A PROLOGUE By Mrs. Behn to her New PLAY, CALLED Like Father, like Son, OR THE Mistaken Brothers, Spoken by Mrs. Butler.  
LOrd what a House is here, how Thin 'tis grown!  
As Church 'ere Conventicling was put down:  
Since all the Brave are to Newmarket gone!  
Declining Statesmen are abandoned too,  
Who scarce a Heartless Whig will Visit now:  
Who once had Crowds of Mutineers in Fashion,  
Fine drawn in Cullys of th' Association:  
Sparks, Justices and Jurymen by Dozen,  
Whom his perverted, late betrays and Cousins.  
But change of Scene, having unveiled their Cheats,  
Pensive State Puss alone, Majestic Sits;  
Purr's on his pointless Mischiefs, tho' in vain;  
Verses are all the Darlings of his Brain.  
So we who having Plotted long to please,  
With new Parts, new clothes, new Face, new-Dress;  
To draw in all the yielding Hearts o'th' Town,  
His Highness comes and all our Hopes are gone.  
Ah Fickle Youth, what lasting Joys have we,  
When Beauty thus is left for Loyalty;  
I would to Heaven ye had been all whigs for me:  
Whilst Honest Tory Fools abroad do Roam,  
Whig Lovers Slay and Plot, and Love at Home.  
Nay one Advantage greater far than this,  
The Party helps to keep their Mistresses.  
The Devils ited if I'm not Fine and Vain,  
Whom public Bank Contribute to Maintain.   

Epilogue spoken by Mr. Gevan.  
ANd now Messiers, what do you say,  
Unto our Modern Conscientious Play?  
Nor Whigg, nor Tory here can take Offence,  
It Libels neither Patriot, Peer nor Prince.  
Nor Sheriff, nor Burgess, nor the Reverend Gown;  
Faith Here's no Scandal worth Eight Hundred Pound,  
Our Damage is at most but Half a Crown.  
Only this Difference you must allow,  
That you receive th' Affront and pay us too;  
Would some Body had managed matters so.  
Here's no Reflection on Damned Witnesses,  
We Scorn such out of Fashion things as these,  
They fail to be Beloved, and fail to Please.  
No Salamanchian Doctorship's Abused,  
Nor a Malicious State'man here Accused.  
Tho' here are Fools of every Fashion,  
Except State Fools, the Fools of Reformation.  
And these Originals decline so fast,  
We shall have none to Copy by at last.  
There's joe and jack a pair of Whining Fools  Pointing at Mr. Williams, Mr. Wiltshire. 
And Leigh, and I, Dull, Lavish, Creeping Tools.  
Bowman's for Mischief all, and carries on  
With Faun and Sneer as Gilting Whig has done,  
But like theirs too, his Projects are o'er thrown.  
Sweet Mistress Coral here has lost her Lover,  
Pshaw English or Irish ground shall find another.  
Poor Madam Butler too, are you defeated,  To Mrs. Butler. 
You never were before so basely Cheated.  
Here Mistress, Betty, Ha! she's grown a very Woman,  
Thou'st got me Child, better me than no man.  
Here's Blundering Richards is my Huffing Esquire,  
Damn me, the best in England's fort, d'ye here.  
Is that your Cue come nearer, Faith they Face  
Has Features not unlike joe Hains' Grace.  
Impudence assist thee, and boldly try  
To speak for us, and for the Comedy.   

Mr. Richards Speaks.  
I'll do't Gallant, I'll Justify this Play;  
'Od Zounds 'tis Good, and if you liked you may.   

LONDON, Printed for I. V. 1682.