A Lenten Prologue Refus'd by the PLAYERS.
OUR Prologue-Wit grows flat: the Nap's worn off;
And howsoe're We turn, and trim the Stuff,
The Gloss is gone, that look'd at first so gaudy;
'Tis now no Jest to hear young Girls talk Baudy.
But Plots, and Parties give new matter birth;
And State Distractions serve you here for mirth!
At
England's cost Poets now purchase Fame
While factious Heats destroy us, without Shame
These wanton Neroes fiddle to the Flame.
The Stage, like old Rump-Pulpits, is become
The Scene of News, a furious Party's Drum.
Here Poets beat their brains for Volunteers,
And take fast hold of Asses by their Ears.
Their jingling Rhime for Reason here you swallow;
Like
Orpheus Musick it makes Beasts to follow.
What an enlightning Grace is want of Bread?
How it can change a Libeller's Heart, and clear a
Laureats Head!
Open his eyes till the mad Prophet see
Medal P. 14
Plots working in a future power to be
Traitors unform'd to his
Second Sight are clear;
And Squadrons here, and Squadrons there appear;
Rebellion is the
Burden of the
Seer.
To Bayes in Vision were of late reveal'd
Whigg-Armies,
Rehearsal Com. p. 31.
that at Knights-bridge lay conceal'd.And though no mortal eye could see't before
The Battaile was just entring at the Door!
Rehearsally Comedy p. 52
A dangerous
Association — sign'd by None!
The Joyner's Plot to seize the King alone!
Stephen with
Colledge made this Dire compact;
The watchful
Irish took 'em in the Fact—
Of riding arm'd! Oh Traiterous
Overt Act!
With each of'em an ancient Pistol sided;
Against the Statute in that Case provided.
But why was such an Host of Swearers prest?
Their succour was ill Husbandry at best.
Bayes's crown'd Muse, by Sovereign Right of Satyre,
Without desert, can dubb a man a Traitor.
And Toryes, without troubling Law, or Reason,
By loyal Instinct can find Plots and Treason.
But here's our Comfort, though they never scan
The merits of the Cause, but of the Man,
Our gracious Statesmen vow not to forsake
Law
[...] that is made by Judges whom they Make.
[Page 2]Behind the Curtain, by Court-Wires, with ease
They turn those Plyant Puppets as they please.
With frequent Parliaments our hopes they feed,
Such shall be sure to meet—but when there's Need.
When a sick State, and sinking Church call for 'em,
Then 'tis our Tories most of all abhor 'em.
Then Pray'r, that Christian Weapon of defence,
Gratefull to Heaven, at Court is an Offence,
If it dare speak th' untamper'd Nations sence.
Nay Paper's Tumult, when our Senates cease;
And some Men's Names alone can break the Peace.
Petitioning disturbs the Kingdom's Quiet;
As choosing honest Sheriffs makes a Ryott.
To punish Rascals, and bring
France to Reason,
Is to be hot, and press things out of Season;
And to damn Popery is
Irish Treason.
To love the King, and Knaves about him hate,
Is a Fanatick Plot against the State.
To Skreen his Person from a Popish Gun
Has all the mischief in't of
Forty One.
To save our Faith and keep our Freedom's Charter,
Is once again to make a Royal Martyr.
This Logick is of Tories deep inditing
The very best they have — but Oaths, and Fighting.
Let 'em then chime it on, if 'twill oblige yee,
And
Roger vapour o're us in
Effigie.
Let 'em in Ballads give their folly Vent,
And sing up Nonsence to their Hearts content.
If for the King (as All's pretended) they
May here drink Healths, and curse, sure We may pray.
Heaven once more keep him then for
Healing Ends
Safe from old Foes — but most from his new Friends!
Such Protestants as propp a
Popish Cause,
And loyal men, that break all Bound of Laws!
Whose Pride is with his Servants Salaries fed,
And when they 've scarce left him a Crust of Bread,
Their corrupt Fathers foreigne Steps to follow,
Cheat even of scraps, and that last Sopp would swallow.
French Fetters may this Isle no more endure;
Spite of
Rome's Arts stand
England's Church secure,
Not from such Brothers as desire to mend it,
But false Sons, who designing worse to rend it
With leud
Lives, and no
Fortunes would defend it.
FINIS.