Prologue To "Arvirgus And Philicia Revived."

BY LODOWICK CARLELL, ESQ., 1690.

SPOKEN BY MR HART.


    With sickly actors and an old house too,
    We're match'd with glorious theatres and new;
    And with our alehouse scenes, and clothes bare worn,
    Can neither raise old plays, nor new adorn.
    If all these ills could not undo us quite,
    A brisk French troop is grown your dear delight;
    Who with broad bloody bills call you each day
    To laugh and break your buttons at their play;
    Or see some serious piece, which we presume
    Is fallen from some incomparable plume;
    And therefore, Messieurs, if you'll do us grace,
    Send lackeys early to preserve your place.
    We dare not on your privilege intrench,
    Or ask you why you like them? they are French.
    Therefore some go, with courtesy exceeding,
    Neither to hear nor see, but show their breeding:
    Each lady striving to out-laugh the rest;
    To make it seem they understood the jest.
    Their countrymen come in, and nothing pay,
    To teach us English where to clap the play:
    Civil, egad! our hospitable land
    Bears all the charge, for them to understand:
    Mean time we languish and neglected lie,
    Like wives, while you keep better company;
    And wish for your own sakes, without a satire,
    You'd less good breeding, or had more good nature.

John Dryden

John Dryden was an influential English poet, literary critic, translator, and playwright who was made England’s first Poet Laureate in 1668. His work dominated the literary life of Restoration England and he is seen as a major figure in the literary history of the period. Dryden's notable works include the satirical poem 'Absalom and Achitophel' and the mock-heroic 'Mac Flecknoe.'

John Dryden

Songs In "The Conquest Of Granada."

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

Epilogue To "Albion And Albanius."

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

To The Memory Of Mr Oldham.[1]

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

On The Monument Of A Fair Maiden Lady[1], Who Died At Bath, And Is There Interred.

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

English

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Prologue. Spoken At The Opening Of The New House, March 26, 1674.

    A plain-built^[1] house, after so long a stay,
    Will send you half unsatisfied away;
    When, fallen from your expected pomp, you find
    A bare convenience only is design'd.
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Prologue To "Albion And Albanius."

    Full twenty years and more, our labouring stage
    Has lost on this incorrigible age:
    Our poets, the John Ketches of the nation,
    Have seem'd to lash ye, even to excoriation:
    But still no sign remains; which plainly notes,
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    Like beating nut-trees, makes a larger crop?
    Faith, we'll e'en spare our pains! and, to content you,
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    One nourish'd not, and t'other drew no blood:
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    Since hearty beef and mutton will not do,
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Prologue To "King Arthur." Spoken By Mr Betterton.

    Sure there's a dearth of wit in this dull town,
    When silly plays so savourily go down;
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    So have I seen, in hall of knight, or lord,
    A weak arm throw on a long shovel-board;
    He barely lays his piece, bar rubs and knocks,
    Secured by weakness not to reach the box.
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Prologue To "The Loyal General;" By Mr Tate, 1680.

    If yet there be a few that take delight
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    Or see, what's worse, the Devil and the Pope.
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    Methinks, resemble the distracted age;
    Noise, madness, all unreasonable things,
    That strike at sense, as rebels do at kings.
    The style of forty-one our poets write,
    And you are grown to judge l...

John Dryden

Prologue To "Aurengzebe."

    Our author, by experience, finds it true,
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    But he has now another taste of wit;
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    Grows weary of his long-loved mistress, Rhyme.
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    And nature flies him like enchanted ground:
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John Dryden

Prologue To The Rival Ladies.

    'Tis much desired, you judges of the town
    Would pass a vote to put all prologues down:
    For who can show me, since they first were writ,
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    Yet the world's mended well; in former days
    Good prologues were as scarce as now good plays.
    For the reforming poets of our age,
    In this first charge, spend their poetic rage:
    Expect no more when once the prologue's done:
    The wit is ended ere the play's begun.
    You now have habits, dances, scenes, and rhymes;
    High language often; ay, and sense, sometimes.
    As for a clear contrivance, doubt it now;
    They blow out candles to give light to the plot.
    And for surprise, two bloody-minded men
    Fight till they die, then rise and dance agai...

John Dryden