PROLOGUE,

O UR Author's Wit and Raillery to-Night
Perhaps might please, but that your Stage-Delight
No more is in your Minds, but Ears and Sight;
With Audiences compos'd of Belles and Beaux,
The first Dramatick Rule is, Have good Cloathes.
To charm the gay Spectator's gentle Breast,
In Lace and Feather Tragedy's express'd,
And Heroes die unpity'd, if ill dress'd.

The other Style you full as well advance;
If 'tis a Comedy, you ask, — Who dance?
For oh! what dire Convulsions have of late
Torn and distracted each Dramatick State,
On this great Question, Which House first should sell
The New French Steps, imported by Ruel ?
Desbarques can't rise so high, we must agree,
They've half a Foot in Height more Wit than we.
But tho' the Genius of our learned Age
Thinks fit to Dance and Sing, quite off the Stage,
True Action, Comick Mirth, and Tragick Rage;
Yet, as your Taste now stands, our Author draws
Some Hopes of your Indulgence and Applause.
For that great End this Edifice he made,
Where humble Swain at Lady's Feet is laid;
Where the pleas'd Nymph her conquer'd Lover spies,
Then to Glass Pillars turns her conscious Eyes,
And points a-new each Charm, for which he dies.

The Muse, before nor Terrible nor Great,
Enjoys by him this awful gilded Seat:
By him Theatrick Angels mount more high,
And Mimick Thunders shake a broader Sky.

Thus all must own, our Author has done more
For your Delight, than ever Bard before.
His Thoughts are still to raise your Pleasures fill'd;
To Write, Translate, to Blazon, or to Build.
Then take him in the Lump, nor nicely pry
Into small Faults, that 'scape a busie Eye;
But kindly, Sirs, consider, he to-Day
Finds you the House, the Actors, and the Play:
So, tho' we Stage-Mechanick Rules omit,
You must allow it in a Whole-Sale Wit.