But to be serious: Is there anything, but its being downright fact, could make a rational creature believe 'twere possible to arrive at this fantastic posthumous folly? Not at the same time but that it were buffoonery rather than satire to explode all funeral honours; but then it is certainly necessary to make 'em such that the mourners should be in earnest, and the lamented worthy of our sorrow. But this purpose is so far from being served, that it is utterly destroyed by the manner of proceeding among us, where the obsequies, which are due only to the best and highest of human race (to admonish their short survivors that neither wit, nor valour, nor wisdom, nor glory can suspend our fate), are prostituted and bestowed upon such as have nothing in common with men but their mortality.
But the dead man is not to pass off so easily, for his last thoughts are also to suffer dissection, and it seems there is an art to be earned to speak our own sense in other men's words, and a man in a gown that never saw his face shall tell you immediately the design of the deceased, better than all his old acquaintance; which is so perfect an hocus-pocus that, without you can repeat such and such words, you cannot convey what is in your hands into another's; but far be it from any man's thought to say there are not men of strict integrity of the long robe, though it is not everybody's good fortune to meet with 'em.
However, the daily legal villanies we see committed will also be esteemed things proper to be prosecuted by satire, nor could our ensuing Legislative do their country a more seasonable office than to look into the distresses of an unhappy people, who groan perhaps in as much misery under entangled as they could do under broken laws; nor could there be a reward high enough assigned for a great genius, if such may be found, who has capacity sufficient to glance through the false colours that are put upon us, and propose to the English world a method of making justice flow in an uninterrupted stream; there is so clear a mind in being, whom we will name in words that of all men breathing can be only said of him; 'tis he[12] that is excellent—
"Seu linguam causis acuit, seu civica jura
Responsare parat, seu condit amabile carmen."[13]
Other enemies that may arise against this poor play are indeed less terrible, but much more powerful than these, and they are the ladies; but if there is anything that argues a soured man, who lashes all for Lady Brumpton, we may hope there will be seen also a devoted heart that esteems all for Lady Sharlot.
PROLOGUE.
Spoken by Mr. Wilks.[14]
Nature's deserted, and dramatic art,
To dazzle now the eye, has left the heart;[15]
Gay lights and dresses, long extended scenes,
Demons and angels moving in machines,
All that can now, or please, or fright the fair,
May be performed without a writer's care,
And is the skill of carpenter, not player.
Old Shakespeare's days could not thus far advance;
But what's his buskin to our ladder dance?[16]
In the mid region a silk youth to stand,
With that unwieldly engine at command!
Gorged with intemperate meals while here you sit,
Well may you take activity for wit:
Fie, let confusion on such dulness seize;
Blush, you're so pleased, as we that so we please.
But we, still kind to your inverted sense,
Do most unnatural things once more dispense.
For since you're still preposterous in delight,
Our Author made, a full house to invite,
A funeral a Comedy to-night.
Nor does he fear that you will take the hint,
And let the funeral his own be meant;
No, in old England nothing can be won
Without a faction, good or ill be done;
To own this our frank Author does not fear;
But hopes for a prevailing party here;
He knows he's numerous friends; nay, knows they'll show it,
And for the fellow-soldier, save the poet.