PROLOGUE.
Spoke by Mrs. PRINCE.
| Our Author fearing his Success to Day, |
| Sends me to bribe your Spleen against his Play, |
| And if a Ghost in Nelly's Time cou'd sooth ye, |
| He hopes in these that Flesh and Blood may move ye, |
| Nay, what is more, to win your Hearts, a Maid! |
| If ever such a Thing the Play-house had. |
| For Cold and Shade the waxen Blossom's born, |
| Not to endure the Regions of the Sun, |
| Let every Beau then his Applause begin, |
| And think the Rarity was born for him: |
| Your true-bred Knights for fancy'd Dames advance, |
| And think it Gallantry to break a Launce, |
| And shall a real Damsel e'er be found |
| To plead her Cause in vain on English Ground, |
| Unless that dreadful Prophecy's begun, |
| In which Seven Women are to share——one Man! |
| But thanks my Stars that Danger I disown, |
| For in the Pit, I see 'tis—one—to one. |
| And while the Fair can all their Rights enjoy, |
| We'll keep our Title up to being Coy, |
| So let your Praise be noisy as your Wine, |
| And grant your Favours, if you'd purchase mine. |
A SONG design'd to be sung by Mr. Dogget.
| The Man you Ladies ought to fear, |
| Behold and see his Picture here. |
| With Arms a-cross, and down-cast Eyes |
| Thus languishes, and thus he dies, |
| Then gives his Hat a careless Pull, |
| Thus he sighs, and thus looks dull, |
| Thus he ogles, thus he sneers, |
| Thus he winks, and thus he lears. |
| This, this is he alone can move, |
| And this the Man the Ladies love. |
THE
EPILOGUE.
Spoke by Mr. DOGGET.
| You have seen what Scholar is in Cap and Gown, | ||
| Before his Breeding's polish'd by this Town: | ||
| 'Tis not enough, that he can Hebrew speak, | ||
| Greek, Latin, Chaldeac, and Arabick; | ||
| He may perform his Task in Church and School, | ||
| Ne'er drop a Word, that is not Grammar-Rule. | ||
| Run through the Arts; can each Degree commence, | ||
| Yet be a Freshman still, to Men of Sense. | ||
| Tho' the learn'd Youth, can all the Sages quote, | ||
| Has Homer, Hesiod, and the rest by Wrote; | ||
| Yet what's all this to Picquet, Dress or Play? | ||
| Or to the Circle, on a Visiting-Day? | ||
| A finish'd Beau; for such fine things I have seen, | ||
| That heretofore, has of some College been: | ||
| But that Despising, nothing now retains, | } | |
| For Learning is a Thing requires Brains; | ||
| And that's a Perquisite the Gentleman disdains. | ||
| The Great Dull Ass, from breaking Head of Priscian; | ||
| Hither he comes, and writes approv'd Physician. | ||
| The Noise of Chariot brings the Patients in; | ||
| Grant them Patience, that Physick for their Sin. | ||
| Well then—— | ||
| Since Learning's useless, I'll the Task defy; | ||
| Practice to Ogle, Flatter, Swear and Lye; | ||
| For that's the Way the Ladies Hearts to gain, | ||
| Burn all my Books; my Studies are but vain: | ||
| To gain their Looks, each Shape and Dress I'll try; | ||
| Smile when they Smile; and when they Frown, I Die. | ||