdain;
A Pox of Fops that purchase Fame with Pain:
You’re no such Fools as first to mount a Wall,
Or for your King and Country venture all.
With such like grinning Honour ‘twas perchance,
Your dull Forefathers first did conquer France.
Whilst they have sent us, in Revenge for these,
Their Women, Wine, Religion, and Disease.
Yet for Religion, it’s not much will down,
In this ungirt, unblest, and mutinous Town.
Nay, I dare swear, not one of you in seven,
E’er had the Impudence to hope for Heaven.
In this you’re modest—
But as to Wit, most aim before their time,
And he that cannot spell, sets up for Rhyme:
They’re Sparks who are of Noise and Nonsense full,
At fifteen witty, and at twenty dull;
That in the Pit can huff, and talk hard Words,
And briskly draw Bamboo instead of Swords:
But never yet Rencounter cou’d compare
To our late vigorous Tartarian War:
Cudgel the Weapon was, the Pit the Field;
Fierce was the Hero, and too brave to yield.
But stoutest Hearts must bow; and being well can’d,
He crys, Hold, hold, you have the Victory gained.
All laughing call—
Turn out the Rascal, the eternal Blockhead;
—Zounds, crys Tartarian, I am out of Pocket:
Half Crown my Play, Sixpence my Orange cast;
Equip me that, do you the Conquest boast.
For which to lie at ease, a Gathering’s made,
And out they turn the Brother of the Blade.
—This is the Fruit of Idleness and Ease:
Heaven bless the King that keeps the Land in Peace,
Or he’ll be sweetly served by such as these.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
DACIANS.
Queen of Dacia. Orsames, her Son, kept from his Infancy in a Castle on a Lake, ignorant of his Quality, and of all the World besides; never having seen any human thing save only his old Tutor. Cleomena, his Sister, bred up in War, and design’d to reign instead of Orsames; the Oracle having foretold the bloody Cruelties should be committed during his short Reign, if ever suffered to wear the Crown. Honorius, General of the Army, and Uncle to Orsames and Cleomena. Olympia, his Daughter, young and beautiful. Ismenes and | Two Rival Princes in love with Cleomena. Artabazes, | Geron, the old Tutor to Orsames. Pimante, a Fop Courtier. Arates, a Courtier. Semeris, Woman to Cleomena. Vallentio, a Colonel of the Army. Gorel, a Citizen. Keeper of the Castle. A Druid.
SCYTHIANS.
King of Scythia. Thersander, his Son, under the Name of Clemanthis, when on the Dacian side. Amintas, a young Nobleman, belov’d by Thersander, and Lover of Urania. Lysander, Page to Thersander. Urania, in love with Amintas. Lyces, a Shepherdess. Pages and Attendants, Courtiers (men and women), Officers, Guards, Soldiers, Huntsmen, Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Assassins, and all a Rabble of the Mobile.